Lucien Pembroke owned half the city, but he couldn't figure out why the little woman behind the counter was glaring at him like he'd personally insulted her ancestors.
"Let me get this straight," Lior said, one hand on her hip, "you want a triple shot espresso with oat milk, but not too much foam, add vanilla but make it sugar-free, extra hot but not scalding, in a large cup but only fill it three-quarters full?" She raised an eyebrow. "Are you always this unnecessarily complicated, or is today special?"
No one had spoken to him like that in... ever. Most people either cowered or fawned. This little woman just looked annoyed.
Lucien's jaw tightened slightly. How dare she speak to him with such insolence? Did she have any idea who she was addressing?
"That's exactly right," he said, his voice cool with barely contained irritation.
"Coming right up," she replied with professional efficiency, though her tone suggested she found his order as ridiculous as her expression implied.
Lucien watched her move behind the counter with practiced movements, noting how she prepared his order with obvious competence despite her attitude. She was petite, maybe five-foot-four in her worn sneakers, with the kind of natural beauty that didn't need enhancement. Her green eyes flashed with irritation as she worked the espresso machine.
The coffee shop buzzed with the usual morning rush of medical students and hospital staff from the nearby university campus. Steam hissed from machines as conversations blended into a comfortable hum. But Lucien found himself focused entirely on the impertinent barista who had the audacity to mock his preferences.
"Triple shot espresso, oat milk, sugar-free vanilla, extra hot but not scalding, large cup three-quarters full," she announced, sliding the cup across the counter. "That'll be four-fifty."
He handed her a hundred-dollar bill, studying her face. There was intelligence in those green eyes, and something else. Pride, perhaps. The kind of stubborn pride that came from working for everything you had.
"Thank you," she said, handing him his change with the same professional courtesy she'd shown other customers.
"Keep it," he said curtly.
Her expression shifted, and for a moment he thought he saw offense flash across her features. "That's not necessary."
She held out the money. "Thank you, but I'll pass."
The refusal caught him off guard. People didn't refuse his money. Ever. They certainly didn't hand it back with that particular expression of polite distaste.
For a moment, they stared at each other across the counter, her green eyes meeting his steel-gray ones with unwavering directness. Then she turned to the next customer as if he'd ceased to exist.
Dismissed. By a coffee shop employee.
Lucien felt his temper flare, but before he could respond, the customer behind him cleared his throat impatiently. The moment had passed, and continuing the confrontation would draw more attention than he wanted.
He pocketed the change and left without another word, but the taste of the perfectly prepared coffee was overshadowed by his irritation at the little woman's impertinence.
Outside, Marcus fell into step beside him as they walked toward the waiting car. "How was the coffee, sir?"
"Adequate," Lucien replied tersely, though they both knew it had been excellent.
As they drove toward the Sterling-Pembroke building, Lucien found himself annoyed by how the barista's words echoed in his mind. 'Are you always this unnecessarily complicated, or is today special?' The casual disrespect should have been beneath his notice, yet it lingered like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"Sir?" Marcus's voice cut through his thoughts. "The Chen-Nakamura representatives will be here at ten-thirty."
The merger. Right. The fifty-billion-dollar deal that would cement Sterling-Pembroke's position as the dominant force in international commerce. The deal that required a wife he didn't have and a stability he'd never needed before.
Lucien pushed the coffee shop incident from his mind and focused on more important matters. He had an empire to run and a merger to complete. He didn't have time to waste thinking about insolent baristas who didn't know their place.
Three blocks away, in the cramped apartment she shared with her best friend Maya, Lior Atheria was trying very hard not to think about the strange man who'd left a ninety-five-dollar tip for a five-dollar coffee.
"You're doing that thing again," Maya said, not looking up from her pharmacology textbook. "The thing where you stare at nothing and chew your bottom lip."
"I'm not doing anything." Lior turned back to her own studying, but the words on the page might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. Her mind kept drifting back to steel-gray eyes and the way he'd said her name. Like he was tasting it.
