Damien Vane didn't move. He stood at the counter of The Daily Grind, the expensive aroma of his unpurchased Americano mocking him. In his world, women didn't say "next" to him. They didn't look at him with eyes as cold as a Siberian winter.
"Is there a problem, sir?" Chloe asked, her voice light, almost bored. She was already busy frothing milk for a regular customer, her movements precise and confident.
Damien's jaw tightened. "I don't think you realize who I am."
"I realize you're a customer without a wallet," Chloe replied without looking up. "In Manhattan, that makes you a pedestrian. Now, if you'll excuse me, some of us actually have to work for a living."
A few people in the line snickered. Damien felt a flush of genuine embarrassment—a sensation he hadn't felt since prep school. He grabbed his designer sunglasses, slid them on, and turned on his heel.
"You'll regret that," he muttered, though it sounded weak even to his own ears.
Chloe didn't even blink. No, Damien, she thought, watching his retreating back through the glass door. The only thing I regret is wasting two years of my life being your doormat. This time, I'm the one wiping my boots.
***
The lunch rush faded, but Chloe's heart started to race as the clock ticked toward 1:45 PM.
She remembered this afternoon vividly. In her previous life, she had been crying in the breakroom because she'd spilled hot milk on her hand. That was when Arthur Sterling, the titan of Sterling Global Holdings, had walked in.
He was a good man, one of the few in New York's shark-infested waters. But in thirty minutes, a waitress—bribed by his rivals—was supposed to "accidentally" trip, spill coffee on him, and then accuse him of groping her in the ensuing chaos. The "Me-Too" scandal would destroy his reputation and tank his stock by 40% by the closing bell.
Not if I can help it.
At exactly 1:58 PM, the door opened. Arthur Sterling walked in, looking tired, his gray eyes focused on his phone. He was followed by a younger, shifty-looking girl—the new hire, Bella.
Chloe saw Bella gripping a tray of scalding hot lattes, her knuckles white. She was positioning herself right in Sterling's path.
"Bella, wait!" Chloe called out, her voice sharp.
Bella flinched, startled. "What? I'm busy, Chloe!"
"Your apron string is untied. You're going to trip," Chloe said, walking over with a calm smile.
As Chloe bent down to "fix" the perfectly fine apron string, she effectively blocked Bella's path. Arthur Sterling walked past them, blissfully unaware of the trap. He took a seat at a corner table, opening his laptop.
Bella hissed under her breath, "Get off me! You ruined it!"
"Ruined what, Bella? A messy floor?" Chloe looked her straight in the eye, her gaze piercing. "Or a messy lawsuit? Go back to the kitchen. I'll take Mr. Sterling's order."
Before Bella could protest, Chloe spun around and headed toward the billionaire's table.
Arthur Sterling didn't look up as she approached. "Just a black coffee. Quick."
"Mr. Sterling," Chloe said softly, leaning in just enough so her voice wouldn't carry. "The coffee is coming. But if I were you, I'd check the cloud-sync on your private tablet. Your assistant just 'leaked' your 2 PM meeting location to a freelance journalist named Miller. He's waiting in the black sedan across the street with a long-lens camera."
Sterling froze. His head snapped up, his gray eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you? And how do you know my name?"
Chloe smiled—the professional, polished smile of a woman who knew exactly what she was worth.
"I'm just the girl who makes the best espresso in the city," she said, placing a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. "And I'm also the girl who hates to see a good man get blindsided by a cheap trick. Check your tablet, sir. You have two minutes before the 'accident' was supposed to happen."
Sterling hesitated, then swiped his tablet. His face went pale, then turned a dark, furious red. He saw the outgoing messages. He saw the trap.
He looked at Chloe, really looking at her this time. He didn't see a waitress. He saw a lifeline.
"Why tell me?" he whispered.
"Because," Chloe said, standing tall. "In New York, information is the only currency that matters. And I'm looking to make an investment."
She walked away before he could say another word. As she reached the counter, she saw the black sedan across the street speed away.
Arthur Sterling stood up, closed his laptop, and walked toward the exit. But before he left, he stopped at the counter. He didn't leave a tip in the jar. Instead, he slid a thick, embossed business card across the marble toward Chloe.
"Call the number on the back," Sterling said, his voice low and commanding. "Tonight. My private line. Don't be late."
Chloe tucked the card into her apron pocket. Across the room, Sarah and Marcus were staring at her in shock.
One billionaire down, Chloe thought, her blood humming with adrenaline. One more to go.