by SR Jones
The best thing about it, though, is my favorite blonde barista. Although blonde is a tame description for what her hair really is with its layers of brown, honey blonde, lighter blonde, and red tones. I think it’s natural too. I’ve watched her mess with it, running her fingers through it and tossing it about, for me to believe it isn’t colored. No telltale lines of re-growth at all. She’s simply got the most fucking stunning hair I’ve ever seen. Damn, I could watch her all day. In fact, I’m going to go and watch her now.
I push away from my desk, grab my tailor-made suit jacket, and sling it over my shoulder. Coffee beckons me.
“I’m heading out,” I tell my assistant as I pass her desk out in the corridor.
“Okay, Sir,” she says with a smile. She’s a gorgeous young woman, but I give her a brief, professional smile in return and carry on my way.
I learned my lesson long ago, and I never, ever fuck my staff anymore. Not that you can so easily get away with such things here in the UK these days. The place is laxer than some other countries, but a company director screwing the secretary? That’s not the look or reputation I want.
When I reach the coffee shop, I smile when I see the blonde barista is working.
I know her name now, Cassie.
We’ve enjoyed quite a few chats, Cassie and I, nothing major, but enough that we’re friendly and greet one another, and on certain days end up talking for a while. In some ways, I know more about Cassie than I do my current girlfriend, Liza Soames, Instagram model, influencer extraordinaire, and pain in the ass.
Liza is about be an ex-girlfriend because to be quite honest, I can’t stand her. Normally, I don’t care whether I like the women I fuck. I don’t fuck them for their personalities, but for their looks, bodies, and ability and willingness to be creative in the sack. Ever since getting to know Cassie, though, Liza has grated on me. I think I’d fuck Cassie even though I know she wouldn’t be up for me gagging with her own panties while I fucked her. Cassie would probably find that abhorrent, and somehow, instead of it seeming boring, it only turns me onto her more.
She’s not … pure. I don’t want pure anyway, or virginal or any of those things. Cassie isn’t that, but she’s sunny. She’s gorgeous in the truest sense of the word. I want to eat her up, the same way I eat up those cakes she serves.
Things I know about Cassie:
Cassie loves dogs, and one day she wants a Golden Retriever, but she can’t have one now because she lives in a small apartment.
She loves reading, and not any old stuff; I’ve seen her reading heavy shit. She’s currently reading Stalingrad, translated into English for the first time, and that’s a hefty tome.
She’s super smart, and has a degree in computer science and Information Technology, and is only working the coffee shop until she lands a full-time job.
Cassie isn’t crazy on coffee, funnily enough, and only has one or two cups a day, preferring tea, and mostly iced, peach tea.
She’s into dancing, and the girl has a heart of fucking gold. Cassie takes her elderly neighbor ballroom dancing every Thursday night. She also visits her grandparents every weekend. I bet she bakes apple fucking pie and takes them to the food bank.
Cassie has a deep and abiding fear of wasps and bees, and it’s almost comical to see her zig and zag with her arms full of coffee cups as she dances out of their way on sunny days.
All she knows about me is that I’m a wealthy businessman, and I too love to read, I hate dancing and, in fact, can’t do it—which she says is rubbish, everyone can, I just need to try, and I love coffee. Oh, and yeah, I told her I love dogs too, which I do.
Cassie doesn’t know that I’m personally responsible for the movement of most of the weapons into the Western seaboard of the US. Or that whilst most of my business in London is legit, my business in Russia, the US, as well as South America and untold other places, is anything but. London is a front and an insurance policy in one. I’ve built up enough earnings from it that I don’t need the other shit, which makes it easier to walk away completely from the illegal side, if ever things get too hot.
Cassie is busy bussing a few of the tables that are outside. I slow my steps so I can watch her curvy figure as she moves. There’s something about her that makes my mouth water. In a world of Instagram and Tinder perfect women who all look eerily the same, she’s different. Her hair is often a tangled mess, her makeup is subtle, or some days nonexistent. Her body is divine, but not in the gym honed, plastic surgery enhanced way of so many of the women I fuck these days. No, my little barista is all natural.