"Uh-huh." Maya finally looked up, her dark eyes skeptical. "Was it about the hospital bill again?"
The question hit like a physical blow. Lior's pen stilled on her notebook as reality crashed back down around her. The hospital bill. Her mother's cancer treatment. The surgery scheduled for next month that insurance would only partially cover.
Eighty thousand dollars. That's what stood between her mother and proper treatment. Eighty thousand dollars she didn't have and couldn't borrow, not with her student loans already crushing her under their weight.
"I'll figure it out," she said automatically.
"Lior." Maya's voice gentled. "You're already working double shifts at the coffee shop and tutoring on weekends. There aren't enough hours in the day for you to earn that kind of money before the surgery."
"Then I'll find more hours." The words came out sharper than intended. Lior softened her tone. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help."
"Have you considered..." Maya hesitated. "Maybe your father would..."
"No." The word came out like a gunshot. "Absolutely not."
Maya held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Just... maybe there are other options. Grants, medical programs, something."
Lior had already exhausted every grant, every program, every possible avenue of assistance. The brutal truth was that her mother needed surgery, and surgery cost money. Money she didn't have.
"I should get ready for my evening shift," she said, closing her textbook with more force than necessary.
"You just got back from your morning shift."
"Yeah, well, medical school doesn't pay for itself." Lior gathered her books, shoving them into her worn backpack. "I'll be back around eleven."
The coffee shop was different in the evening. Gone were the rushed medical students and hospital staff, replaced by a quieter crowd of people settling in with laptops and books. The lighting was warmer, more intimate, and the pace slower.
Lior preferred the morning rush. The chaos kept her mind occupied, left no room for dwelling on problems she couldn't solve. Evening shifts gave her too much time to think.
She was wiping down tables when her phone buzzed with a text from her mother.
"How did your exam go today, sweetheart?"
Lior stared at the message, her throat tight. Her mother always asked about school, always showed interest in her studies, even from her hospital bed. Even when she was the one who needed care and attention.
"Aced it," she typed back. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better. Don't worry about me. Focus on your studies."
If only it were that simple. If only she could compartmentalize her life into neat little boxes: school, work, family, problems. But everything was tangled together, each thread pulling at the others until she felt like she might unravel completely.
The bell above the door chimed, and Lior looked up to see a man in an expensive suit scanning the shop. He was older, maybe late thirties, with the kind of polished appearance that screamed money and power. His eyes found her immediately.
"Are you Lior?" he asked, approaching the counter.
Wariness crept up her spine. "Depends who's asking."
"My name is Marcus Sterling. I work for someone who'd like to speak with you."
"If this is about the health department complaint, I already told them the espresso machine was making that noise because..."
"It's not about the coffee shop." Marcus's expression remained carefully neutral. "My employer would d like to offer you an opportunity."
The man from this morning. The one with the complicated coffee order. What could he possibly want with her?
"What kind of opportunity?" she asked suspiciously.
"The kind best discussed in private. Are you free after your shift?"
Every instinct screamed at her to say no. Nothing good ever came from mysterious job offers delivered by men in expensive suits. But was in need of money, and desperate people did desperate things.
"I get off at ten," she heard herself say.
Marcus nodded and handed her a business card. "There's a car waiting outside. The driver will take you to Mr. Pembroke when you're ready."
"And if I decide I'm not interested?"
"Then the driver will take you home, and you'll never hear from us again." Marcus straightened his already perfect tie. "But I think you'll find Mr. Pembroke's offer... compelling."
After he left, Lior stared at the business card. Heavy cardstock, elegant font, minimal text: Marcus Sterling, Chief of Staff, Pembroke Conglomerate.
She pulled out her phone and googled the company name. Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the results. Pembroke Conglomerate was massive, with interests in everything from technology to real estate to international shipping. The kind of company that made billions, not millions.
And Lucien Pembroke was its CEO.
