Chapter 1 – Coffee, Chaos, and a Cold CEO
The morning started the same way it always did — with disaster.
Clara Evans stood in line at the café, clutching her nearly empty wallet and praying her old debit card wouldn't reject her again. She'd already dropped her toast, stepped on it, and spilled milk on her shirt. If the universe was keeping score, it was definitely winning.
"Next!" the barista called.
She stepped forward, ordered the cheapest coffee possible, and smiled awkwardly at the man behind her who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a business magazine — sharp suit, perfect tie, eyes like ice. He didn't smile back. Of course he didn't. Men like that didn't smile at women like her.
As she fumbled with her card, the machine beeped. Declined.
Clara's heart sank. "Oh, no, no, no, don't do this to me."
The man behind her sighed audibly. "Some of us have meetings, you know."
She spun around, glaring. "Some of us are having a rough day, Mr. Impatient."
He raised an eyebrow, cool and detached. "Then perhaps plan your rough days somewhere other than a public queue."
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me—?"
Before she could finish, the barista spoke again. "Miss, are you paying or—?"
"I'll pay," the man said flatly, already sliding his card. "Just move along."
Clara blinked. "Wait—what? You don't have to—"
"It's faster this way." His tone was bored, like she was a problem he wanted to delete.
She scowled. "You know, most people say you're welcome when someone thanks them."
He didn't even look at her. "You didn't thank me."
"I was about to!"
"Then you're welcome," he said, without a hint of emotion, and walked away with his black coffee.
Clara stared after him, torn between gratitude and wanting to throw her cup at his perfect head. "Unbelievable," she muttered. "Who raised you? A robot?"
—
Two hours later, she realized fate wasn't done laughing at her.
Her best friend, Mia, had begged her to drop off a file at some corporate office downtown. "It's just a quick favor," Mia had said. "Ten minutes tops."
Clara pushed open the glass doors of Blackwood Global, awed by the sheer elegance of it. Polished marble. Security guards. Suits everywhere. Definitely not her usual habitat.
She walked to the front desk. "Hi! I'm here to deliver a file for—"
"Ms. Evans," the receptionist interrupted politely, "Mr. Blackwood will see you now."
Clara froze. "Who?"
"Mr. Ethan Blackwood." The woman smiled. "Top floor."
A cold chill ran down Clara's spine. Wait. That name sounded familiar.
The elevator doors opened, and the man from the café turned around — immaculate suit, cold eyes, same disapproving expression. Her heart nearly stopped.
"Oh no," she whispered.
Ethan Blackwood's gaze flicked to her. For a moment, he seemed mildly surprised. Then that emotionless mask returned.
"You," he said simply.
"Me," Clara said weakly, holding up the file. "Delivery service. Please don't fire me from… whatever this is."
He studied her for a long moment, then turned away. "Come in."
She followed, muttering under her breath, "Next time I help a friend, I'm charging danger pay."
He glanced over his shoulder. "I heard that."
Clara straightened, cheeks red. "Good. Maybe you'll tip better next time."
For the first time, a ghost of amusement flickered in his icy eyes.
It vanished as quickly as it came.
As the door shut behind them, she had no idea that this was only the beginning — and that this cold, impossible man would soon turn her life upside down in ways she couldn't yet imagine.