Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm sliced through the stillness of Curtis Harper's dark, minimalist bedroom. He groaned, rubbed his face, and commanded, "Alexa, stop." Silence returned—clean, mechanical, just how he liked it.
Curtis swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the early gray light catching on the lenses of his thin-framed glasses. He was tall and well built, the kind of physique that came from consistency rather than vanity. His hair—soft brown and always neatly parted—matched his preppy, structured look. Curtis wasn't the kind of man who made noise when he entered a room; his quiet precision did it for him.
He reached for his phone before his eyes were fully open, scanning market updates. A deep breath. A stretch. Then motion. He made his bed with military precision—no wrinkles, no exceptions—then changed into his workout clothes while streaming the latest market stats.
Forty-five minutes of exercise. Shower. Shave. The suit laid out the night before waited neatly on his valet stand.
Breakfast was predictable: toast, yogurt, and fruit. By eight, he was out the door.
Next stop— get a freshly print copy of The Globe, straight to Coppa to get coffee. His one daily indulgence. Then on to KAIA Investment Group, where he was a senior financial analyst.
Curtis was good—brilliant, even—but also private, guarded, and to most of his coworkers, intimidating. He didn't mingle, didn't small talk. Lunch was a quiet affair at his desk. Conversations, if unavoidable, revolved strictly around numbers.
After the market closed, he would prepare for the next day, leave the office, and return to Coppa. Same corner seat. Same crossword. Same order—either a dark roast, a cold brew, or an iced tea with honey. Routine was comfort.
Routine was control.
He lived life to a tee.
Curtis Harper thrived on order. Rules meant safety. Control meant peace. He'd built a wealthy portfolio thanks to lessons from his father, but no one would guess he was rich. His lifestyle was modest; his habits meticulous.
He had hobbies—gaming, crypto, tending his small collection of succulents, playing golf on weekends with his best friend Jonah—but romance? No. Love was chaos, and chaos didn't fit in his planner.
Until today.
He was walking into the Kaia lobby when someone bumped into him—a blur of energy and perfume. Petite, bright-eyed, and clearly in a rush.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she blurted, clutching her coffee before darting into the elevator.
Curtis blinked, brushed his sleeve, and continued on. He didn't think twice—until his boss called him out later that morning.
"Perfect timing! My favorite employee!"
Mr. Rodgers's booming voice carried across the bullpen. Curtis froze as all eyes turned toward him.
Rodgers, a broad man with a mustache and wire-rimmed glasses that made him look strikingly like Teddy Roosevelt, clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't look so alarmed, Harper. I want you to meet someone."
He gestured to the woman beside him. "Everyone, let's welcome our new financial associate, Ms. Nadine Pretz. I hope you'll all make her feel at home."
Curtis's gaze locked on her—the same woman from the elevator.
Nadine smiled brightly as she approached him. She was effortlessly pretty, with sleek black hair that framed her face and eyes full of confidence. She carried herself with a mix of sophistication and warmth, the kind of person who made everyone feel instantly at ease.
"Hi! Nadine," she said, extending her hand.
He hesitated, then took it. "Curtis."
"I think we started off on the wrong foot. Sorry again about earlier—I was terrified of being late. Hope I can make it up to you sometime."
He pulled back his hand awkwardly. "Don't worry about it. Nice to meet you." Then he practically escaped.
Nadine looked confused but not discouraged.
One of the female analysts leaned over to whisper, "Don't take it personally. He's always like that."
Nadine smiled. "Understandable. Maybe next time."
Curtis walked away, but something in him stirred. No one approached him so casually before—especially not someone so…bright. It unsettled him. Intrigued him.
Days passed, and Nadine never failed to greet him. A smile in the hallway. A wave. An invite to join group lunches he always declined. She'd bring extra snacks, remind him of meetings, even tease him lightly. He couldn't fathom why she bothered, yet he noticed her more and more.
No one had ever made him feel seen before.
He caught himself watching her laugh with others—loud, confident, utterly at ease. He wanted to know her but didn't know how.
"Dude, what's up with you?" Jonah asked one weekend as they played video games. Curtis wasn't himself—slower, distracted.
"It's nothing," Curtis muttered. "Just…this girl at work."
Jonah paused the game, wide-eyed. "Wait, a girl? A real one? Holy crap, it finally happened."
Curtis groaned. "It's not like that. She just…bothers me. She's nice. Too nice. Even when I'm being—well—me."
Jonah laughed. "You're totally lovestruck."
"Shut up." Curtis blushed, glaring at the TV. "I just…want to change a little, I guess."
"Then do it," Jonah said. "Read some books, take a class. You've improved everything else in your life—why not yourself?"
So Curtis tried. Self-improvement books, social skills workshops, mindfulness apps. But applying it to real life was a disaster. His words came out awkward. His smiles felt forced. The more he tried, the more distant he felt from Nadine.
And he hated it—losing control.
Night after night, he sat at Coppa, staring blankly at his crossword while the barista refilled his drink. The same ritual, the same precision—but now, something inside him was quietly unraveling. He can't get a grasp the reason why was he not getting the result he wants when he follows everything religuously.
He was no longer thinking about numbers. He was thinking about her.
Or at least…he thought he was.