The silence in Vance Events' 40th-floor boardroom felt colder than the steel-and-glass skyline outside. Elena stood at the foot of the obsidian table, her *Bean Grinder Minion* apron hidden beneath a borrowed Chanel blazer, her bandaged wrist throbbing. Twelve pairs of eyes fixed on her, her father's steely glare the sharpest.
"Explain," Arthur Vance demanded, tapping on David Chen's damning front-page headline: **VANCE HEIRESS WORKING PENANCE IN BROOKLYN DUMP?** The subhead screamed: *"Soulmate Scandal or Corporate Sabotage?"*
Elena kept her voice steady, the scent of burnt sugar still lingering on her skin. "It's a temporary arrangement. Personal. It has nothing to do with Vance Events."
David Chen, seated smugly beside her father, slid a document across the table. **TERMINATION OF SUPPLY CONTRACT: COLOMBIAN PRIME ESTATE.** Elena felt her blood run cold. *Leo's beans.*
"Your 'personal arrangement,'" David said with a smirk, "involved diverting company funds to cover Carter's coffee shipment. That's a clear breach of fiduciary duty. My sources at *Café de Oro* confirmed the payment came from Vance Events' discretionary account."
*Rule One: No corporate money.* Leo's warning echoed in her mind. She had broken that rule right away.
"Elena used her corporate Amex," Arthur stated, not asking. Disappointment carved deeper lines into his face than his sixty years should have shown. "To bail out a man who publicly called her a 'defect.'"
"It was a personal expense," she insisted, but the lie felt like ash in her mouth.
"The board disagrees." Arthur nodded at the chairwoman. "Effective immediately, you're suspended pending investigation. Hand over your access codes and company devices."
The dismissal was swift. Security appeared at the door. As Elena gave up her phone, her father's final words echoed in her mind: "Fix this mess or consider your inheritance void."
---
Rain pounded Brooklyn again as Elena stepped into *The Bean Grinder*. The bell's chime rang out mockingly. Leo sat hunched over his laptop, his face lit by a shipping notification:
> **ORDER CANCELLED: CAFÉ DE ORO COLOMBIAN SUPREMO (2000 lbs)**
> *Reason: Client Payment Invalidated. Account Flagged for Fraud.*
He didn't look up. "Your board moves fast."
"They suspended me. David Chen exposed the Amex payment." She dropped her designer tote onto the counter.
"Rule One," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "No corporate money. You broke it. Now I have no beans. I can't open Monday."
"I'll fix it."
"How? Cash? You're suspended. Your trust fund's probably frozen." He finally met her eyes, hazel and hard as flint. "This was your move, Vance. Your rules. And you blew it before Day 4."
The bond they had felt vibrant over lemon bars yesterday now lay dormant—there was a gulf between them. Elena touched her bandaged wrist, the burn pulsing. "Give me tonight."
Leo slammed the laptop shut. "What's left to give? Your corporate magic's gone. Your father's cut you off. You're just a minion with blisters now."
His words stung more than the steam. "Then I'll be the minion who finds you beans."
He laughed, bitter and sharp. "With what? Good intentions and a nice watch?"
"With this." She pulled out her personal emergency stash—$5,000 in crisp hundreds, hidden in a hollowed-out copy of *Corporate Law for Dummies* from her law school days. "Cash. *My* cash. From flipping textbooks and waitressing summers. Untraceable."
Leo stared at the money, then back at her. Genuine surprise flickered in his eyes. "You kept that?"
"Sentimentality," she echoed his old excuse, a fragile bridge. "Now, who's your backup supplier? The one you called 'greedy but reliable'?"
"Marco Rossi. He's… unpredictable. Deals only in cash. Meets at midnight. And he hates corporate suits."
Elena shoved the money toward him. "Then let's go suit shopping for a minion."
---
The "suit" was a thrift-store disaster: oversized flannel, ripped jeans, and combat boots that swallowed Elena's feet. Leo smudged engine grease on her cheeks in the alley behind Rossi's warehouse. "Remember, you're 'Ellie.' My cousin's kid. Dropped out of community college. Knows nothing about coffee except it helps you stay awake."
"Charming backstory," Elena muttered, adjusting the beanie hiding her signature chignon.
