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Margot

My alarm goes off. For the fifth time .

With a groan, I finally drag myself out of bed. One day, I’ll wake up to a hot man bringing me coffee in bed every morning.

Keep dreaming.

I shuffle through my morning routine. Brush teeth, wash face, fix hair. Then head to the kitchen and set up the coffee maker, desperate for my caffeine fix.

BEEP!

I follow the noise to my desk in confusion. It came from my work phone, which I plugged in last night before bed.

Ronald.

Fuck. Why is my boss texting me?

I open the message. He wants to meet at a coffee shop near the office at nine a.m. I check my watch. Double fuck. It’s eight thirty a.m.

I throw on random clothes, grab my bag, and rush out the door.

** *

On my way to the coffee shop, I skim through my work phone and feel my stomach sink. Three emails. Four texts. Seventeen missed calls. All from Ronald.

What the actual fuck?

The first email came minutes after I sent my report on Friday, asking me to call him immediately. Each gets progressively more serious.

Yeah, I definitely stumbled onto something serious.

***

By the time I get to the café, it’s five past nine. There’s no sign of Ronald.

Weird. He hates tardiness.

Lucky me. I have time for a caramel macchiato. Looks like you have your priorities in order.

I step in line, scrolling through my phone, until I look up.

And nearly forget how to breathe.

The man in front of me has the best ass I’ve ever seen. I mean, he could be a baseball player with glutes like that. And if his ass wasn’t enough, the rest of him sure as hell is.

At around six foot four with his broad as hell structure, he obviously enjoys the gym. And I’m enjoying the effects of him enjoying the gym. His custom-tailored navy-blue suit hugs every muscular inch of him. His short, dark hair falls just messily enough to look good.

I know it’s soft. I just know it is. My fingers twitch with the need to run through it. I can’t seem to look away.

Then he speaks.

“A large, black coffee, please.”

I swear to God, my entire body tingles. His smooth voice exudes confidence. The deep timbre feels like an earthquake in my bones.

I instinctively step forward, drawn to him before my brain catches up .

This man is doing things to me that I’ve never experienced, and I haven’t even seen his face. This is ridiculous.

He pulls his card out to pay, but just as he hands it over, his phone rings.

“Roman,” he answers, voice clipped.

The man, Roman, on the other end says something I can’t make out. Then he turns to the cashier. “Cancel the order. I have to go.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

I don’t even catch his face. Just his scent. His clean, masculine, expensive scent. I shudder.

Jesus, Margot. Get a grip.

“Miss?”

I blink. The barista stares at me like I have two heads.

“Um… sorry. What was that?”

She sighs, looking exasperated. To be fair, I’d also be annoyed if I had to deal with sleep-deprived caffeine addicts all morning.

“Are you with him?” She holds up a matte black credit card. “He left this.”

The card looks expensive. Stiff black, probably made of metal.

He’s obviously rich.

“Yes,” I say before I can think about it. “I’ll take it to him.”

This will be my good deed of the day. I’ll give him his card then come back for my meeting.

And if he wants to thank me with a kiss, that’s his prerogative.

That’s likely.

I ignore my inner fiend’s sarcasm and snatch the card from her. I hurry outside, hoping to catch him.

Glancing down, I check the name.

Matthias Montclair.