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“You know I’m not good at delegating,” I finally said, frowning as I broke eye contact and returned my attention to the report I’d pulled up on my laptop screen the minute we’d left my apartment.
Paul made a snorting sound that was probably an aborted laugh, but I ignored him… for all of two more minutes. Then, when I became aware that he’d not only stopped the car but cut the engine, I glanced up again, my brow furrowing in confusion. I’d suffered through enough business trips to know that with traffic, we had at least another forty minutes before we reached La Guardia. Stop-and-start traffic was a fact of life in the city, but turning the car off…?
“I also know that you’re no good for anything without caffeine,” Paul said, winking at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m going to save us both some grief by running in and grabbing you a coffee, sir. And feel free to remember my initiative when you’re signing Christmas bonus checks this year.”
“Fine,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the audacity.
No sense letting on that I was okay with that kind of initiative in my employees. I had to admit that he was right, though. And since I’d spent the first five minutes of our drive bitching about the malfunctioning espresso machine in my apartment, I sincerely appreciated the gesture.
I also trusted him enough to be sure he wouldn’t have stopped if he wasn’t completely confident we had time for it. Paul knew my priorities, and work was always the highest one.
I glanced out the window at the familiar green coffee house logo as Paul opened the driver’s-side door, then did a double-take when I saw a slim, too-pretty boy slip inside the coffee shop. I only caught his profile for a hot second, but I’d stared at that delicious little ass for long enough the week before to have memorized it… something my right hand and private fantasies could both attest to.
It was the busboy Jackie had been rude to. I’d swear on it.
“Paul, hold up,” I said, reaching for my own door handle and letting my laptop slide onto the seat next to me.
“Sir?” he asked, a look of confusion on his face when I stepped out of the back of the town car.
“Stay with the car,” I told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll grab the coffee myself.”
His mouth dropped open in surprise, then he schooled his expression and folded his hands behind his back. “Are you sure, sir?”
I wasn’t used to being questioned by the people who worked for me, but again, even if friendship hadn’t been a factor, Paul’s loyalty and years of service had earned him a certain amount of leeway.
That didn’t mean I was inclined to actually explain myself, though.
“I’m sure,” I said, biting back a grin at the very faint snort of disbelief I heard behind me when I turned and headed inside.
Paul really did know me too well, but no matter. Although I’d honestly intended to avoid La Vigneta and never see the pretty little busboy again, the temptation to do so now that he had, figuratively speaking, fallen right into my lap was just too great. Besides, maybe it wasn’t even him.
Liar, my conscience whispered as I made my way inside.
Fuck off, I told my conscience as I scanned the interior of the bustling building and finally caught sight of the boy standing in line up near the counter.
I got in line behind him, three other patrons between us, and tried to convince myself that all I was going to do was enjoy the view and then go on my way. I did have a plane to catch, after all.
Then I frowned as my eyes traveled over his slim form from behind. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was wearing the simple white button-down and black slacks that had comprised his uniform at La Vigneta, but unlike when I’d seen him working, now, he looked… slightly unkempt.
There was no good reason for him to be wearing his work uniform this early in the morning. I knew for a fact that La Vigneta didn’t open until the lunch hour, and even though it was totally unwarranted, an ugly twist of jealousy tightened my gut at the idea that the boy grabbing a morning coffee here might be part of his walk of shame after warming some other man’s bed last night.
Not to mention that he’d said he was only eighteen years old. Shouldn’t he be in school? It was Monday morning.
He reached the counter, glancing furtively around him before leaning in to say something I couldn’t hear to the barista. She cocked her head to the side, looking him up and down, then shook her head. They exchanged a few more words masked by the sound of whirring coffee grinders and general rumble of conversation around me, then my boy’s shoulders slumped in obvious defeat, and he turned away from the counter without—as far as I could tell—having placed an order.
My heart gave an unexpected stutter. He had his head down, heading for the exit behind me, but he was just as pretty as I remembered, and he still had that same indefinable quality that made it impossible for me to look away. But then I frowned. Unlike the last time I’d seen him, this morning, his appearance was marred by dark circles under his eyes and a look of quiet desperation on his face that I didn’t like at all.
Which should have been irrelevant, since whatever was distressing him wasn’t my business.
I’d already decided to stay away from him when I’d stormed out of La Vigneta last week.
I had no time to get involved in anything. I had a plane to catch.
I stepped out of line anyway, reaching out to stop him as he passed, and his big blue eyes jerked up to meet mine when I wrapped a hand around his slim but surprisingly firm bicep, widening in shock.
My God, he was beautiful. Not just pretty, but beautiful.
And quite clearly upset.
