AYLA
Good morning," I managed, standing in front of him. "What can I get you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He set his phone down, leaned back, and studied me, heat simmering in his gut.
He regarded me the way someone regarded objects—like I was possibly dull entertainment and he was forced to buy me.
His gaze moved from my face to my body. It was hardly leering and more observant.
I had no idea who he was, but I hated him already.
"Ayla Thorne…" he said my name with that masculine tenor that men in movies spoke with.
"How do you know my name?" The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
I glanced over my shoulder to check, and I was right—Ricco was watching me.
Fuck! Sweet Mary Mother of God, I need this job!
"Your tag," he said, pointing a finger at my chest.
I cocked a brow. "Huh?"
"Your name," he said sweetly.
I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply.
Why was I overreacting? This was just a coincidence.
I offered a smile. "I'm sorry about that. What would you like to order?"
He glanced around. "I'd have anything you think is nice."
I mentally rolled my eyes. How many times have I heard that? I'd lost count.
"I'm sorry, but you should go through the menu and place an order."
When he spoke again, his voice was low and smooth, edged with something that made my skin prickle. "Amazing."
His eyes scanned my hands like he'd expected to find something other than an order pad and pen in it.
"I heard you're taken. Are you?"
Taken? Like taken for granted? Absolutely!
I was taken for granted by people like him. Men and women who barged into other people's lives and turned everything into chaos.
I straightened. "Your question seems to have veered off from your order. Please, what can I get you?"
An uneasy silence stretched.
If Cassian Moretti had sent him here to try to cajole me or threaten me, he was sure to have the wrong girl.
This café was not a property of C-M HOLDINGS, and here—within these walls—I owed him nothing.
Something flickered across his expression.
Interest? Surprise? Annoyance? I have no idea, because it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"Coffee," he said, lifting his eyes to mine.
Cold. Observant. Searching as if trying to see the depths of my soul.
"Cream or plain?"
"You're too beautiful to be plain, and I know you'd prefer cream. So cream it is." His tone wasn't arrogant.
"Cream it is," I repeated, giving him a perfunctory smile, whisked around, and walked away.
I returned, placing the order gently on the table, and turned to leave.
"Wait," he said, fingers curling around my wrist.
Couldn't he read the room—that I didn't want to talk to him? That I didn't want to be in his radar, or anywhere near anything that involved the Morettis'?
"Sit."
"No." I shook my head. "It's against the rules here."
He glanced towards the coffee stand, and Ricco's voice rang out. "Take your time, Ayla."
Bloody idiot!
I sat.
He dropped his hand to his side, the slightest bit of amusement coming to life in his eyes as if I'd just done a trick that entertained him.
"What would you like?"
"Nothing," I said bluntly, my gaze not flickering from his for a moment.
I knew men like this. I knew what they wanted. And I was damn well ready to let him know I wasn't the kind of girl he wanted to mess with.
The smug smile on his face suddenly drifted, and a real smile appeared, making him look pretty charming. And for the first time, I actually noticed his eyes had golden fleeks beneath the light.
He glanced at me with a soft expression on his face. "How are you?"
Besides Millie, no one had ever asked me that question. I was used to getting straight to business—receiving orders, concluding business—but that question?
I smiled weakly. "I'm fine."
He looked at me like I'd just lied through my teeth.
"Lorenzo Vellani," he said, stretching his hand out for a handshake.
I didn't take it. I crossed my arms and leaned across the table. "You know my name. So quit the niceness. What do you want?"
He finally drank his coffee, dropped the cup down, and sat like he owned the damn coffee shop.
"I just want to know you."
Customers began filling in.
"I'm sorry to ruin your show, but I have no intentions of doing that." I stood up and walked away.
Whatever Cassian Moretti or Lorenzo fucking Vellani was up to, I wanted nothing to do with it.
"Help me get the bills when he's done," I muttered to Sally, whose attention was lost on Lorenzo Vellani.
She nodded.
I had no idea when he left, cause I moved to the snack section of the shop.
—---°°—--
I clocked out from the coffee shop late.
The best way to clear my mind was to work.
Cassian's offer kept distracting me, while Lorenzo Vellani's sudden appearance in the coffee shop was badging into my thoughts.
Could everyone just have a mental funeral and fucking let me be?
I exhaled sharply.
Cold air brushed slightly against my bare arm, sending goosebumps all over my skin.
The street lights flickered as the wind picked up violently. I had no idea why I'd forgotten to bring my jacket along.
Lightning stroked the sky as a tiny drop of rain dropped on my skin.
I wrapped my hands over my bare arms, increasing my pace. I made a run for the bus station.
