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I’m not a playboy by any means, but I’ve been told I’m a good-looking guy. I’ve never had a problem drawing the attention of the opposite sex—or in my college days, the same sex. (What can I say? I’m an equal opportunist.) So I’m not really sure what to make of what happened back in the coffee shop with Bree. If it was her or me… Guess there’s only one way to find out.
I pull out my phone and type out a message, then erase it. Then after a few minutes, I glance at the clock and see it’s just after noon, so the coffeehouse is still open. Without second-guessing myself, I let my assistant, Hillary, know I’m leaving for a late lunch and head out of the building with my laptop bag in hand. Since the coffeehouse is several blocks from where Fields Enterprises is located—the headquarters for the investment company I own with my dad and run—I grab a cab. Thank goodness I didn’t walk because we’re not even halfway there when the sky opens and rain covers everything it touches.
I’m checking a few emails on the way when one comes in from Bill, my CFO, informing me of an issue he’s having with a contractor handling one of our renovations. I email him back that I’ll video-call him as soon as I get to where I’m going. When the cab stops, I swipe my card and then dart out into the rain, jumping over the puddles to get inside where it’s dry.
The door chimes as I step inside and glance around, immediately recognizing Bree, whose eyes widen when she realizes who’s just entered. The place is almost empty, save for what looks like a couple sitting in the corner chatting quietly.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at her. “Can I get a coffee and a croissant, please?”
Her brows pucker, no doubt confused as to why I’m asking for food and a beverage instead of discussing our date. Usually, I’m not one to play games with women, but something tells me this particular woman is different, which means I’ll need to handle her differently.
“Sure,” she chokes out.
Once I have my coffee and pastry, I grab a seat at a table and pull my laptop out of my bag, powering it on. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her watching me, but I pretend I don’t notice as I type in my password and click on the video chat.
Bill’s face has just come over the screen when a throat clears. “I’m sorry, but this is a laptop-free coffeehouse,” Bree says, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“A what?” I ask.
“Laptop-free,” she repeats, pointing at a sign sitting atop the table.
This table is laptop-free.
Reading, conversing, and daydreaming are encouraged.
“Hey, Bill, I’ll have to call you back.” Without waiting for him to reply, I hit end on the call and close my laptop. “Is this for real?” I ask, perplexed at the thought that there’s a place in New York City that doesn’t allow one to use their laptop.
“Yep,” she says, unwavering. “You can call your mom, or read a book, or you can people watch… enjoy the quiet.”
Holy shit, this woman is dead fucking serious and so damn adorable. Now that she’s out from behind the counter, I’m able to take her in. She’s sporting a flowy top and skinny jeans. Despite the cute little frilly apron over her front, I can make out every one of her delectable curves. As my gaze ascends, taking in her thick thighs, hips that I’d love to grab ahold of and dig my fingers into, and perfect breasts, I wonder what it would take to get her to bake me some of those delicious brownies in nothing but that apron.
“All right.” I lock eyes with her. “Then let’s talk.”
“What?” she splutters.
“Well, my mom isn’t available, I don’t have a book with me, and if I’m honest, the only person I want to watch is you.” I nod toward the seat in front of me. “So have a seat, and let’s talk.”
“I…” Her eyes dart around, but when she realizes the place is dead and she has no excuse, she sighs and plops into the seat in front of me.
“I’m Brody Fields,” I tell her, figuring it’s best if we start over. Yesterday didn’t exactly go as planned.
“I’m Aubree Heart.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Aubree,” I say, using the name she gave me instead of the one on her name tag.
“You can call me Bree,” she says as a young girl, who looks to be in her teens and wearing a matching apron, comes over and sets a cup of coffee down for her.
“Thank you,” she says to the girl.
I glance over Bree’s shoulder and see the woman from yesterday—Lacey—standing to the side with a wide grin on her face. She winks at me and then disappears behind the wall. Although I don’t know her, I’m almost positive that was her way of saying she approves of me.
