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I sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. A glance at the clock showed I'd been out for a full thirty minutes. It wasn't long, but it was enough to shake off some of the cobwebs of exhaustion and settle my frayed nerves.
After slipping my shoes back on, I headed behind the counter to relieve Rick. He shot me a grateful smile before disappearing into the break room.
As the clock's hands crept toward late afternoon, I felt a surge of relief. The day was almost over, and no alphas had made an appearance. My shoulders relaxed fractionally; perhaps today wouldn't be as bad as I'd feared.
My fingers danced over the espresso machine, an intricate ballet of pushing, pulling, and pouring. The rich aroma of coffee beans permeated the air as I steamed the milk to a silky perfection. Blair slid a ticket across the counter.
“Two lattes to go. Make them pretty, Delcy.”
Nodding, I poured the milk with precision, coaxing it into delicate rosettes atop the caramel-colored crema. The final swirls were a silent testament to my brief escapes into artistry amidst the daily grind. Done, I handed them to Blair who brought them back to me shortly after, the cups now secured in a cardboard carrier.
“Could you deliver them for me?” she asked, her expression apologetic. “Jake's busy with the other deliveries.”
Brewed Dreams offered delivery services to neighboring offices, and usually, when Jake, our other server and primary delivery man, was swamped, it fell to Anna or me to step in. It wasn't so bad. A bit of fresh air and a break from behind the counter were always welcome.
I nodded, taking the carrier from her hands. “Sure thing. What's the address?”
“Sterling Enterprises,” Blair said. “Top floor, Executive Department.”
“Okay, got it,” I said.
The Sterling Enterprises building was only a couple of blocks up from Brewed Dreams—a towering skyscraper that sliced into the sky with sleek lines and mirrored glass. The weight of the coffee carrier was reassuring in my hands as I made my way there.
Inside, the sleek lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers made me acutely aware of my worn, coffee-stained uniform. People in crisp business suits shot me questioning looks as I made my way to the elevators.
My thumb hovered over the button for the top floor. “Here goes nothing,” I said under my breath.
The elevator whisked me up with a gentle hum, depositing me into a reception area that stole my breath away—polished floors reflecting chic furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and artwork that probably cost more than I made in a year.
The receptionist greeted me with a polite smile.
I said, “I have a coffee delivery for Colton S. and Jaxon S.?” My voice lifted at the end, making it sound more like a question.
Her smile widened. “Of course, I'll let them know it's on the way,” she said and then proceeded to direct me toward a large corridor.
“Thanks,” I said.
I turned on my heel and following the directions given to me, I walked down a long hallway flanked by glass-walled offices. Everywhere I looked were men and women in expensive business wear, clearly at the top of their field. I was definitely a fish out of water.
Whispers and curious glances followed me as I searched for my destinations. Realizing I was somewhat disoriented and not wanting to dally any longer for fear that the coffee would cool, I summoned the courage to request directions from a woman who happened to be walking by.
“Their offices are right over there,” she said, gesturing toward a pair of grand double doors across the way.
As I walked through, whispers fluttered around me like moths to a flame.
“Mr. Sterlings got coffee from Brewed Dreams?” one voice commented.
“Surprising they'd patronize Brewed Dreams,” murmured another, suggesting it was beneath them.
“That's not the usual delivery guy,” another voice noted, followed by a hushed, “Isn't that the barista who always wears a mask?” from a woman.
“I believe she's an omega,” her companion murmured back. “We should intercept her before she enters the bosses' suite.”
Feeling indignant, I refused to let my omega status undermine my ability to fulfill a simple delivery. Such absurdity.
As one woman—wearing a pristine frilly white blouse, a snug black pencil skirt, and four-inch heels—started to approach, I feigned obliviousness and made a beeline for one of the doors, my initial stop.
Upon reaching it, I examined the nameplate that read Colton Sterling and was taken aback. The CEO himself had ordered from our modest shop? I noted the adjacent unoccupied reception desk and the approaching woman.