Angrily, the next drops fell—big. Cold. Merciless—it was raining cats and mirrors by the time I got to the bus shelter. I was drenched, cold, and shivering like a dog with no furs.
There was no sign of buses or taxis coming this way.
I cussed under my breath as shivers cascaded down my spine. My hair was wet, tangled, and dripping out on my jeans.
I pulled my hair down so it could dry fast and give me a bit of warmth while I waited for a miracle bus to appear.
A black car slowed down a few distance away from where I stood. Anyone with eyes could tell it was fucking expensive—and expensive cars like that under the rain spelled danger. You could get abducted.
The passenger window slid down. "Need a lift?"
I looked at the man sitting in the back, face anything but welcoming. Tinted glass framed his eyes.
I shook my head.
I wished I could go back to the coffee shop, but that was fucking impossible right now.
Another black car hummed nearby; expensive too, and impossible to ignore.
The car in front of me drove away.
I looked up, wondering if there was a sign above my head that read: I NEED HELP!
The other car rolled its tyres lazily to the empty space.
The window rolled down. "Ayla."
I recognized that voice.
I closed my eyes, expletives rolling off my tongue.
Tf! Was he stalking me?
I checked my wrist watch. The fucking battery either died on me, or rain had done the part.
Slowly, I turned and stared at the sleek black car—polished, unmistakably his—packed in front of where the other car had been. Rain streaked down across the windshield.
Lorenzo Vellani sat behind the wheel, watching me with that irritating, unnerving, and unreadable focus.
"Come in."
I shook my head, feeling the cold rattle my spine as goosebumps appeared on my hands. "No, thanks."
He smiled.
How does he do that?
"You'll get sick standing there. You're soaked."
"Thank you for stating the obvious. Now fuck off!" I slurred. "I'm fine." I lied.
"You're shivering," he persisted, totally ignoring the latter part of what I'd said.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
A not-so-nice smile tugged at his lips. "You should worry about your own problems."
"Great!" I scoffed dismissively and turned away. "I'm not interested in your kind gesture. Take it fucking elsewhere."
He smiled, turned off the ignition, and fucking stepped out of the car into the rain.
Rain drops hit him instantly, soaking his shirt, clinging to every shape line of his body. He didn't seem to care.
He looked tall and slightly brawny.
Really? Sorry. I'm not impressed.
He circled the car, coming to stand at the passenger door.
He opened it, his tone nicer. "Please, come in."
I opened my hands. "What's your problem? Or are you going to claim this bus station as some property of the Vellani? LEAVE. ME. ALONE."
He smiled, closed the door, and stood under the rain. "Okay."
How noble.
After what felt like forever, with the rain showing no signs of slowing down, he opened the door again. "Ayla, it's getting late."
Hell, it was. And why did he care?
"Thought you've got plenty of time to waste. Now you've realized yourself, you can go home," I hissed.
I was stubborn. Men like these just didn't know how much.
He narrowed his eyes at me and spoke more quietly. "Please."
I honestly wanted to say no, but since he made the offer again and my body was freezing out, yeah—I did one thing I thought was sensible. I walked towards the door and got in.
Placing an arm—which felt strangely warm and heavy—on my shoulder, strapped the seatbelt across my body into its place, and closed the door.
My feet still felt sore from trekking from standing for so long.
I'm sorry. Now's not the time to go on my full sassy attitude or Shales Haven style. I needed help to get home, and this rain was against my well-being.
Lorenzo got into the other side of the passenger seat, soaked, breath steady, and turned on the engine.
"I don't want to owe you anything," I said immediately, my jaw fixed.
His eyes flicked to my dripping clothes, then back to my face. "You already do, red prima donna."
"Don't call me that!" My irritation flared. "What do you fucking mean by 'I already do?'"
"That I've worried about you once today," he said quietly, his eyes back on the road. "I don't intend to do it twice."
Another thunder rolled.
I hesitated. "I didn't ask you to. You chose your coin, and I'm not going to pay for it."
He didn't flinch. His jaw clenched with a patience I'm not sure was normal.
"We'll see."
The car suddenly felt hotter and smaller.
Before I had the time to protest, he rolled the car around and drove off.
I showed him the GPS leading to Shales Haven.
He pulled up in front of our residential building. I didn't wait for him to come down—I honestly didn't even want him to step a foot down—opened the door, one hand over my hair, shielding a tiny fraction of me from the rain. I ran to the front porch.
His window slid down. "Nice meeting you, Ayla."
I didn't say a word.
I wanted to say thank you, but my lips didn't work.
He reared the engine to life and drove off.
I turned and walked into the building.