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“Well, well,” he says, stopping next to the line. “What an entirely small world it is indeed.”
Kaden Williams, with that unmistakably sharp jawline and an effortless rugged exterior that makes women swoon from miles away. It has been a while since I’ve swooned for anyone, and it's almost annoying how easily I start to feel flustered in his presence.
“Kaden,” I say, forcing a friendly smile. “It’s been a while. What brings you to a place like this?”
His smirk is one-sided, the faint peppering of stubble on his face catching in the morning light. His posture is impeccable, which is something I always remembered about him, even through the years of not speaking.
He motions toward a booth behind me. “When you get your coffee, meet me in the back.”
I am not a fan of being subservient to men, so my first response is to tell him to go to hell. But I am curious, so I agree. He moves into the back, and I order my dark roast hazelnut blend.
He sits in the booth, back straight as an arrow, using a toothpick to stir his coffee. When I sit down, I speak assertively.
“I can’t stay long. This is my lunch break.”
Kaden snickers then leans forward onto his palm. His expression is condescending, yet still dangerously handsome.
“How soon we forget,” he mutters.
I cock an eyebrow, holding my coffee close in case I need to flee. I lean forward with narrow eyes, not in the mood to be intimidated in the slightest.
“Do you really think I could forget something like that?” I say in a whisper,
Kaden erupts into a guffaw, his smile unforgettable. He continues to stir his coffee as he shifts his eyes up to me, a confidence in him that he didn’t seem to have lost over the five years of his absence.
“I have to meet a colleague here in a few minutes, Amber. But I wanted to ask you, since fate has brought us together once again. How do you feel about a little debt repayment?”
My knee jerk reaction is once again to tell him off. Instead, I remain still, caught up in those hypnotic blues. It feels almost like old times.
2
KADEN
The morning had started off in an agitated fashion. My receptionist, especially, was in a foul mood after finding a water leak in her apartment that morning before coming to work. I found myself starting to get a headache before the clock even struck nine.
I make a point of having a close relationship with my employees. This includes, of course, the receptionist, the janitor, the person who comes in to water the plants, anyone who plays any role on my team. I see people as people, no matter how much status I have garnered or wealth others assume I have cultivated.
They would assume correctly, of course. I have worked hard to get where I am and without the cushion of nepotism to boot. My grandfather taught me that hard work itself is the only thing you can depend on to pay off, and it lets you gain a little self-respect while you are at it.
But that doesn’t mean I have control over how people see me. My genetics have blessed me with a handsome face: pointed along the edges of my jawline, a strong nose and razor-sharp cheekbones. This makes me naturally intimidating, which is helpful during business meetings, but not so helpful in personal relationships.
I am mindful of my presence and demeanor. I have been working in the business world for years and am keenly aware of both my skills and shortcomings. I work hard on my body, just as hard I work on my career. When I smile, I show off pointed teeth, like a predator searching for prey.
There isn’t much I can do about my appearance. I feel it is important to maintain a clean and neat exterior, but beyond that I am unwilling to change or soften for the comfort of others. This only serves to enhance the overall dominating appearance I give off. It isn’t necessarily intentional as much as unavoidable, but it is what it is.
So I rest in the knowledge that a person’s first impression of me is out of my control. I’ve learned to harness it for good, knowing I can demand respect and portray assertiveness in a way that few people can ignore.
I sit in my office this morning, rubbing the bridge of my nose as my receptionist rambles on about her leak. The headache crawls up my spine, slithering and eventually settling into the base of my neck. She hasn’t had an easy life, so it would be abrupt and unkind to tell her to get back to work. I try my best to find some sympathy for her plight, even if the complaining is beginning to fray my nerves.
“That sounds frustrating, Joan,” I say, gazing down at the documents she placed on my desk earlier. “Give me the name of your maintenance workers in your building, and I will call them promptly.”
I feel her stop at the front of my desk, hands clasped and wringing. I look up and smile, my attempt at bridging the gap and reassuring her I am a man of my word.
“You mean that, Kaden?” she says.
Joan isn’t a young woman, but she is gorgeous without a doubt. I suspect she is the type who had most things in life brought to her by eager suitors and missed the chance to learn how to assert herself otherwise.
I always feel a special pull for those types, knowing I have enough confidence for anyone. I don’t mind sharing it. Besides, I know that my prowess and good looks intimidate her, which likely gets in the way of her asking for anything from me directly. I nod, then return to the documents.
