Rain fell hard in Brooklyn as Elena returned at 5:45 AM. The sky was dark and heavy. She held onto the denim apron, its rough texture digging into her palms. *Bean Grinder Minion*. The uneven stitches felt like a mark.
She pushed the shop door open. The bell's loud jingle pierced the pre-dawn silence. Leo stood behind the counter, illuminated by the harsh light of industrial refrigerators. He polished a portafilter with intense focus, each movement careful and calm.
"You're late."
Elena looked at her diamond-studded Patek Philippe. "It's 5:48. I'm twelve minutes early."
"Shift starts when I unlock the door." He slid a heavy brass key across the battered oak countertop. It landed with a sharp *clink*. "You open. Today. Now."
She stared at the key. After ten years of leading meetings and managing million-dollar events, this small object felt strangely foreign. "Where's the alarm code?"
"Didn't set one." His smile was cold. "Brooklyn's honest. Unlike your corporate offices."
Elena inserted the key, and the lock clicked open. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale coffee and harsh lemon cleaner. She reached for the light switch.
"Stop." Leo's voice cut through the darkness, sharp. "Lights come last. Check the back door. Then the storeroom. Then the bathrooms."
"Why?"
"Because I said so." He tossed her a heavy flashlight. "Rule Zero, Vance: you're not an event planner here. You're a minion. Minions follow orders."
The flashlight felt slick in her grip. She swept its beam across the cramped stockroom—burlap sacks of green coffee beans slumped like corpses, industrial drums of oat milk, and a messy mop bucket full of grey water. She tripped on a jagged edge of cracked tile. The flashlight clattered to the concrete floor.
"Graceful." Leo stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed. "Find anything?"
"Other than proof you need a safety inspection?" She nudged the broken tile with the toe of her designer pump. "No."
"Good. Now the bathrooms."
The women's restroom was a closet-sized mess. Crude graffiti marred the stall door. *Soulmates are scams*, someone had carved into the paint. Elena's throat tightened. She flicked on the light.
A cockroach, large and shiny, darted across the chipped porcelain sink.
She stifled a gasp and slammed the door behind her. Leo's low, humorless laugh echoed as she returned to the front.
"Problem, princess?"
"Sanitation violation." Her voice was taut. "I'll call an exterminator—"
"Rule One," he snapped. "No corporate money. You kill it or name it."
Her polished composure faltered. "This is ridiculous."
"Thirty days." He tapped his bare wrist where a watch should be. "Clock's ticking."
By 6:15 AM, the café was filled with challenges Elena hadn't expected. The espresso machine hissed like an angry snake. The grinder screamed. And Leo—Leo was an ever-present, critical shadow.
"Wipe the steam wand *after* every use, not before. You're growing bacteria." He snatched the damp rag from her hand, showing her with brutal efficiency. "Like this. Or are your hands too precious?"
She reached for the wand. A jet of hot steam grazed her fingertip. Pain shot up her arm. She jerked back, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood.
Leo didn't react. "Gloves are under the register. Try not to sue me."
The first customer arrived at 6:30—a construction worker, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Large black. To go."
Elena fumbled with the grinder. Leo had set it finer than desert sand. She tamped with shaky hands, channeling years of negotiating hostile takeovers into compressing coffee grounds.
"Too slow," Leo muttered, a dark presence behind her.
She locked the portafilter and pressed the brew switch. Dark liquid dripped out—thin and weak. The man tapped his work boot impatiently.
"Problem?"
"Just… optimizing extraction." She forced a smile. The espresso pooled, pale and thin.
Leo appeared beside her, bumping her hip as he reached for the cup. "Machine's moody today. On the house, Joe." He poured a fresh shot, thick and rich. "Vance here's learning."
Joe took the cup, glancing at Elena's silk blouse. "Good luck, lady. Leo eats interns alive."
The door jingled shut. Elena stared into the sink as her failed espresso swirled down the drain.
"Why did you do that?"
"Rule Two," Leo said, rinsing Joe's cup. "Customers always leave happy. Even if minions fail."
By 8 AM, Elena had burned three batches of almond croissants, branded her wrist on the milk steamer (just like her fingertip), and miscounted the cash drawer twice. Her blouse clung, damp with sweat and splattered oat milk. Leo moved through the chaos like a seasoned general—relentless, efficient, and frustratingly calm.
"Table three needs refills. And stop trying to crush diamonds with that tamper. You're choking the machine."
A woman waved from a corner booth, cradling a sleeping baby. Elena approached, the glass carafe shaking slightly in her grip.
"More oat milk latte, please? Extra hot." The woman smiled warmly. "You're new."
"Yes." Elena poured, spilling hot milk onto the saucer. "Sorry."
