"Fine," she said, a sly note creeping into her voice. "How about we head to London and get you an entirely new, all-gray wardrobe?"
"You just want to shop Savile Row," I said.
"Well, most people compensate their personal stylists," Rachel huffed.
I left off fiddling with my cufflinks and reached out to find her arm. She resisted but I tugged her closer and kissed her cheek. "Then I'm lucky you're my girlfriend."
Rachel's tight sigh did not escape my sharp ears but I ignored her and finished getting dressed. The velvet-lined tray where I kept my watch and keys was covered with a pile of silk stockings. I dug down and grasped the gold Bvlgari watch, not wanting to know how late I was running. I slipped it onto my wrist and stuffed my keys in my pocket.
Luckily my custom Italian leather shoes were still at the foot of my bed and I didn't have to go searching my closet for them. The Italian shoes were Oxblood in color and the designer had assured me they matched everything.
"How do I look?" I asked her.
"Handsome." Rachel's tone was begrudging but she slipped her arm into mine as we headed downstairs.
Her answer did not reassure me that the tie I picked didn't clash horribly but I shrugged and let it go. If I didn't match, no one would say anything. That was one of the perks of being a billionaire. People saw my money more than they saw me.
The early morning sunlight was just hitting the crystal chandelier in the foyer and I paused for a moment to try to catch the bright rainbows. As a boy, I used to wait at the bannister every morning for the sparkling display.
Rachel knew my habit but dismissed it as silly nostalgia. She let go of my arm and began typing furiously on her phone.
"Everyone's saying that new off-Broadway show is really fun," she said.
I blinked. Maybe it was a cloudy day. I hadn't caught a glimpse of a single rainbow. "The show that's been sold out for two weeks solid?"
"Exactly." Rachel hopped up and down on her Jimmy Choos. "Missy would be so jealous if we got tickets. Come on, baby, take me out tomorrow?"
Normally I liked Rachel's cooing and cajoling, but my mood had dimmed. "I have that charity fundraiser tomorrow. Remember? That organization, See the World, is trying to provide eye exams and corrective lenses to countries in need."
Rachel stopped hopping and groaned like an overblown teenager. "Do we have to go?" she whined. "It'll be so boring."
"There'll be free drinks, food, and live music. We can dance the night away," I said.
"But no one ever goes to those things. I won't have a single person to talk to." Rachel's pout was back.
I slipped a hand around her waist. "Good. Then I get you all to myself for a night."
She squirmed out of my embrace. "But Brenden, I want to go to that show. And we still haven't eaten at Montella's. Missy's been rubbing it in my face for days."
"Another exclusive restaurant?" It was my turn to groan. "Aren't you sick of eating food that's too fancy to actually fill you up?"
"Better that fundraiser food," Rachel snapped.
I caught her waist again. "Did I mention there's a silent auction?"
She softened a fraction of an inch. "A good one? Or is it all spa days and cheap little vacation packages?"
"Cartier, Hermes, and Vera Wang are all contributors to See the World," I told her.
"Fine." Rachel tossed her hair and it whipped me on the cheek. "Maybe you can find something to give me for our anniversary."
"Anniversary?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Rachel jabbed me in the stomach with her sharp elbow. "Yes! Our anniversary."
"But we met in winter," I said.
"It's our year and a half!" She gave me a shove and headed down the stairs without me.
"So we're celebrating halves now, too," I muttered.
Rachel typed furiously on her phone. I could tell by the stabbing sounds that she was upset. If I wasn't careful, she would make this one little hurt turn into a week-long sulk.
"I'm not buying you an anniversary gift at a charity auction," I said. "Your present's already been taken care of. You can open it tonight if you want."
She stopped jabbing her phone. "Really?"
"After I get home from the fundraiser," I said. Before she had a chance to whine, I continued, "You should go to that fancy restaurant. Take all your friends except Missy."
Rachel squealed. "Really? Thank you, darling!"
I accepted her eager kiss on the cheek and let her rush off to the car to call her friends.
