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I’m fine. Just needed to study more. Tonight?
I hold my breath, sucking in my bottom lip. There are no immediate floating bubbles but a second later, it says read. Tracey jabs me in the side as she hands me a receipt. “What’s got you all messed up?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, not wanting to explain the distraction that has taken over my entire morning. Not that they don’t know. The silver-haired fox that strolls through this building in billion-dollar suits, wearing that deviant smile is a force to be reckoned with. He always has butterflies flitting through my stomach and my cock hard in my pants. Endless fantasies take me away from this part-time job and my less-than-perfect life and place me in his arms where everything’s okay.
It’ll never happen. My checks are barely enough for groceries, school, and saving up for repairs. If I get off too late, I have to sleep in my car. The shelters always fill up early and by that time, I’m too tired to peruse for another place to lay my head, not to mention that the bus doesn’t run late and my car can’t ever make it more than a few miles without dying on me.
Raphael, on the other hand, could snap his fingers and have a feast that’s more than my monthly wages or point to a car in a catalog and ask for it to be billed to his card. He’s probably not that rich but it weighs on my conscience what everyone will say when they find out about us.
“Atlas here is waiting for Grandpa to come get his coffee,” Gerald jokes.
“He’s not that old!” Tracey comes to my defense but only because she’s one of the ones that calls Raphael, Daddy Pierce. Even though I said it yesterday morning, I can’t imagine actually calling him Daddy. Totally not my thing.
I sigh, not wanting to fight. I only have two more hours of my shift before school starts and I still need to find a place to shower. The gym down the street has banned me without a membership and I can’t afford the $30 a month to get in. There’s a hotel that I could wash up in and also a gym one floor up that’s attached to the lounge where I first met Raphael. It’s for employees and I work in this building, so that has to account for something, right?
“Leave the boy alone,” Heather states as she strolls in and squeezes my shoulder as I fix up another espresso, throw a dollop of whipped cream, and call out the name on the cup. “That grandpa that he’s lusting after owns the goddamn building. If I were you, I’d be jealous of the fact that he always asks for Atlas’ cup of coffee when he comes.”
I frown. “He does not.”
Heather snorts as she makes her rounds behind the counter. “No, but he has said on multiple occasions that he needs it perfect and we all know that you make your coffees with an extra bit of love.”
My expression sours. Is that really why Raphael started asking for my coffee? He’s never mentioned it. Just said that I make a good cup, not that that’s the reason he kept coming in here until it sparked an actual conversation.
“No, sweetheart, that’s not a bad thing. In fact, I’m impressed. If we were one of the big chains, I might have fired you but our recipes are more guidelines than they are rules. However, I’m not stupid enough to keep him away from the coffee he keeps coming in here for.” Heather winks as she checks to make sure that we have everything we need before disappearing into the kitchen with Gerald.
It warms my heart that Raphael enjoys the extra bit of love I put in his coffee. It was never for him, just something I do to brighten everyone’s day—a flavor that adds a little spark and brings a bigger smile to their face.
“Would you quit daydreaming, lover boy?” Gerald muses as a tray is shoved to me. “Here’s the sandwiches for table 10.”
Tracey butts in. “You’re going to table 10? Great! Take these.”
Two iced coffees are added to the tray and my shoulders fall at the fact that I’ll no longer be safe behind the counter. The moment I step out onto the floor, everyone always needs something. More napkins, a refill, milk, etc. I generally love helping them but not today. Today, I’m dying on my feet and the moment I get to sleep, I’ll pass out. Maneuvering through the small line that has amassed during the breakfast rush, I head toward the back, groaning when I smash into someone exiting the bathroom.
Cold coffee splashes down my face and soaks into my shirt as I stand there with the tray over my face. I lower it and the groan deepens as I realize that it’s Raphael emerging from the bathroom. He’s completely unscathed by my mistake as my body goes numb. For the second time in two days, I stand there looking like an idiot in front of the man I love.
“Sorry…” I whisper, wanting to cry. My fingers grip the tray a little harder, tight enough that Raphael has to pry it from my grip.
“Atlas, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“It’s fine. Did any get on you? Sir?” I add the last word, trying to be respectful but forget that that’s one of the words that has Raphael’s gaze darkening. “Mr. Pierce?” That doesn’t help the situation either as Raphael places the tray on a nearby table before guiding me out of the café. Each step is combined with the squish of wet coffee beneath my shoes, the cold starting to seep into my skin. It isn’t until he pulls me into the elevator that he draws a handkerchief from his coat pocket and begins wiping off my face.
“Atlas, what’s going on? I was worried about you last night.”
Oh. “I’m fine. Just more studying and I lost track of time and fell asleep. Really. Promise. Did you know-”
Raphael cuts me off with a tender kiss, the random fact about tree frogs dying on my tongue. He absolutely does not need to know that the smallest tree frog is less than an inch long. I keep my body angled away from his so that I don’t get his clothes wet, Raphael breaking the kiss seconds later. “It’s alright, little one. We’ll get you all cleaned up and then you can tell me what’s going on.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. I’ll word vomit all my thoughts and then Raphael will decide I’m not worth the trouble or see the logic in my reasoning and let me go.
Chapter 4
RAPHAEL
Atlas looks like a drowned rat, a pitiful ball of cuteness but I bite the laugh threatening to slip out. He keeps throwing me glances beneath those gorgeously long eyelashes as he fidgets with his fingers. Atlas shivers, his gaze frantically looking around the elevator before his eyes glaze over with tears. “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
He cringes at my question just as I slip off my jacket to wrap around his shoulders. “You’re not mad at me?”
I always think this thing between us is perfect until I stumble upon moments like this, moments when Atlas treats me like a boss rather than a lover. Does he think I’m going to fire him for a mistake? When he takes another step back just as the elevator dings open, I know this isn’t a conversation that’s going to be solved in a few moments. “Atlas, look at me.” I stand in the entryway so that the door doesn’t close, Atlas shuffling into the hallway outside of the lounge. It takes him a few moments to meet my gaze. “I’m not mad at you for an accident. I merely thought changing out of those clothes would be better for you.”
