Barbara Wallace - Swept Away by the Tycoon

Chloe’s hand flew to her abdomen. Something about the man’s voice managed to get beneath her skin. He knew it, too; his eyes gleamed with cockiness.

Keeping her head high, she headed to the register, where Aiden waited. “Hey,” she greeted.

“Good morning. May I take your order?”

That was it? Where was the glare? The terse words? The recognition? Surely she was worth some kind of reaction beyond a bland, generic greeting? “About yesterday...”

“Did you want a coffee?” The bland smile didn’t slip. He was, for all intents and purposes, treating her like a complete stranger. As inconsequential as an out-of-state tourist. Punching her in the stomach would have hurt less. “The usual.”

“Which is?”

The cut deepened. Chloe’s eyes started to burn. She quickly blinked. He did not deserve the satisfaction.

“The lady drinks iced peppermint mocha latte.”

Looking over her shoulder, she got a shrug from the slacker. “You know my order?”

“What can I say? Sit here long enough, you hear things.”

“Don’t you mean eavesdrop?”

His lips curled into a crooked smile. “Only on the interesting customers.”

“No offense, but that’s a little creepy.” Even if her stomach did flutter at the idea that she qualified as interesting.

“You say creepy; I say observant. Sort of a potato-potahto kind of thing. I like people watching.”

“Let me guess. You’re a writer.”

“If I am, then literature as we know it is in trouble,” he said, punctuating the remark with a low chuckle.

How on earth did Del and La-roo not notice him sitting there every day? Even as possibly crazy slackers went, the man stood out in a crowd. What, at first glance, looked like street scruff was really very controlled. His hair was shortly cropped, and his not quite red, not quite blond stubble looked more like he simply couldn’t be bothered with pulling out the razor than a lack of grooming. His battered jacket was similarly deceptive. Looking closer, she recognized what had been a very expensive piece of leather that had been worn till the thing molded to his broad shoulders. It reminded her of the basketball sneakers she couldn’t give up even after she could afford better ones.

“See anything you like, Curlilocks?”

Crap. Chloe turned back to the register, hoping she didn’t look too flustered. “I was admiring your jacket.”

His chuckle was low and raspy. “This old thing? I’ve had her for years.”

Her? Much as she knew she shouldn’t, Chloe took the bait. “You gave your jacket a gender?”

“Sure. Why let the big ticket items have all the fun?”

“Interesting point,” she conceded. “I supposed you named her, too.”

“Don’t be silly. That would be crazy.”

As opposed to this whole conversation. Fortunately, Aiden chose that moment to return with her drink. “No need,” he said, when Chloe reached for her wallet. “It’s on the house.”

“Seriously?” Didn’t she feel like a heel now. Maybe she’d misjudged him and yesterday’s situation. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do anything.”

Her smile fell. “You mean you’re not trying to apologize for yesterday?”

“Why should I apologize? I’m not the one who acted like a raving lunatic for no good reason.”

No good reason? Chloe tightened her grip on the cup. He was lucky she didn’t give him a repeat performance. “Who did then?” she asked, forcing herself to step back from the counter before she could give in to impulse.

The barista raised and lowered a shoulder. “Beats me. Note on the register says the next time you came in, your drink was free. Apparently someone appreciates acts of lunacy.”

Chloe took another step back. The only people who knew what had happened were Larissa and Delilah, and as of last night, they’d vowed to boycott the café until “Aiden came to his senses.”

“Must have been one of those random acts of kindness.”

No, it couldn’t be. A glance at the front table showed a definite sparkle in the slacker’s ice-blue eyes.

“Why would someone pick me?” Particularly when she’d been rude to him? Regret stole at her insides.

Slacker leaned back, letting the hood of his sweatshirt become a gray cotton cowl around his neck. “Maybe that someone enjoyed seeing Don Juanista there get his comeuppance. I hear it took a couple hours to get the peppermint smell out of his luscious locks.”

A snort escaped before she could stop herself. Aiden was so vain about his hair.

“Too bad I didn’t snap a photo for the front bulletin board. I’m guessing there’s an awful lot of women who wished they could have seen karma bite ole’ Aiden in the rear.”

“I’m guessing you’re right.” The realization brought back yesterday’s humiliation in force.

Meanwhile, back at the register, Aiden had turned his sights to another woman in line, his grease pencil seconds away from marking his digits at the base of her cup. “Doesn’t look like karma bit all that hard,” Chloe noted.

“Oh, but it will. You just wait. Ten years from now, that suffering musician look will have morphed into a receding hairline and a beer gut. Let’s see how many women want him writing his number on their cup then.”

Chloe swallowed another snort. “You paint an interesting picture.”

“Interesting? Or Satisfying?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

“Then my work here is finished.” Slacker grinned broadly, revealing a row of bright perfect teeth. He had freckles, too, Chloe realized. The slightest dusting across the bridge of his nose, along with a couple of faint scar lines. Rugged, weather-hewn. He’d had a run-in with karma himself, hadn’t he? Did he win or lose? Chloe wasn’t sure why, but she had a feeling he would come out victorious in any battle.

A jostle from behind brought her back to reality. The gathering crowd meant eight-thirty was getting close. “I better get going,” she told him.

“Already? The conversation was just getting interesting. Sure you can’t stick around?”

“Unfortunately, some of us have to work for a living.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced. Man buys her a cup of coffee and she insults him. Insensitive, thy name is Chloe.

“Just as well. I’ve got a meeting myself.”

Chloe didn’t call him on the obvious lie. “Do me a favor and if you see the ‘stranger’ who bought me the coffee, thank him, okay?”

“Sure thing. Enjoy drinking it—this time.”

He winked.

Chloe squeezed her cup. Why’d he have to go and spoil a perfectly pleasant moment with a comment like that? Worse, why did her insides have to tap dance in response?

She’d retort, but the words didn’t want to come out. Snapping her jaw shut, she marched to the door, barely avoiding a collision with a cashmere overcoat as she rushed past.

* * *

Ian Black watched her exit with amusement. Kid was trying so hard not to look flustered. She had swagger, that’s for sure, although Ian had known that long before she’d tipped coffee over the Irish Casanova’s head. The way she strutted in here every morning with her high heels and that long curly hair every morning, as if she owned the damn shop... Bet she walked into the Empire State Building the same way. You had to admire her display of confidence, whether it was real or strictly for show.

Her cacophony of curls blew back from her face as she slipped through the front door, treating him to a glimpse of her tawny-skinned profile, a golden flash amid the early spring gray. For a tall woman, she had surprisingly delicate features. Like a Thoroughbred horse, she was lean and leggy. A damn attractive girl, and the barista was an idiot for not treating her better. Ian had been watching the two of them flirt for weeks, disappointed when he’d heard Aiden say they were “hooking up.” Ian had hoped the swagger meant she knew better. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses. Then again, let he who wasn’t guilty of bad judgment cast the first stone. Sure wouldn’t be him, that’s for certain.