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CHAPTER1
ANA
I takeone last wistful glance at the cozy coffee shop that has been my sanctuary for the past five years. Despite the pink “Caffeine Fix” sign flickering above the door, the once lively hub of downtown NYC is now empty, its customers enticed away by corporate giants.
Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts may have won the coffee war, but I refuse to let them crush my spirit.
Today, I must put my dreams of latte art and homemade pastries on hold. I have an interview at Sanders International, the epitome of everything that drove me out of business. Talk about diving headfirst into the enemy's territory.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I could use a steady paycheck right now.
I tug on my suit jacket, straightening the collar, and walk the few blocks to the sleek high-rise that houses Sanders International. The building stands tall, its glass windows reflecting the vibrant chaos of the city. As I step inside, I'm hit with a wave of cold air, an ironic contrast to the steamy warmth of my former coffee shop.
The elevator whisks me upward, and my nervous energy amplifies with each passing floor. By the time the doors slide open on the 99th floor, my heart is pounding like I just ran a marathon.
I face a sleek reception desk, manned by a chic woman with her phone glued to her ear. She gestures for me to sit and continues her conversation in hushed tones.
I glance around the stylish, minimalist waiting area, where pristine white walls showcase modern art pieces. The sound of clacking heels draws my attention, and I watch as a door on the far side opens. Out steps a walking, talking God, his face a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. A hint of arrogance radiates from his every pore.
I catch my breath, momentarily stunned by the magnetic force he exudes. Brando Sanders, the CEO of this energy infrastructure empire, walks toward me with purpose. His suit, tailored to perfection to accentuate his masculine form, clings to him like it's afraid to let go.
Our eyes meet, and a live wire shoots between us. Sparks, undeniable and electrifying, crackle in the air. I can't help but blush, mentally cursing my traitorous body for betraying my resentment with attraction.
Brando approaches, extending his hand with a confident smile. “Ana, I presume?” His deep and velvety voice evokes a symphony of sensations.
My heart fluttering, I shake off my stupor and stand, reaching out to take his hand. He's taller than I expected. I'm not used to men towering over me, especially when I wear heels, but Brando is the exception. “Yes, that's me. Ana Layne.”
He releases my hand, leaving it cold and empty. But the memory of his touch lingers. “Pleasure to meet you, Ana. I've heard great things about your coffee shop.”
I raise an eyebrow, surprised that he even knows about it. “Well, not great enough. Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts swooped in and sucked away my customers.”
Brando chuckles, a low, rich sound that resonates in my chest. “Ah, the giants of the coffee world. They can be relentless, can't they?”
I glare at him, crossing my arms. “Relentless, heartless, and with pockets deeper than the Mariana Trench.”
He grins, a playful glint in his eyes. “I can't deny that I have deep pockets too, but I'd like to think I also have a heart.”
“Does it come with cream and sugar?” I retort, unable to resist the temptation.
He leans against the reception desk, his expression lighting up with amusement. “Well, Ana, that depends. Are you bitter like black coffee or sweet like a caramel macchiato?”
I smirk, playfully tapping a finger against my chin. “Oh, Mr. Sanders, I'm a delightful mix of bitter and sweet. Just like the perfect espresso shot.”
His eyes sparkle with amusement, his lips twitching in a half-smile. “I must say, that's an intriguing combination. I like that you are not afraid to speak your mind.”
I step back, adopting a mock-serious tone. “I'm afraid my filter was lost in a tragic espresso machine accident.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Please, call me Brando.”
As he gestures toward his impressive office, I follow him inside, my eyes widening at the breathtaking view of the city skyline. The towering skyscrapers seem like distant giants from this height, and the hustle and bustle of downtown is only a low hum.
He takes a seat behind a sleek, modern desk, motioning for me to sit across from him. I settle into the plush chair, feeling both intimidated and exhilarated by the surroundings.
Brando Sanders is a heartthrob. His well-toned body is rippling from his suit, his black hair is sprinkled with silver strands. Golden sunlight plays across his hair, casting a halo of radiance around him. Heat I was not expecting spreads from my core. A dark curl falls over his forehead, and I’m yearning to touch it.
What in the world is wrong with me?
I avert my gaze. There is no way I’m going to allow myself to think about him in this way, no matter how stirringly gorgeous he is. I hate what he and his kind stand for in corporate America.
