Elena's pov
I stared at my inbox like it might suddenly disappear.
> Congratulations, Ms. Reyes. We're thrilled to welcome you aboard Wolfe & Co. Marketing as a Junior Strategist. Please report Monday at 9 a.m.
I screamed. Internally.
Outwardly, I just sat frozen on my hostel bed in London with my hand over my mouth, heart pounding.
I actually got it.
I was moving here. I had a job. In one of the top companies in the UK.
And the person who'd interviewed me—who'd comforted me mid-flight, who I accidentally drooled on during turbulence—was also going to be… my boss.
Or so he claimed.
Zayden Wolfe. Head of marketing.
God, even his name sounded expensive.
I shut my laptop with a shaky exhale and checked my phone. Still nothing from him. Not that he owed me anything—we weren't friends. I mean, sure, I fell asleep on him twice. And maybe I bandaged his hand with a rainbow unicorn plaster. And maybe, just maybe, he'd looked at me like I wasn't just another applicant.
But that was probably in my head.
Just then, my phone buzzed.
> Zayden Wolfe: "Congrats. Knew you'd get it."
My heart did a weird leap.
> Me: "Thanks! You didn't seem so sure yesterday 😏"
> Zayden: "I was trying to look intimidating. Did it work?"
I laughed aloud.
And then another message popped up:
> Zayden: "I owe you a welcome coffee. Wolfe Café, tomorrow? 10?"
---
Wolfe Café was a corner nook tucked inside the company's first floor, all glass, matte wood, and low jazz. Everything smelled like roasted perfection and cinnamon.
Zayden was already there when I walked in—casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he hadn't even tried.
He looked good. Too good. Like he didn't know what it meant to have a bad day.
"Hey," he said, standing as I approached. "Glad you came."
"Free coffee? I'd show up even if you were secretly the CEO." I smirked.
He stiffened—just slightly—and then recovered with a chuckle.
"Please don't spread dangerous rumors like that," he teased, handing me a latte with a little heart in the foam.
I stared at it.
"You remembered my order?"
"Of course." He took a sip of his espresso like it was nothing. "You had the same one on the flight."
Why did that make my stomach flutter?
We chatted—about marketing, London, favorite takeout food. He was smart, low-key, and unexpectedly funny. But beneath his charm, something lingered.
Like he was always measuring his words. Keeping a part of himself locked up.
And the weirdest part?
He looked nervous.
Like he wanted to say something—but couldn't.
---
We stepped outside when we finished, the wind light, the sky a perfect grey-blue.
"Well," I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "thank you again. For… everything."
"Hey," he said softly, catching my gaze. "Elena?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you came to Wolfe & Co." His voice dropped. "I'm really… glad."
Our eyes locked.
And for one second—just one—his hand brushed mine.
Not by accident.
Just lightly. Deliberately.
And then he stepped back, clearing his throat. "See you Monday."
He turned and walked off into the glass building, back straight, hands in his pockets.
Leaving me there… heart stammering