As I approach, my ears prick at the conversation she’s having with a customer.
“You look amazing, though,” the other woman is saying.
“Honestly, just walking, dancing, and sporadic yoga. I don’t do anything else. I can’t be bothered. I hate the gym. I walk all the time, though. I walk to and from work. I walk to go meet friends, and I walk home after a night out. It’s so accessible and easy. Unless the weather is bad, I don’t bother with public transport or a cab.”
She ought to be careful who she tells these details to. There are a lot of predators around, and discussing your daily walking routine, loudly, isn’t smart. I know all about predators, being one myself. Except, I don’t prey on vulnerable women; where’s the fun in that? My targets are other predators, those like me. There’s nothing more satisfying than bringing down some big game, metaphorically speaking. Cassie is a gazelle, and there’s no thrill felling one of those.
She glances up, sees me, and flashes me a grin. God, her smile. It really is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. It lights her whole face and is just pure joy.
“Hey, Konstantin,” she says.
She’s one of the very few people to use my first name. I gave it her one day when she asked for my name to write on my cup when I grabbed a rare takeout, and now she uses it freely. It never fails to give me a thrill, mostly because when she says it I imagine her gasping as I fuck her into the mattress.
I don’t know why I’ve not made a move on her. Partly it’s because I don’t think she’d be receptive to what I want. I don’t think she does casual fucking, or being someone’s arm candy for a few weeks or months. Cassie is deeper than that.
The other reason I’ve not made a move is because I like her. I don’t normally like people, not this much. I like her, and I want to fuck her, and I don’t quite know what to do with that. In fact, I want to fuck her so much, it almost worries me, or would, if I worried about such things. It does make me pause, though, and not make a move. It might get messy if I did, and things are critical business wise right now. I can’t afford emotional entanglements.
One of her colleagues approaches the café, about to start his shift. He slows when he sees her, gives her a huge grin, and pulls her into him.
“Congratulations, Cassie,” he says as he pulls her in for a hug.
I want to break his arms for touching all that flesh I covet. Her tiny waist and flared hips make my mouth water. He’s got a hand on her lower back, and I swear he’s purposefully brushing close to the top of her pert, round ass.
“Thanks, Marty.”
“New job and engaged all in one week. You’re not wasting time, are you?”
Engaged? What the fuck?
My stomach sinks.
Shit.
Fuck me, this is bad. Not only her getting engaged, but my reaction tells me I might feel something a bit more than mere lust for Cassie. I don’t recall the last time I felt such a punch to the gut.
I tell myself it’s because I worry for her, even though I barely know her. She’s only in her very early twenties; I remember her telling me as much. I glance down, and sure enough, on her left ring finger is a small diamond. It’s shitty compared to the one I’d have given her.
I recall then, her telling me a while ago she was seeing someone, but she’d made it sound casual, and he sounded like a loser. He didn’t like to travel, she told me, or like dogs, and he love
d his routines. Is that who she’s given herself to?
What. The. Fuck?
The fact I’m ruminating on the kind of ring I’d buy the girl pulls me up so short I don’t move. I’m glued to the spot and only realize I’m blocking the way when Marty steps around me with a puzzled glance as he heads on his way.
Why the fuck did I think about buying this girl a ring?
“Congratulations, Cassie,” I say, the words bitter and sharp, like gone off food turning rancid on my tongue.
She glances at me from under her long lashes and flushes a nice shade of pink. “Thank you, Konstantin.”
I swear the girl is attracted to me, but hey, if she’s just got engaged, maybe I’ve been reading her all wrong.
“When’s the wedding?” I ask.
“Oh, not for a long while. We decided to go for a long engagement.” Her voice is low and husky. Sexy as hell.
Her partner must be a fool. If she were mine, I’d have her down the aisle immediately. Take all that delectable flesh off the market straightaway.
