DALTON
The espresso machine screams like a dying animal.
I barely flinch, but she does.
From my usual corner table the one with perfect sightlines and minimal human interference I watch as the girl jerks at the sound. Aria. The name clings to her like a stubborn scent: bold, sharp, hard to ignore.
Her name tag hangs crooked on her chest today, half-tucked into the apron like even inanimate objects have given up on her. Her ponytail is messy, curls escaping, haloing her face in chaotic defiance.
The café's manager, some balding man with a permanent scowl and a well ironed shirt, hovers behind her like a bloodhound sniffing weakness. One more mistake and she's out.
I should want that.
Hell, I do want that.
So why the hell am I still sitting here?
Why did I cancel a meeting this morning, just to plant myself here like some obsessed stalker?
She moves stiffly like a marionette with half its strings cut. Her motions are sharp but disconnected, robotic. Fill cup. Steam milk. Pour shot. But her hands tremble. Barely, but enough for me to notice. Enough for the latte to spill over the rim as she hands it off.
When she reaches for another cup, her sleeve rides up slightly. Just enough to reveal a thin silver band on her wrist not jewelry. A medical bracelet.
Interesting.
"Mr. Gray?"
Elaine, my assistant, has mastered the art of interrupting without actually interrupting. She appears at my elbow with a crisp file in hand, her tone unreadable. "Your 10:30 is waiting at the office."
I don't take my eyes off the scene behind the counter. Aria has just dropped a metal milk frothing jug, and the clatter makes half the room turn. The manager mutters something and storms toward her.
"Reschedule," I say flatly.
Elaine blinks once. "Sir?"
I never reschedule.
My gaze flicks to the corner where Aria stands shoulders tensed, eyes wide, lips pressed together in a grim line.
"That girl," I murmur, tilting my chin toward her.
Elaine follows my gaze. "The barista?"
"The disaster," I correct, lips curling. "Find out who she is."
"You want a background check on a barista?"
"No," I say slowly. "Just her name. Employment file. Surface level. I'm not a creep." I pause, then smirk. "Yet."
Elaine, used to my sarcasm, doesn't flinch. "Any particular reason?"
"She's afraid."
It comes out before I mean to admit it even to myself. But it's true. The tremor in her fingers. The way her eyes flick to the clock like she's counting down to something dreadful. The way she checks her phone every five minutes as if expecting the worst.
This isn't just poor performance infact I have observed herand I can say she is very hardworking but she is distracted most of the time. It's fear.
Elaine clears her throat. "Should I… ask the manager?"
"Just figure it out." I wave her off.
There's a crack in this girl. A fracture. I can see it from here.
And I've always had a knack for pulling things apart figuring out what makes them tick.
But she's not just another broken thing. She's angry. I saw it yesterday, that flash in her eyes when she dared talk back to me. It had surprised me. No one does that anymore not employees, not shareholders, not board members.
But she did.
And now, she's unraveling.
Just then, she fumbles another order, splashing coffee down the front of her apron. The manager explodes loud enough for the entire café to hear.
"Damn it, Aria! You're on your last warning!"
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't argue. Doesn't cry.
She just nods, tight-lipped, and keeps working.
The bell above the door jingles as a mother drags in a toddler and orders an impossible drink. Aria's hands start shaking again, this time enough to drop a cup lid.
That's when I rise.
Elaine, startled, takes a step back. "Are we leaving?"
"Apparently," I mutter.
I walk past the line and make a deliberate turn toward her station. Close enough that she either steps back or risks brushing against me.
She chooses to step back, but not like someone afraid. Her jaw tightens. Her breath hitches but in anger, not fear.
I like that.
"See you tomorrow, Aria," I say, voice low and cool, like a warning cloaked in politeness.
Her spine straightens. "Can't wait."
The sarcasm is like sugar on acid. It bites.
I leave without another word, ignoring Elaine's questioning glance as we head to the car.
Back at the office, I stare at a profit-loss report without seeing a single number.
That damn girl. That medical bracelet. Those trembling fingers.
"Find out what's wrong with her," I tell Elaine later.
She arches an eyebrow. "You said just a name and file."
"I changed my mind."
Of course I did.
Because puzzles don't ask to be solved. They just show up. And some part of me twisted, stubborn, obsessive needs to know why she's spiraling.
And maybe… if I'm being honest with myself…
why I can't look away.
I never confirmed If she was my old driver's daughter as I had initially thought the first day we had met. There's something about her that reminds me of that sad young girl I met years ago in the funeral. I decided to let it go...for now.
It became a routine.
Everyday I came in. Everyday I demanded something just unreasonable enough to make her jaw clench.
A cappuccino with foam exactly 1.5 inches thick
A latte with the espresso poured after milk.
A chai tea with precisly seven cinnamon sprinkles...The list is endless and unreasonable.
She complies but her eyes burn with quiet fury. Exactly what I look for in her.
Today I push further.
Aria is at the register, dark circles unde her eyes. When she sees me her shoulders tensed. Good.
"You know my order by now." I say leaning on the counter. "Shouldn't you have it ready?"
Her grip on the cup tightens. I Have other customers Mr. Gray
A muscle jumps in her cheek, but she turns and start with my drink...extra violently.
The manager glares at her. I smirk.
A week in I change tactics.
"Actually I want tea", I say as she hands me the coffee.
Her finger freezes."what?"
"You heard me"
"But you..." she cuts her self off, breathing hard. "Fine"
She remakes it her hands shaking now, not from fear but from rage. When she slams the cup down, tea sloshes over the rim.
"You are terrible at this" I say holding her gaze.
Something flashes in her eyes...hurt. Buried deep under anger. For a second I almost regret it.
Then she smiles sweet as poison. "And you are a terrible customer. Yet here we are."
The cafe goes silent.
No one and I mean no one ever speaks to me like that. Yet she has done it a number of times since our first encounter.
I should get her fired. Ruin her.
Instead I laugh.
As I head out I promise to see her tomorrow and she mutters something I didn't catch. Probably an insult.
This is one of the most interesting puzzles I have solved.