“Could this day get any worse?”
His gaze jerked to the source of the feminine voice, a sight that set his emotions whirling. Glossy brunette hair fell in soft waves, framing a pair of deep-brown eyes and a pert nose. His pulse quickened with instant attraction. She held her arm forward at an awkward angle, her sleeve dripping with coffee that had drenched most of a once-white cardigan, parted to expose a garishly-bright pink shirt. Mouth gaping in a surprised O, she stared at him with her bottomless eyes, which appeared to grow larger by the second.
From this close proximity, she must’ve recognized him. He waited, with dread, for the fawning to begin. She was pretty—that much was for sure. Any other day, he’d have taken advantage of the situation, flirting and asking her out. She would know in advance it would be a single date, part of his one-and-done mantra. But today he wasn’t in the mood to play the usual games. Especially since excited whispers were spreading around the coffee shop, every eye trained their direction. Phones came out as customers shared their celebrity spotting on social media.
“I’m very sorry, ma’am.” He tipped his Stetson and handed her a business card, hoping to settle the matter before they drew any more attention. “I’ll be glad to pay for your cleaning bill. Just call me at this number.”
Her brows drew down, chin jutting forward, and the card was left dangling from his fingers.
“Is this your way of making a move on me? Because it’s not going to work.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Do I have a sign around my neck that says, ‘Easy target?’”
A genuine smile slid onto his face for the first time that morning. “I’m looking at your sign right now, and it clearly states, ‘Don’t mess with me until I’ve had my coffee.’”
Her cheeks flushed, a grin playing on her lips. He was pleased to have put it there.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of anything, but you won’t believe what just happened.” Her arms flailed with emotion, flinging coffee from her dripping sleeve. “Some guy in the parking lot just propositioned me. At eight o’clock in the morning! Can you believe that? All I did was say a polite hello. I guess I need a sign that says, ‘Not interested!’”
She’s feisty! I like it!
“If it’s any consolation, the coffee stains ought to ward the creeps off for the rest of the day.”
Her mouth tugged up at the corners. “That’s a good point.”
She seemed so genuine—a rarity in his experience, outside his close circle of friends. And more importantly, it seemed she didn’t recognize him. He had to find out.
“I’m sorry about spilling on you. You see, I was holding my coffee in the wrong hand.” He thrust his artificial arm forward, still holding the crumpled paper cup, confident she couldn’t fake a lack of recognition when he pointed out the bright green prosthesis he was famous for.
“No, it was my fault. I was looking up at the menu when I came in.” Her gaze skimmed past his arm without pausing, settling on her own soggy one.
It was hard to believe, but she seemed oblivious to his identity. He warmed inside, feeling a bit more inclined to flirt. “Perhaps, it was destiny.”
“Probably so.” She groaned, looking down at her clothes. “I need to go home and change. But I can’t, because I have a meeting at work in thirty minutes.”
His hopes fell. She recognized me, and now she’s fishing for money.
With a resigned sigh, he retrieved his wallet and pulled out some folded hundred-dollar bills. “Here’s five hundred. Go buy some new clothes. There’s bound to be a dress shop close by.” His tone came out coarser than he meant.
“I’m not taking that.” She backed away, staring at the money like it was a poisonous snake. “For goodness’ sake, this sweater is ancient. And this is my least favorite work shirt. I’ll be happy to throw it away.”
She doesn’t want money? Is it possible she really doesn’t know who I am?
As the most well known of the four kingpins at Phantom Enterprises, Cole rarely went anywhere without being recognized. Generally, he flaunted his fame and fortune, an attempt to compensate for all those times his classmates had ridiculed him about his deformed left arm, which ended before it reached his elbow. Truth be told, his preference for the neon-green robot-like hand was in part to prove he was no longer ashamed of his defect. His efforts had made him as famous for his “fake” arm as for his wealth and success. And his recent appearance on the Millionaire Matchup finale, as the bachelor in the coming season preview, had gained him even more notoriety. Cole seldom met someone who hadn’t heard of him, so he couldn’t help being intrigued with this woman.
“You have to let me give you something for ruining your clothes.” He drew the napkin from his pocket and dabbed futilely at her sodden sweater sleeve as a male employee arrived with a bucket and mop.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. We’ll get this cleaned up right away.”
“Mr. Miller, huh?” Brows drawn downward, her eyes darted from Cole to the employee and back. “You must come here a lot. Funny I’ve never seen you before.”
“My first time to come in the morning,” he said truthfully, as he stepped to the side, motioning for her to follow. “We should move out of the way.”
“Mr. Miller!” A fiftyish man arrived and shoved a replacement coffee into his hand. “Here you go, Mr. Miller. Sorry about that cup. We should have had stronger ones. I brought you a souvenir mug, so you don’t have to worry about that happening again. I’m Jack Winston, the manager.”
Cole’s victim cocked her head as she peeled off the sweater. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you recognize him?” the twenty-something worker hissed, pointing with his mop handle. “He’s Cole Miller! You know… Phantom Enterprises! The guy with the…” He made an awkward face, as people often did when the subject of Cole’s prosthesis arose.
“Oh, no,” she groaned, her cheeks glowing as pink as her shirt. “Can I just melt into the mop bucket? I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”
“Not a big deal,” said Cole. “Actually, it’s kind of nice.”
“Par for the course, after the morning I had. I get the chance to meet somebody famous, and I look like this.” She gestured to her coffee-spotted shirt. At least her pants were dark, matching the coffee.
“Actually, your sweater took the brunt of it. Your shirt only has a few little coffee splashes on it.”
“I’m not talking about the coffee.” She gave him an exasperated eye-roll. “I’m talking about this stupid pink polo shirt. I promise, I don’t usually wear hot pink.”
“You don’t?” Cole suppressed a grin.
“I don’t usually wear any shade of pink. I hate pink. But this was the only clean work shirt I had. That’s why I was wearing this ratty sweater on top when it’s going to be in the high eighties today.” She moved to the condiment counter and grabbed a handful of napkins while she continued in a nervous chatter. “I’ll just blot it a little, but I don’t care if it’s ruined forever. Actually, it looks better with brown spots on it. Tones down the pink.”
As she dabbed the napkin or her shirt, Cole spied the logo on her pocket, the distinctive double-H he’d come to know so well in the last few months.
Hayward Home!