Fuck it, if she were mine, I’d probably steal her away and lock her in a castle, or my huge house in Paris. I don’t own a castle. I could, if I wanted to. Far too cold and creepy for my tastes. I don’t even like that old house my friend Andrius owns. It’s beautiful, but it’s dark, and the upkeep alone gives me nightmares.
Maybe, though, I’d buy a big house, in the middle of nowhere, and take her and put her in it. Something nice, pure, and golden just for me.
She is too golden. Cassie lights up my day like the sun, and how much of a cliché am I thinking such sappy thoughts. My own little ray of sunshine, but now she’s going to shine exclusively for someone else.
I push my way through the doors of the shop and order a coffee from the skinny guy behind the counter, my mood soured. I’d come here to feel better, and now I feel worse.
Logically, I’ve no right to be pissed at Cassie, but I am.
Ten minutes later, as I’m nearly done, she comes in and heads to the counter. She grabs herself a tea, and then comes and sits at a table three down from mine. She gazes out the window as she takes a break and sips at her drink.
I study her, really look at her. The girl isn’t perfect. Her nose is crooked slightly near the top. Her mouth has a slight downturn in repose, which shouldn’t be, but is as cute as hell. A dog walks by the window, and she smiles at it, and my heart honestly beats a little faster.
Her smile is gorgeous. She has dimples either side of her mouth, but one side is much deeper and bigger than the other. Her teeth are white but not perfectly even, one of her incisors, on the right, is slightly crooked and crosses over the other tooth, giving her a charming smile.
I contrast it to Liza’s ten-thousand-pound smile; big, totally even, and so white it looks blue in some lights. I prefer Cassie’s crooked, dimpled grin.
She’s got freckles too, just a few, smattering her nose and cheeks. Normally, I go for glamorous women, but I love that her golden blonde-brown hair is natural. I can’t see the regrowth someone like Liza gets after a few weeks between salon trips.
Her eyes are what I love the most, though. They’re such a stunning shade of warm light green, surrounded by thick brown lashes that I bet turn lighter after long summer days.
Slowly, as if scared to do so, she swivels her gaze my way. I don’t look away, not immediately, and I see the intake of her breath, the parting of her lips, the way her pupils dilate.
Yeah, she might be engaged, and she might be far too sensible to ever take a roll in the sheets with a thug like me, but part of her wants to.
God, the things I could do to her, teach her. There’s something in Cassie, something I get a glimpse of every now and again; a connection, a recognition of a darker, wilder part she tries to keep locked away. I see it, though; I see her.
Pity she’s decided to bury it so deep she’ll settle for a man who buys her a shitty little ring, and doesn’t want to travel with her, or entertain her dreams. Her choice, though.
I down my coffee, stand, throw my cup away and walk out without a backward glance.
I’m going to cut her and this stupid, cliched, twee little coffee shop out of my fucking life, like a cancer. One sharp incision and done. I won’t be coming back here.
Cassie is leaving. Cassie is getting engaged, and she’s nothing to me, so I need to put her out of my mind.
I do too. Every now and again, I think of my gorgeous dirty-blonde barista, but I don’t go back to the coffee shop anymore, and I put all my energies into the latest takeovers.
Life carries on as normal, which for me means boring, stressful, boring, stressful, in alternating measures. I break up with Liza, and after a brief flirtation with a world-famous supermodel, who looks thirty until she takes all her makeup off, and then she looks gawky and young, I become oddly celibate. I’m not a man who denies himself the fun things in life, but I stop fucking around, I stop dating, and I focus entirely on business.
Yet, every now and again, for some unknown reason, I think about my little blonde barista and where she is now. Sometimes, at night, I awake from filthy dreams about her, and I tell myself it’s because I’m not getting any, which for a man like me is an unnatural situation. Those dreams sometimes linger for hours, though, teasing me, taunting me, and I must forget her all over again.
