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Bubbles immediately appear like he’s texting back furiously.
With who?
Evie
I decide to leave it at that, especially if he’s drunk and emotional.
Just Evie?
Jesus Christ.
Goodnight, Elliot.
I add an eye-rolling emoji.
Don’t stop for coffee on Monday.
I send him a thumbs up and lock my phone as my stomach churns like the roaring sea during a hurricane. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to conceal my smile. I’m practically kicking my feet over the fact that Elliot drunk-textedme. Of all people, he was thinking of me. Just like that night at the bar.
When I lift my head, I find Evie staring straight at me with an all-knowing grin plastered across her face. She without a doubt read our entire conversation.
“Like I said,” she hums. “He. Is. Going. To. Lose. His. Shit.”
Yeah, he definitely is.
I arriveat the office Monday morning to find a fresh cup of coffee sitting on my desk.
My breath hitches as my heart begins to pick up speed.
I reach down, grab the cup, and read the order label.
Vanilla latte with oat milk and cinnamon.
He remembered.
Elliot remembered my exact coffee order from when we had breakfast at Betsy’s weeks ago.
Iinhale a deep breath, trying to slow my heart rate. My fingers feel sweaty against the paper cup.
This doesn't mean anything, right?Managers order coffee for their employees all the time to show their appreciation.
Except Elliot isn't your typical boss. He doesn't casually do nice things like remember people's coffee orders.
I can try to downplay it all I want but deep down, I know that this is more than an appreciation coffee. I imagine Elliot pacing back and forth in his condo this morning, running his hand through his hair as he tries to work up the courage to bring me a coffee. It most likely took him weeks of thinking about it before he finally decided to do it.
The thought of Elliot spending his free time thinking about me has the blood beneath my cheeks heating.
My head snaps to the right as the scent of whiskey and leather surrounds me. Elliot walks through the door of his office with a briefcase in his left hand.
My God.He looks so fucking good.
I don’t ever remember him looking this good.
His golden hair is longer, one single curl flopping over his forehead. His expensive slacks hug his thighs as his long legs stride effortlessly toward me. His full lips tilt up in a devious smile when he catches me blatantly staring. When his hypnotic eyes meet mine, he flashes me a devastating wink that almost brings me to my knees.
“Morning, Roxanne.” His tone is low and seductive as he walks past me.
“Morning,” I smile.