A few more searches revealed photos of him at charity galas and business functions, always impeccably dressed, always surrounded by beautiful women in designer gowns. He looked exactly like what he was: old money, serious power, the kind of man who owned buildings instead of renting apartments.
The kind of man who definitely didn't need coffee shop baristas for anything legitimate.
But as closing time approached and Lior found herself walking toward the sleek black car waiting outside, she realized legitimate wasn't really the point. The point was eighty thousand dollars and a mother who needed surgery and a future that hung in the balance.
The driver was professionally silent as they wound through the city toward the financial district. Lior watched the buildings grow taller and more impressive, each one a monument to the kind of wealth she'd only ever seen from the outside.
They stopped in front of a glass tower that seemed to pierce the sky itself. Pembroke's logo gleamed from the top floors, visible even in the darkness.
"Top floor," the driver said, speaking for the first time. "Mr. Pembroke is waiting."
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless. Lior checked her reflection in the polished doors, suddenly conscious of her coffee-stained uniform and tired appearance. Whatever Lucien Pembroke wanted, she was definitely underdressed for it.
The elevator opened directly into an apartment that belonged in a magazine. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city spread out below like a glittering carpet. The furniture was modern and expensive, all clean lines and neutral colors that probably cost more than her annual tuition.
"Miss Atheria." Marcus appeared from a side room. "Mr. Pembroke will be with you shortly. Can I get you anything? Coffee, perhaps?"
The irony wasn't lost on her. "I'm good, thanks."
She walked to the windows, drawn by the view. From up here, the city looked manageable, orderly. All the chaos and struggle of street level reduced to pretty lights and geometric patterns.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
Lior turned to find Lucien Pembroke watching her from the entrance to what must have been his study. He'd changed from his morning suit into dark jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The casual clothes should have made him seem more approachable, but somehow they only emphasized his lean strength and the predatory grace with which he moved.
"It's certainly... high up," she said.
"Among other things." He moved to pour himself a drink from a crystal decanter. "Would you like something? Wine, perhaps?"
"I'm good." She crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt in the vast space. "Your assistant said you had an offer for me."
"Straight to business. I like that." Lucien took a sip of what looked like whiskey, studying her over the rim of his glass. "Tell me about your mother's medical situation."
The question hit her like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"Your mother. She's currently at St. Mary's Hospital, scheduled for surgery next month. Pancreatic cancer, if my information is correct."
Lior felt the blood drain from her face. "How do you... you had me investigated?"
"I had you researched. There's a difference." Lucien's tone remained conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. "I make it a point to know who I'm dealing with."
"Well, congratulations. Now what do you want?"
"I need partnership"
"Why?"
"Because we can help each other."
Lior laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Right. A billionaire CEO wants to help a broke medical student out of the goodness of his heart. Forgive me if I'm skeptical."
"You should be skeptical. Skepticism will serve you well in this conversation." Lucien set down his glass and moved closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "I don't do anything out of goodness, Miss Atheria. I do things because they benefit me."
"And how exactly would helping me benefit you?"
"I need a wife."
The words hung in the air between them like a challenge. Lior blinked, certain she'd misheard.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I need a wife," he repeated, as calmly as if he'd said he needed a new tie. "Specifically, I need to be married within the next three weeks."
"And you thought of me because...?"
"Because you're perfect for what I need. You're intelligent and attractive. You also need money badly."
Lior's head was spinning.
"A contract marriage. Eighteen months, purely business. You'd receive enough money to cover your mother's treatment and your medical school expenses, plus a substantial bonus for your time and discretion."
"You're insane."
Lucien's eyes never left her face. "This is a business proposition, nothing more. You provide me with the appearance of stability, and I provide you with the financial security your family needs."
"And what makes you think I'd even consider something so..."
"Desperate?" he supplied softly. "Because you are desperate, Miss Atheria."
The truth of his words stung because they were accurate. She was desperate. Desperate enough to be standing in a billionaire's penthouse at ten-thirty at night, listening to the most insane proposition of her life.
"How much money are we talking about?" she heard herself ask.