Then one day, six months later, Cassie comes back into my life … or at least her picture does.
My little ray of sunshine is back.
Epilogue
Konstantin
London-Now
I’m looking at the staff roster for a firm I’m planning a hostile takeover of. My right-hand woman in this venture, and many others, Margaret, is by my side as we go through the staff profiles, including their photographs, education, roles in the company, and salary. It’s a firm that started as a company making computer games, then they ventured into IT and set up a consultancy. They’ve diversified too far in recent months and lost money, but their talent pool is phenomenal. This will be a keeper, not a break it up and sell it loser.
Some of the staff will go, but many will stay.
My mind is only half on work, which isn’t like me. I’m worrying about my son, about Michael. The boy is about to get married into the damn Italian mob, and I’m still not sure if it’s the right thing for him to do.
Plus, things in Moscow have been hot lately. I’ve been over there quite a few times recently, and I really feel like the soldier I used to be, only this time, I’m fighting two wars—a corporate one in London, and a murky, underworld one in Moscow.
“Cassie Evans,” Margaret says and pushes the papers with the photo clipped to the front my way.
For a moment I stare, not hearing anything else Margaret says.
That name. Cassie. I’ve not heard it in so long, and slowly the picture percolates into my confused brain. This is the Cassie, my Cassie, little Miss Sunshine from the coffee shop, but she’s working in IT now, and … different.
The light in her eyes has darkened, her hair too, and her skin is sallow, not golden. Shit, she almost looks sick.
“…so, I think we can safely let her go,” Margaret finishes.
“Sorry?” I shake myself out of my stupor and give Margaret my attention.
She frowns briefly, but then taps one perfectly manicured nail on the photograph. “This one, Cassie Evans, we can let her go. She’s not been there all that long; therefore, it won’t cost anything redundancy wise, and”—she leans in—“you know I always do a little digging over and above getting the staff files.”
She does; it’s why I use her.
“Yes,” I say with a smile.
“Well, Cassie Evans was engaged to one of the senior programmers; in fact, the rumor is he helped get her the job. The firm doesn’t have any rules against dating a colleague, but they ought to. Place is a hotbed of nerdy love.” She gives a disgusted shudder. “Anyway, Cassie was engaged to Timothy Spoor.”
“Was?” I say.
>
“Yes, was… He allegedly had an affair with a member of the sales team, and now he and Cassie are broken up and at loggerheads. It’s causing an awful atmosphere. Trouble is, he’ll cost a fortune to get rid of as he’s been there a lot longer and is a manager. She’s a lowly IT consultant, so easy enough to cut. I know that for once, you want to turn this place around and keep it on our books, so my advice is, cut her for sure. We need to implement a no fraternization rule too. Bloody Brits, lackadaisical to a fault. You don’t get this shit so much in America. It’s a shame in one sense because the girl has skills. Came top of her class, and they had to shut down a project she was working on with two other people because they managed to hack into top level government security.” She laughs.
Cassie … my Cassie is a hacker? Or, at least, she was. Well, this is interesting. The girl gets more intriguing every time I find out something new.
“No,” I say without thinking.
“Sorry, no what?” Margaret wrinkles her nose, the way she always does when she’s confused.
“No, we’re not getting rid of Cassie. Sack him instead.”
“What? I mean… Sorry, boss, but that makes no sense.”
“You just said she has skills; maybe we can use them?”
“With all due respect, Konstantin,” Margaret uses my first name, a sure sign she’s bringing her most serious game to this discussion. “This is a girl who used her then fiancé to get a job in the firm, and then, by all accounts, couldn’t deal with his affair in a grown-up manner.”
“Would you deal with Dave in a grown-up manner, if he had an affair?”
“Yes, actually,” she says with a shark smile. “I’d take him for everything he’s got, via my lawyer.”
“Touché. But, trust me on this one. Keep the girl, sack the guy.”
“Okay. Whatever you say.” She sighs but doesn’t argue further.