Dalton
The café smelled different this morning. Less burnt espresso, more boredom.
I stepped inside out of habit, barely glancing at the other patrons. My usual table was unoccupied perfect. I headed straight there, but something was off. No familiar flash of long dark curls behind the counter. No sideways glare. No tension rippling through the air like it had the last few days.
I scanned the room again.
Nothing.
Aria wasn't here.
I told myself it didn't matter.
I told myself she was just a passing distraction a temporary curiosity like a strange painting you pause to examine before walking away.
I told myself that as I stood at the counter and ordered the same thing I always did.
The girl behind the register smiled a little too wide. "Triple shot Americano, no cream, extra hot, right Mr. Gray?"
I nodded. "Is Aria not working today?"
There. I'd asked. Too casual to sound interested. Not casual enough not to be obvious.
The girl blinked. "Oh. Um she had a family emergency."
Family emergency?
The words dug into me like a thorn.
She didn't look like she had anyone. The way she kept checking her phone, the way she moved like her body weighed more than it should like she was dragging grief behind he it wasn't for some extended family reunion.
"Do you know when she'll be back?"
The barista shook her head. "No clue. Manager just said she called in last night and might be out a couple days."
I gave a curt nod and stepped back to wait for my coffee, annoyance simmering beneath the surface.
A couple days.
I shouldn't care. Employees come and go. This one happened to have a sharp tongue and haunted eyes nothing more.
Still, when I walked out without my usual mental spark the back-and-forth, the eye-rolls, the tension I felt....unsatisfied. And I didn't like it
Back at the office, I tore into the morning agenda like it had personally insulted me.
"Why is the quarterly report still missing projections from the Milan branch?" I snapped across the table.
Ben, the CFO, paled. "We were waiting on final shipping invoices..."
"Then find out why the invoices are late. Or do I need to replace someone there to make that happen?"
Silence.
I sat back, letting the room choke on the tension. Power was about discomfort. Whoever was willing to hold the silence the longest always won.
After the meeting, I stalked into my office. Elaine was already waiting, tablet in hand.
"Don't hover," I muttered, brushing past her.
"You asked for updates."
I grunted. "Fine. What's going on with the proposal for the Eastside acquisition?"
She started rattling off numbers, projections, timelines. I listened. I didn't hear.
All I could picture was Aria snapping at me from behind that counter, her cheeks flushed, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.
She should've been annoying. Insignificant.
Instead, she was stuck in my head like a damn song I couldn't delete.
"Still no update on her?" I asked abruptly.
Elaine paused. "You mean the barista?"
I shot her a look.
Her lips twitched in that knowing way I hated. "Still working on it. I got the manager to confirm her name's Aria Davis, but the employment file only has a phone number and emergency contact. I'm trying to trace more from her social footprint, but she keeps it minimal. Quiet profile."
"Figures," I muttered.
Elaine raised an eyebrow. "You want me to keep digging?"
I hesitated.
Did I?
She was just a girl. Just a barista. There was no logical reason to be… concerned.
But logic didn't explain the ache behind my eyes or the tension in my jaw since this morning.
"Keep digging," I said. "Quietly."
Elaine nodded and left the room.
Later that afternoon, I drove myself to the hospital.
It wasn't typical. Normally, I sent my associate to negotiate the charity wing upgrades or check in on my mother's endowment. But today, I needed to move. Think. Control something.
I met with the board of directors in the private wing. We discussed funding allocations. Renovation delays. The usual administrative circus.
I was cold. Efficient. Brutal, even.
When one of the directors tried to suggest reallocating money from the children's oncology ward to VIP surgical suites, I shut it down with a single glare.
"We don't profit from PR. We profit from respect," I said sharply. "If you want another seat on this board, I can find one. Otherwise, watch what you suggest."
The man paled. "Of course, Mr. Gray."
Satisfied, I left them to their spreadsheets and excuses.
In the hallway, my footsteps echoed like accusations.
I caught my reflection in the glass wall. Impeccably dressed. Composed. Controlled.
And empty.
There was something off today. Not just irritation or stress. A pressure building under my skin, like a storm about to break.
It has nothing to do with her.
I repeated that like a mantra.
Except it probably had everything to do with her.
With the fact that I didn't get to see her today.
With the way I didn't get my morning duel. My tiny burst of chaos wrapped in sarcasm and cinnamon freckles.
And it made me angry not just at her, but at myself.
I didn't have time for this. Not for distractions. Not for puzzles that didn't fit into my clean, curated life.
That night, back in my penthouse, I poured myself a drink I didn't want and stood at the window, staring at the city's glittering skyline.
It should've brought peace. It usually did.
Instead, my mind wandered.
What kind of family emergency? Was it a parent? A sibling? A boyfriend?
Why did I care?
Why the hell did I care?
I took out my phone, scrolled through emails, opened Aria's name in the employee report Elaine had sent earlier.
Aria Davis.
Age: 24.
Emergency contact: John Davis.
Same last name. Father, probably.
And something tugged at the back of my memory. Faint. Blurry.
"Davis…" I murmured to myself.
No. Couldn't be.
My dad's driver.
That was years ago. A lifetime ago.
Still, I clicked the name. Nothing else listed.
No address. No photo ID. No digital trail.
She was a ghost with fire in her voice.
And that, somehow, made her more dangerous than any rival CEO.
I set my glass down, untouched.
And for the first time in years maybe ever I didn't feel in control.