Swept Away by the Tycoon

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.

“One of these days, I’m going to insist on meeting somewhere less crowded,” Jack Strauss grumbled as he unbuttoned his cashmere coat.

“Excuse me for frequenting my own business.” Ian nodded at the girl behind the register, who immediately moved to get Jack a coffee. “And you’re late.”

“Stop confusing me with one of your employees. Traffic was a bear.”

“Driving wouldn’t be such a problem if you lived in the city.”

“Not everyone can afford the rent.”

“Good grief, you’re a laywer. Of course you can pay the rent.”

“Okay, not everyone can afford your kind of rend. Did I say something funny?” he asked when Ian chuckled.

“Inside joke.” He was wondering what Curlilocks would make of the conversation. She thought he was a bum. The color on her cheeks when she’d made the remark about working betrayed her. He would have corrected her if he didn’t find her mistake so damn amusing. Ian wondered if, when she did find out, he should duck for cover. She looked as if she had quite an arm.

“Must be a good joke, whatever it is. I haven’t seen you smile in a long time.”

Draping his coat along the back of the chair, the silver-haired man sat down in the chair opposite Ian just as his coffee and pastry arrived. He took a large drink, then let out a breath.

“Feeling better?” Ian asked.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that question?”

Yes, he was. Much as Ian wanted to believe Jack’s concern was as much out of friendship as it was obligation as his sponsor, he knew better. “Same as always. One day at a time.

“You’re not...”

He shook his head. “No worries. These days I’m all about the coffee.”

“So I see.” Jack took another sip. “Although you didn’t have to go to such extremes. Most recovering addicts settle for buying cups of coffee, not coffee shops.”

“I’m not most guys in recovery.”

“No kidding. One of these days I expect to walk in here to find you bought a coffee plantation so you can grow your own beans.”

“Don’t think the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Ian never did believe in doing things halfway. Military service, business, alcohol abuse.

Hurting people.

Jack nodded at the stack of stationery by his elbow. “Still writing letters, I see.”

“Told you when we first started meeting, I had a long list.” He ran a hand across the stack. Twenty years of being a rat bastard left a long tail. “Don’t suppose you have those addresses I wanted tracked down?”

“Again, stop confusing me with an employee.”

“Are you planning to bill me for your law firm’s time?”

When Jack’s look said “of course,” Ian stated, “Then technically, you are an employee. Now, do you have the names?”

“I’m beginning to see why your board of directors ousted you. You’re an impatient son of a gun.” The lawyer reached for his briefcase. “My investigator is still trying to locate a few people.” He held up a hand before Ian could comment. “You gave him a pretty long list.”