Rossi's warehouse smelled of damp cardboard and desperation. Marco Rossi himself was a bull of a man, tattoos snaking up his thick neck, his eyes sizing up Leo's duffel bag of cash.
"Carter. Heard you ticked off Café de Oro. Corporate witch ruined your day?" Rossi's gaze slid to Elena. "Who's the kid?"
"My cousin Ellie. Helps at the shop." Leo's voice was smooth, but Elena sensed the tension radiating from him.
Rossi grunted. "Got Sumatra. Not Colombian. $7 a pound. Cash upfront."
Leo stiffened. "That's double the market rate, Marco."
"Supply and demand, *amico*. Your demand. My supply." Rossi grinned, his gold tooth glinting. "Take it or leave Brooklyn beanless."
Elena stepped forward before Leo could speak, her voice deliberately nasal, unrefined. "Sumatra's got that earthy funk, right? Like dirt and… chocolate?" She scratched her grease-stained nose. "We got customers saying Colombian's smoother. They gonna notice?"
Rossi's eyes narrowed, then crinkled with amusement. "Kid's got ears. Yeah, they'll notice. But what choice you got?"
Elena shrugged, playing clueless. "Dunno. Leo said you were the only guy brave enough to deal after… y'know." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Heard Café de Oro's boss got caught bribing inspectors? Whole shipment's gonna be seized. Bet prices crash next week."
Rossi's grin vanished. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Overheard some suits at the bus stop," Elena lied, channeling Matty's skate-park gossip style. "Sounded legit. FBI involved and everything."
Leo caught on, playing the frustrated one. "Ellie, shut it! Rumors ain't cash."
But Rossi was calculating. A seized Café de Oro shipment *would* flood the market, crashing prices. Holding this Sumatra at double rate suddenly became risky.
"Fine," Rossi snapped. "$5 a pound. Half now. Half on delivery Monday. And kid?" He pointed at Elena with a meaty finger. "You keep your ears open at that bus stop. Hear anything else about Café de Oro… you tell Uncle Marco first."
---
Back at the café, dawn tinging the sky grey, Leo unloaded the first sacks of Sumatra. Elena peeled off the flannel, her real blouse sticking to her back with sweat and adrenaline.
"You lied like a pro," Leo said, not looking at her. "'Uncle Marco'?"
"Desperate times." She counted the remaining cash. "We're still short $800 for the second payment."
"We'll make it." He sounded tired. "Weekend brunch rush. Double shifts."
Elena picked up a bag of beans, feeling its weight. "I'll work them."
Leo paused, studying her—the smudged grease, the frayed bandage, the determined set of her jaw. "Why? The bond's barely flickering. My café's sinking. Your empire's crumbling."
She met his gaze, the truth raw and unfiltered. "Because I broke Rule One. And this…" she gestured to the sacks, the gritty floor, *him*, "…is the only thing that feels real right now."
A flicker passed, not in their bond but something deeper in Leo's eyes. Respect? He tossed her a clean *Minion* apron. "Rule Nine: Minions who pull all-nighters get first coffee. Black. Two sugars."
As he brewed it, Elena's phone buzzed—a blocked number. A text appeared:
> **Unknown:** *Health Inspection scheduled Monday 7 AM. Tip: Check rat traps.*
> **Unknown:** *David Chen paid off Rossi's warehouse foreman. Delivery delayed until Tuesday.*
Sabotage. David and her board were tightening the noose.
Elena showed Leo the text. His jaw clenched, but he slid her coffee across the counter. "Drink up, minion." His finger brushed hers as she took the mug.
This time, the soulmate bond didn't just flicker.
It *ignited*.
Warmth, fierce and golden, flooded Elena's chest, radiating down to her tired feet. Leo gasped, his hand tightening on the counter as the same warmth visibly enveloped him, softening the harsh lines of exhaustion around his eyes. The connection felt electric, charged with shared resolve against the challenges trying to break them.
Leo recovered first, his voice rough but lacking its usual edge. "Seems we've got rats to catch… and a war to win."
Elena sipped her coffee—black, two sugars, just like high school—and felt the warmth settle into her bones, a steady, defiant flame. "Pass the gloves. And the poison."