Emily Lane didn't just fetch coffee. She secured caffeine with the precision of a trained operative. When your boss was Tiana Kings, the queen of Diamonds, mistakes weren't tolerated—they were erased. Permanently.
At 6:53 a.m., Emily stepped into Café Alchemy, the only place in Manhattan that brewed the rare Guatemalan Reserve with almond milk steamed exactly to 135 degrees. That was Tiana's order.
And there it was—written on the chalkboard menu in ominous white:
"Guatemalan Reserve – LAST BATCH"
Emily tensed. There were five people ahead of her. She rehearsed her line in her head. Fast, clear, confident.
She reached the counter just as the barista, a tall guy with a sleepy ponytail and AirPods in one ear, greeted her with a yawn.
"One medium Guatemalan Reserve. Almond milk. Steamed to 135 degrees," she said quickly.
He nodded and turned to prep it.
And then it happened.
A hand slid onto the counter beside hers—clean, manicured, holding a sleek black credit card. A voice followed. Deep, confident, and infuriatingly smooth.
"I'll take the last Guatemalan. Black."
Emily turned sharply. The man was tall, with tailored charcoal slacks and a navy wool coat dusted with snowflakes. His tousled chestnut hair looked artfully careless, and his eyes were a cool, unreadable hazel.
She blinked. "Excuse me. That's my order."
He smiled politely. "You didn't pay yet."
"I was about to."
"Well," he said with a shrug, "I guess I was faster."
Emily narrowed her eyes. "Are you seriously hijacking my coffee?"
"I'm not hijacking anything. I'm buying it."
"I ordered it."
He tilted his head. "No payment, no confirmation. Isn't that how it works?"
The barista froze mid-pour, caught between them like a referee before a brawl. "Uh... should I...?"
"No," Emily snapped. "This is for my boss. She needs that coffee."
"Must be important."
"She's the CEO of Diamonds."
The man raised his brows. "Tiana Kings?"
Emily stiffened. "Yes."
He nodded slowly. "That tracks, but I'm the Nathan Woods."
Emily frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Just that only someone like Tiana would send someone like you to war over coffee."
Her eyes narrowed. "Someone like me?"
"You know—intense. Overachieving. Adorably overcaffeinated."
Emily felt her pulse spike. "I'm not adorable. I'm terrifying."
He smiled wider. "Even better."
She groaned. "Look, buddy, I don't have time for this. Just give me the cup."
He held up a finger. "Let's make this fair."
She stared.
"Flip a coin. Heads, it's yours. Tails, it's mine."
Emily crossed her arms. "You have a coin?"
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled one out—of course he did.
"Call it."
"Heads."
He flipped. It danced in the air and landed on his palm.
Tails.
He grinned. "Sorry. Fate's cruel."
"Fate can go to hell," she muttered.
He nodded at the barista. "Thanks. Keep the change."
He picked up the cup, turned to leave, and glanced back.
"You should try the Ethiopian roast. Almost as good."
"Almost doesn't cut it," she said as the door swung shut behind him.
**********
Twenty-five minutes and three cancelled Uber orders later, Emily returned to the Diamonds HQ with a backup coffee from a lesser café. It wasn't the Guatemalan Reserve, but it was close. Close enough to maybe survive the day.
Tiana was in the showroom, surrounded by fabrics and fuming over a late shipment from Milan. When Emily stepped in, she turned with a stare so sharp it could slice silk.
"That took long," Tiana said flatly.
Emily held out the coffee. "Long story. There was a—situation."
Tiana took a sip, paused, and raised a perfectly arched brow.
"This isn't from Alchemy."
"They ran out," Emily said quickly. "I tried—"
Tiana waved a hand. "Just don't make it a pattern."
Emily blinked. That was... merciful.
She turned to leave when Tiana spoke again. "What situation?"
Emily hesitated, then turned back. "Some arrogant guy swooped in and stole the last cup. Said his name was Nathan Woods."
Tiana slowly turned, coffee cup paused at her lips.
"Nathan Woods?"
"Yeah. Said it like I should've known who he was."
"You should," Tiana muttered. "He's CEO of Nathan's Fashion Corporation. He's been trying to position his brand as a 'tech-forward rival' to Diamonds. And failing."
Emily's eyes widened. "That Nathan?"
"Unfortunately."
"He was smug. And weirdly charming. In an infuriating way."
Tiana smirked. "That sounds like him."
"I hate him."
"You'll probably see him again."
"I really hate him."
**********
Emily Lane sat at her desk, staring blankly at her screen.
Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, unmoving, while the blinking cursor mocked her—taunting her for the last forty-five minutes. An invoice needed approving. A showroom appointment required rescheduling. A package from Milan was delayed, and there was an email from a makeup artist about the wrong shade of crimson lipstick being sent to the Harper's Bazaar shoot.
And yet…
All she could think about was Nathan Woods.
The nerve. The audacity. The ridiculous confidence.
He'd swept in, snatched the last cup of coffee like he had every right to it, and somehow walked away without her decking him on the spot. Worse—he smiled while doing it. Like it was a game. Like she was part of his morning amusement.
"What kind of man walks around stealing women's coffee?" she muttered aloud, tapping her pen against her notepad.
"You okay?" called Marla, one of the interns, from across the office.
Emily blinked. "Yeah. Just... caffeine withdrawal flashbacks."
Marla shrugged and returned to folding lookbooks.
Emily turned back to her screen, forcing her mind onto the logistics spreadsheet—but instead of the rows of numbers and timelines, she saw Nathan's smug smile.
"Emily Lane," he had said, like he'd been thinking about her. Like she was a riddle he wanted to solve.
That should've irritated her. It did irritate her. Except... it didn't.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. She hated this feeling. This jittery, off-balance flutter in her stomach like someone had hit the wrong button on a sewing machine. It wasn't love. Or even attraction. It was pure, unfiltered disruption.
You don't have time for this, she scolded herself. You work for Tiana Kings. You manage chaos. You don't get flustered by men who play coffee roulette.
And yet, there it was—this stubborn little heat in her chest, bubbling up every time she thought about his hazel eyes.
Emily had always prided herself on her control. When she applied for the job at Diamonds, she beat out two Ivy League candidates and one girl who'd interned for Anna Wintour. She could schedule a campaign launch in her sleep and had personally saved two runway shows from complete disaster by duct-taping a model into a gown seconds before curtain call.
But this?
This was different.
Nathan had cracked her armor in five minutes—without even trying.
And that was the most infuriating part.
She leaned forward and scribbled on her notepad in all caps:
STAY. FOCUSED.
Then she underlined it five times.
Her phone buzzed.
Text from Tiana:
Confirm with makeup team. I want soft gold and amber palettes for the Paris preview. Also—anything new on Mr. Coffee Thief?
Emily snorted.
She typed back:
Nothing yet. Will confirm makeup and try to stay armed.
Tiana replied with a simple:
Good girl.
Emily shook her head, amused.
But the truth was—she had thought about him. All afternoon. Nathan Woods wasn't just some fashion CEO with a smirk and good hair. He was... something else. He disrupted her rhythm. And for a woman like Emily Lane—whose whole life was built on timing and control—that was dangerous.
She stood up, suddenly restless.