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I start walking, heading away from the subway stop I arrived on. I can’t face that commute, or my apartment right now.
Honestly? I want a drink. But I stop myself. I don’t want to make this more of a thing than it already is. I don’t want to devote any additional time or emotional effort on Declan, who doesn’t deserve either. He’s already ruined so much. I’m not going to let him ruin the rest of my day.
I detour suddenly, as if my feet know where they’re going even if my brain is slow to catch up. There’s a coffee shop tucked just enough away from the majority of the walking masses to be quiet.
I could use some quiet. And a pick-me-up that isn’t a tequila shot.
The door jingles as I enter, and the barista behind the counter looks up from his book.
“Hey, welcome in,” he says, grinning and revealing a twin set of dimples in his cheeks.
I try and fail to return the smile, slumping up to the counter.
“Yikes, you look like a gust of wind would blow you over,” he observes, the dimples vanishing. He’s got dark blond hair, and he looks like he’s about my age, mid- or late-twenties maybe. “Bad day?”
“The worst.” I huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “The worst day you can imagine. That’s the one I’m having.”
“Well, it’s about to get better,” he says brightly, snapping his book shut without even saving his place in it. “Because whatever you’re ordering? It’s my treat. This is where your day turns around, understand?”
It’s such a preposterous proposal that I blurt out a real laugh.
“See?” he prompts. “Laughter already. The clouds are breaking. The sun is shining through. You have a great smile, by the way.”
“Were you a cheerleader in a past life?” I ask, shaking my head. “You’re full of cheer.”
“Full of something,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Can I recommend our lavender latte? Pairs excellently with our chocolate croissant.”
“That sounds really nice,” I admit. “I’ll pay for it though. You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh no, I insist. I’ve already said I’m doing it, so I’m doing it. What’s the name I can misspell on the cup?”
I laugh again, in spite of myself. “It’s Sophie.”
“Perfect. Endless horribly incorrect spellings of Sophie. Ideal. I’m David, by the way.”
“Only one way to spell that, I think.”
“I know. Boring.”
I take a seat, feeling a little lighter, and pull my laptop out of my purse. An unexpected bright point of having brought it with me is that I can hop on some of the job search engines right now and start applying for other things.
I don’t have any new emails—even though I’m still half-hoping to hear from Gigi after all, offering me the job—and I refresh the window I always have open on the marketing jobs newly posted in New York.
The coffee shop has a quaint, cozy atmosphere, and I allow my surroundings to soothe me a little as I tweak yet another version of my resume to fit the requirements of a job I’m thinking of applying to.
David was right. The croissant and the latte are excellent together, and I’m finally feeling a little more energized, ready to shut my laptop and get myself back on the subway, when the door jingles again.
“The usual,” a deep voice says, and I freeze.
No. Fucking. Way.
I can’t escape. I didn’t walk far enough. I’ll never be able to move past this unbelievable period of my life, not ever. Because Declan Wright is in the coffee shop, and his usual order is a simple pour over, and I’m never going to be able to get over him.
I hate his broad shoulders. Hate that I know what his skin feels like underneath my fingers. Loathe just how acutely attracted I still am to him even though he’s an absolute nightmare of a man who cost me my dream job.
And I hate myself a little for ducking under the table and pretending to unplug the laptop I never plugged in as he turns around from the counter. I fumble stupidly with the outlet for a while before miming tying my shoes—even though these pumps certainly don’t come with laces. The entire time, I hate this guy with all of my being, keeping my eyes on his tailored pants and expensive shoes so that he won’t see me.
He probably can’t even see beyond his own ego.
