Cameron had already made it halfway down the street when he realized something vital was missing—the familiar weight of keys in his pocket. He patted his coat, checked his jeans, then exhaled with a rueful smile.
He’d left them on the table.
He could call a driver. He could call security. He could walk back to the penthouse and let someone retrieve the car later.
But instead, he turned around and walked right back into Eastside Brew.
The bell above the door chimed again. The café was quieter now, mid-shift lull, the din softened to the clink of mugs and the hiss of steaming milk.
Jayla stood at the corner prepping orders, her motions efficient, almost too controlled—as if mistakes cost more than embarrassment.
Cameron spotted his keys sitting exactly where he’d left them, the metal g