"You there, Jasper?" I called.
A soft throat-clearing sounded behind me. "Yes, sir."
My driver, Jasper, had been with me for fifteen years and I trusted him completely. "Is there lipstick on my cheek?"
"Yes, sir," Jasper said. He handed me a handkerchief. "I believe the shade is called 'Rich Red.'"
I chuckled as I scrubbed my cheek. "Bet it cost a small fortune too. Did I get it all?"
"Yes, sir."
Jasper never said much but I could tell he disapproved of Rachel. My pretty girlfriend was too involved in her own world, too messy, and too inconsiderate to please Jasper. Then again, I had never introduced him to a woman that he thought was good enough for me.
Jasper gave a delicate cough, and I could imagine him settling his cap over his head. It was impossible for me to tell if he was going gray yet, but I suspected Rachel's residence at my mansion was not helping the older man's stress levels.
"Speaking of red, I need you to get an obscene amount of red roses for tonight," I told Jasper.
"Sir?" Jasper's disapproval turned to surprise.
"It just so happens to be Rachel’s and my year and a half anniversary. How about you add a little blue box from Tiffany's to one of the flower arrangements?"
I didn’t need to see his face to know he was frowning. "I'm not certain what the traditional 'year and a half' gift would be, sir."
"Then flirt with that nice sales clerk." I laughed when Jasper gave a sharp intake of breath. "That's right. I heard the tone in your voice when you said hello to her the last time we were at Tiffany's. I'm sure she can help you."
"I don't flirt," Jasper said.
I laughed. "Good. I'd hate not to be able to see something like that."
"I believe Ms. Rachel is getting impatient," Jasper said. He started toward the front steps and then stopped to look back at me.
"Remember when we used to count the steps every morning when I was a kid?" I reminded him. "There are fifteen."
"Yes, sir." He left me alone at that and went to open the car door for Rachel.
"Why aren't we taking the limo?" she asked when I reached them.
"Too hard to deal with the morning commute," I explained.
"It wouldn't be if we didn't always have to stop at that dinky little coffee shop." A second later I heard her voice coming from the back of the sleek Mercedes. "Can't we try a new place?"
"I like the old place. I know the old place," I said.
Jasper eased us down the long driveway and through the tall stone pillars that marked my estate. Once on the road to Manhattan, I pulled out my phone and started listening to the latest messages.
Rachel's one-sided discussion of her jewelry choices drowned out my phone reading aloud the newest emails. "I'm not sure about this 'chocolate' diamond. I mean, I know it's the newest trend but it's really just brown, isn't it. It would probably be better to have just a plain old diamond. Though it'd have to be bigger to make up for not having any color."
I dictated a quick message to my CFO and hoped there weren't any typos involving diamonds.
"Brenden, I'm totally serious. I think you should exchange this. I can't be caught wearing a dying trend."
"Sure, fine. How about a nice sapphire? They have color," I said.
She slapped my arm. "Cheapskate! They don't write songs about sapphires being a girl's best friend, do they? And you expect me to trade in a diamond for that?"
"Well, you could
just keep the chocolate diamond." I turned the volume up slightly and pressed replay on the last email.
Over the news of my company's skyrocketing stocks, Rachel continued to whine about diamond trends.
"I thought a diamond was forever," I said.
Rachel groaned and killed my hope of hearing the yesterday's bottom line. "Brenden Bear, you promised you'd get me something for our anniversary. Remember?"
Jasper cleared his throat sharply. "We're at the coffee shop, sir. Would you like me to run in for you?"
"No, thanks, Jasper. I'd like to go in myself." I reached for the door handle but Jasper leapt out of the car. He was surprisingly fast for a man somewhere in his fifties and he pulled the door open for me.
Rachel slipped out of the car behind me, still determined to wheedle me about a big diamond. Distracted, I headed in the wrong direction until she caught my hand and steered me towards the coffee shop door.
"Ugh, there's a line,” she said. “Can't we go somewhere else?"