"No worries." The woman's eyes lingered on Elena's face. "You look so familiar. Do you—"
A loud crash erupted from behind the counter. Leo had "accidentally" knocked over a tray of freshly washed mugs. Porcelain shards scattered across the floor like shrapnel.
"Vance! Cleanup. *Now*."
Elena rushed back, crouching to pick up sharp pieces. One sliver cut into her thumb. A drop of blood appeared. She sucked it away, the metallic taste mixing with the bitter flavor of coffee.
Leo knelt beside her, his shoulder warm against hers. "Use paper towels. Not your hands."
She kept her eyes down, gathering sharp fragments. "Why are you doing this? The hazing? The rules?"
"Because you bought my silence with coffee beans." He picked up larger shards. "This is the cost. You want your bond back? Show you can survive outside your gilded cage. Show you're not defective."
*Product defect*. The phrase from the refund notice echoed in her mind. Her chest tightened.
"I left because I shattered," she whispered, the words escaping her. "Not because you weren't enough."
His hand stilled mid-reach. For a moment, the air crackled. Then he abruptly stood, tossing the shards in the trash bin. "Rule Three: no therapy sessions during rush hour. Table five's waiting."
The lunch rush hit like a tidal wave. Elena found herself overwhelmed by orders. *Cortado. Flat white. Oat milk matcha*. The terms blended together. She dropped a cup, sending green matcha foam spilling across the counter. Slimy green dripped onto her ruined Prada slacks.
"Damn it!"
Leo grabbed the cup. "Reset, Vance. Two oat milk lattes, one honey lavender, one cold brew. *Move.*"
She moved. Her feet ached in her heels. Her scalp felt tight beneath her bun. When the blender whined, she kicked its base hard.
"Real mature." Leo yanked the plug. "Manual override. Ice and power."
He handed her a stainless steel cocktail shaker. Their fingers brushed.
A jolt surged through her—not electric, but deep and familiar. The soulmate bond flickered, suddenly igniting.
She froze. He froze.
His eyes met hers. Hazel, stripped of ice. No anger. Just pure, startled awareness.
The door jingled. A man in a sharp Burberry trench stepped in, shaking rain from his umbrella. "Elena Vance? Is that *you*?"
Recognition hit her like lightning. *David Chen. Forbes journalist. Covered her last high-society charity gala.* Cold fear washed over her. She yanked her hand back, but not before David's sharp gaze dropped to her apron.
*Bean Grinder Minion*.
"Elena?" David's grin was predatory as he pulled out his phone. "Slumming it for a human-interest piece? Or did Vance Events finally collapse?"
Leo stepped between them, a solid wall of denim and defiance. "She's working. Order or leave."
David blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I'll take a macchiato. But seriously, Elena—"
"Rule Four," Leo stated, his voice cold. "No personal conversations during shifts." He tilted his head slightly toward Elena, his eyes still on David. "Make his drink. *Minion.*"
David's phone camera flashed. Elena flinched, turning her stained apron away. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the espresso machine, acutely aware of Leo's simmering presence just behind her.
*Click.* Another photo.
"Humanizing," David murmured, angling for another shot. "Manhattan's Ice Queen, brought low slinging coffee. The tabloids will *love* this."
The cup slipped from her numb fingers. Scalding espresso spilled over her already-burned wrist. A gasp escaped her. The pain was blinding.
Leo reacted instantly. He grabbed her arm and shoved it under the icy flow of the cold tap. Water hissed. His fingers pressed urgently against her burn, protective and steady.
"Out," he growled at David, the sound primal.
"But my macchiato—"
"*Out!* **Now!**" Leo's roar rattled the mugs on the shelves.
David stumbled back, phone still raised, snapping one final photo. The door jingled shut behind him. Silence fell, broken only by the sound of water and Elena's ragged breaths.
Leo's thumb brushed against her tender wrist—an old instinct. Her pulse raced at his touch. The bond throbbed, alive beneath the pain.
"Rule Five," he said, his voice rough but quieter now. "*No photos.* Especially not from vultures looking for scraps."
She gazed at their joined hands under the water—his grip strong, grounding; hers pale and quaking. The cold water eased the burn but did nothing for the awareness humming between them. His protectiveness, raw and immediate, was a lifeline she hadn't realized she needed.
He turned off the tap. Released her. The sudden absence of his touch felt like a physical loss, leaving her skin cold and strangely empty.
"Get bandages from the first aid kit." He tossed her a clean towel. His voice returned to its usual gruffness, though the edge felt dulled. "And change the sanitizer bucket. It's foul."
Elena wrapped the towel around her throbbing wrist. The pain was sharp, clarifying.
Outside, the relentless rain had finally stopped.