ARIA
Monday morning felt like I was moving through wet cement. I'd spent the weekend trying to be strong for my dad, but watching him get weaker had carved a hollow, scared space inside me. This morning, just helping him sip somen water had left me dizzy. I could feel it my blood sugar was a rollercoaster already, and the day had barely started.
The drive to The Grind was a blur. I gripped the steering wheel, focusing on the road, trying to ignore the way my vision swam a little. Just get through the shift, I chanted in my head. Make the coffee. Smile. Be a robot.
I'd made myself a promise after my cemetery breakdown... be nice. To everyone, but especially to Him. Dalton Gray. I couldn't afford to lose this job. Not now.
When I walked in, Lena took one look at me and her smile faded. "Aria? You okay? You're white as a sheet."
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a brightness I didn't feel. "Just my diabetes acting up a little. It'll pass."
Ben chimed in, "You sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Even Mel, our usually stressed manager, paused. "Maybe you should sit in the back for ten minutes."
"I'm good, I promise," I insisted, tying my apron with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else. Their concern was nice, but it just made me feel more fragile. I couldn't be fragile. Fragile things break. I carried through my routine as I normally do even though my body was screaming at me to give it a break today.
At ten I was already looking at the door waiting for him.
And then the door opened, and the air in the room changed.
He walked in. Dalton Gray. Same impeccable suit, same aura of power that made everyone straighten up. But today was different. His eyes found me immediately, and they didn't sweep over me with their usual cold dismissal. They stayed. He was studying me, his gaze intense and curious, like I was a complicated graph he was trying to read.
What the fuck is his deal? My heart hammered against my ribs. Had he forgiven me for last week? Or was he just planning a new, more creative way to destroy me?
Remembering my promise, I put on my best professional face. "Good morning, Mr. Gray. Your usual?"
He just gave a slow, single nod, his eyes still locked on mine. "Yes."
My hands trembled as I prepared his double espresso. I could feel his stare on my back, a physical weight. I placed the cup on the counter. "Here you are."
He picked it up, his fingers carefully avoiding mine. "Thank you," he said, his voice not warm, but… neutral. It wasn't the biting cold I was used to.
It was the most civil interaction we'd ever had.
He paid, leaving his usual ridiculously large tip, and went to his usual table. But he didn't pull out his phone or a tablet. He just sat there, sipping his coffee and watching me. His expression was unreadable, but it wasn't angry. It was… focused. It was deeply, deeply unsettling.
I tried to ignore him, focusing on other customers, wiping down counters, but my body was betraying me. A fine sweat broke out on my forehead, and a dull headache began to pound behind my eyes. I was feeling weaker by the minute, my body screaming for the insulin I couldn't afford to buy. I just had to make it to 3 p.m.
When he finally stood to leave, I felt a wave of relief so strong I almost sagged against the counter. I hadn't had the energy to fight today. I'd survived.
The clock hit three. My shift was over. I barely said goodbye to Lena and Ben, my only goal to get to my car, to sit down, to rest.The straight to my dad.
I always parked my beat-up old car at the far end of the lot, where it wouldn't offend the shiny BMWs and Audis belonging to the rich customers. Today, the walk felt like a mile. I was clutching my keys, my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I was so focused on not passing out that I didn't see the solid wall of a man until I walked right into him.
Oof.
I bounced off a hard chest, and a very familiar, expensive cologne filled my senses. My stomach dropped.
I looked up into the icy blue eyes of Dalton Gray.
My face flushed with heat and embarrassment. "I
I'm so sorry," I stammered, looking away quickly. I glanced across the street and saw the huge, gleaming building with "GRAY HOLDINGS" in bold letters. Of course. He was probably waiting for his driver after work.
"Look at me when you're talking," he said, his voice low.
The audacity! I forced my eyes back to his, a flicker of my old fire sparking through the weakness. "I apologized. It was an accident."
I tried to step around him, but his hand shot out, not rough, but firm, wrapping around my upper arm. His touch was like an electric shock.
"What is wrong with you?" he asked, his gaze scanning my pale face. "You look like you're about to fall over."
The concern in his voice was so unexpected it threw me off balance more than the low blood sugar. "It's none of your business," I said, trying to pull my arm back. He didn't let go. "Let me go. I'm not in the mood to argue with you today."
"I asked you a simple question," he said, his tone shifting from concerned to irritated. "I'm not in the mood to argue, either. Why do you look like this?"
"Like what? Tired? Poor?" I shot back, yanking my arm free. "I'm fine. I don't want or need your help."
I started walking towards my car, my legs feeling like jelly.
"You shouldn't be driving in this state!" he called after me, his voice sharp with frustration.
"I'M FUCKING FINE!" I yelled over my shoulder, not stopping.
I fumbled with the keys, my vision blurring, and finally got the door open. I slid into the driver's seat, locked the doors, and started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot probably faster than I should have.
My heart was pounding. Why was he so interested all of a sudden? Why did he care if I was driving? The thought of him offering me a ride home sent a fresh wave of horror through me. That would have been a disaster. People like Dalton Gray looked down on people like me. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how weak I really was, or, God forbid, seeing the tiny, struggling house I lived in.
Not today, Satan, I thought, gripping the wheel.
But as I drove, my mind kept betraying me. It replayed the moment I'd bumped into him. How solid and hard his chest had felt. How incredibly good he smelled like sandalwood and crisp, clean money. How his eyes, up close, weren't just cold but they were ocean blue and very intense up close.
He was so… hot It was ridiculous. And I, Aria Davis, broke and barely functioning, had a huge, embarrassing, mortifying crush on the most arrogant man I had ever met.
I groaned, resting my head against the steering wheel at a red light. This was a complication I absolutely, positively did not need.
Besides he would never want anything to do with someone like me.
He hates me. Actually he scratch that, he hates everyone.