Her phone rang and I jumped at the chance for a little peace and quiet. "Is that your friends about dinner? I don't mind if you stay out here and chat. It's always so loud when the espresso machine is going."
Rachel answered her phone but did not let go of my hand. Instead she chattered loudly as we entered the crowded coffeeshop and got in line. I imagined several heads turning toward us. I couldn't see the other customers' faces but I was sure they did not like my girlfriend's loud phone conversation.
I tried to ignore her and take in the familiar sounds and smells of the little local cafe. It used to be I could take the whole crowd in with one glance. I could respond to a half dozen pretty female smiles all at once. Now I had to take my time. I couldn't just look around like I owned the world.
Owning the world. It could be heard in the way Rachel dismissed the entire coffee shop with a few vapid jokes to her friend. She thought we were above them. She thought having money meant we were more attractive, better dressed, and worth more than anyone who worked for a living. She dismissed me heading an international corporation as a stipulation of my inheritance.
I used to agree with her. I used to flaunt my money, my status, and my attractiveness. I had met Rachel tearing down a popular group of artists at an exclusive art gallery. Men and women alike stared at her more than the art. She was a goddess come to life, complete with a vengeful smile.
I would have moved on, actually looked at and savored the art, but Rachel decided she had to have me. She saw me as the perfect match to her privileged glamour. With her on my arm, my status skyrocketed.
We could get back there. Back to before everything faded, including Rachel's interest in me.
The daydream popped when the coffee shop line moved forward. I shook it off and followed the shapeless gray blob in front of me. Rachel was right; there were too many gray suits. Now everything looked gray to me.
I tried to focus but the same thought kept ringing in my head. I wish I had looked at the art that night.
Useless thoughts. I forced myself to take stock of the room and get my mind off the unchangeable.
Rachel leaned against the front windows and kept up her loud, grating patter. People waited patiently near the other window to pick up their drinks. I could feel the steamy heat of each cup as they passed. And somewhere at the front of the line there was the most melodically soft voice.
"Brenden! Grab me my favorite!" Rachel squawked from the door.
I felt my way forward a few inches and waited again in the long line of blurry morning faces
Chapter 2
Brenden
I used to like coming to the coffee shop just because of the crowd. I had been exhilarated by the press of all the other early morning business people. I had enjoyed the camaraderie as everyone was tired and yawning. I had looked forward to the surprises like sleepless mothers with infants still strapped to their chests. Or men in dark leather jackets and black sunglasses who had either been on a concert stage or a motorcycle the entire night before.
Now it was just crowded and confusing.
I took a deep breath and centered myself. After a long night mostly alone in a very large house, I needed the jostling and closeness of the coffee shop. It helped me handle the crowded minefield of my work day. It often felt like everyone's eyes were on me. Especially lately. And it didn't help that at age 37 they all still considered me an awkward teenager. The board of directors looked at me like I was about to trip on my own shoelaces or lose my head over some pretty girl and ruin their multibillion dollar corporation.
I had to remind them each and every day that it was my corporation. It was my family legacy and, while I was being forced to let go of other things, I would never give that up.
I breathed again and began the meditative exercise my hippie college roommate had taught me. "Get grounded,” he had told me. He was the most ungrounded guy I’d ever met, especially when his homework was too boring, but that never stopped the simple exercise from helping me.
Listening was easy in the coffee shop where the conversations were close. In the tight corner by the window, two men were arguing over a business deal. The one with a slightly Midwestern accent was being too cautious and if they didn't move soon they would lose the contract.
Scent was almost overwhelming with the bright bouquet of coffee beans. I knew the person directly to my left had ordered one of the tall, multi-colored gimmick drinks because I could smell the caramel and sugar and almost no coffee at all.
Then I felt a woman brush by me and there was a warm shock as she let herself linger. I could feel the magnetic pull of her flirty smile as she said hello.
She reluctantly moved off as it was my turn at the counter. I could almost taste my regular Americano but the anticipation fled as a new voice welcomed me.
"Hi, what can I get you this morning?" The voice was soft and melodic, the one I had heard sweetly greeting each and every customer.
Rachel shoved her way to my side and the pitch of her voice was impatient: "We'll have our usual. Like now."
"Your usual?" The young woman asked, a nervous note entering her voice.
"Yes. As in we come in here almost every single day and if you knew how to keep your best customers happy you'd already have our usual drinks being made," Rachel snapped.
I put a hand on Rachel's arm and muttered in her ear, "She's new here."
"How do you know?" Rachel asked me.
"Tell me your order now,” the barista said. “I’ll remember you.”
Her words were polite, but I caught the tinge of sarcasm. Rachel was never very good at first impressions.
"Rachel, why don't you go call Harry?” I said. “I'm sure you want to wear a real statement piece to the event." Harry was a jewelry designer who often lent me outrageously expensive items.
Even the casual, coded mention of jewelry changed Rachel's whole persona. She turned away from the counter and the unfortunate new employee and gave me a soft caress on the cheek. Luckily she had forgotten completely about coffee or anything else. I could hear the young woman's fingers nervously crumpling an order receipt. She didn't need Rachel ripping into her while there was a still a long, long line to serve.
Rachel purred. "Oh, Brenden, I'm so glad you finally said something before I had to ask."
She pushed her way through the tight crowd and started another loud conversation on her phone. I turned back to the new barista and smiled. I hoped she saw that I was trying to apologize.
"I'll have an Americano and she likes whatever that tall super sweet one with all the syllables is," I said.
The new barista laughed. "Got it."
With Rachel's confrontational energy gone, I could feel the young woman's curiosity. She hesitated before she called out our orders, as if she was doing a double take on me. I straightened my jacket and felt the need to make a better impression than Rachel.
"I'm Brenden." I held out my hand in the right direction.
She had to reach up to sha
ke my hand, catching and lowering it with a gentle touch. "My name's Faith. Nice to meet you, Brenden."
I cleared my throat. "So, when did you start, Faith? I don't recognize you."
"Oh, um, I started a while back but just worked my way up to the day shift. I hope it works out because I could really use the extra hours," she said.
"Well, I'll give you a good review."
Faith laughed and the tone made me think she was rolling her eyes. "You haven't even tried the drinks yet."
"There's more to a good review than just the taste of the coffee," I told her.
Faith fired up the espresso machine. "I suppose smell also makes a difference in a coffee shop, though the noise can't be the greatest selling factor."
I chuckled over the loud hissing of the machine. "Your voice is quite nice. Especially this early in the morning. Kind of soft and melodic but still easy to hear. That's not an easy tone to master in a noisy little cafe."
"My voice?" Faith asked.
The hesitancy and disbelief in her tone made me grin. "Yes. It's been nice talking with you."
"Thanks. Um, her drink is going to take a minute. Here’s yours,” Faith said.
I attuned my ears toward the doors and quickly picked out Rachel's intonations. They were softer now but not quite the wheedling flirtation she usually saved for the jewelry designer. This tone was warmer and reminded me of honey, sort of sweet but cloying.
"I'll wait until she's done on the phone," I said.
Faith cleared her throat. "She's actually done and talking to someone in a flashy suit."
"Flashy suit?" I asked.
"Um, yeah. The blue kind with little stripes. What are those called?"
"Pinstripes," I said. Rachel hated pinstripes.
"And shiny brass buttons," Faith added.
"Is she lecturing the poor man on fashion?" For a moment I felt for the unfortunate man that had caught Rachel's attention.
Rachel’s sugary laugh reached my ears again and I frowned. I couldn't see her in the shifting splotches of the coffee shop crowd. My fingers curled into a fist. The sudden clutch of frustration was confusing: was I jealous or just annoyed that I couldn't see my competition?
The flirtation must have been working because the man chuckled. A low sound with no rasping. He was around my age and when he spoke I could hear the cultured tones of a well-educated person. Somehow Rachel had zeroed in on another wealthy, Ivy League man.
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