Chapter 3 The Return

Claire almost didn't recognize him at first. The next morning came the way most mornings did ; the alarm blaring too early, Grace grumbling from the other room about how nobody should be awake before seven, and the walk to the subway made bearable only by the promise of the shop's own coffee waiting for her once she clocked in. By the time she unlocked the door of Brew and Bean, the memory of yesterday's confrontation had settled into something almost pleasant, a funny story she'd tell for weeks. She genuinely believed that was the end of it. It wasn't. At exactly eight-fifteen, the bell above the door chimed, and Claire looked up out of habit rather than expectation. Her stomach dropped. It was him. Same tailored suit, though a different one ... navy this time, no doubt because the charcoal one hadn't survived yesterday's incident. Same effortless, irritating confidence in the way he moved, like the floor itself owed him something. But something was different about his expression. Yesterday, he'd looked at her like she was an obstacle. Today, there was something sharper in his gaze. Something studying. "You," Claire said before she could stop herself, setting down the mug she'd been drying with more force than necessary. "Me," Kenneth agreed, walking up to the counter and leaning one arm against it with an ease that made her want to throw something else at him. "Did you miss me?" "Like a headache," she shot back. "What are you doing here? Come back to insult the coffee again? Or are you hoping I'll finish the job and pour it on the rest of you this time?" A few nearby regulars snickered, and Kenneth's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, though the smirk on his face never wavered. "Actually, I came to apologize." Claire blinked, caught off guard. "You? Apologize?" "Don't sound so shocked. It's unbecoming." He straightened his cuffs, looking almost bored by his own admission. "I was out of line yesterday. I'd had a difficult morning, and I took it out on you, which was unfair. There. Apology delivered." It didn't sound like much of an apology, more like a business memo he was reading off a card, but Claire supposed it was better than nothing. She studied him for a moment, arms crossed, trying to figure out his angle. People like him didn't apologize without wanting something in return. "Fine," she said slowly. "Apology accepted. Now are you going to order something, or just stand there taking up counter space?" "Black coffee," he said. "And this time, I promise not to complain. Much." Despite herself, the corner of Claire's mouth twitched. She turned to make his order, aware of his eyes on her the entire time in a way that made the back of her neck prickle. When she slid the cup across to him, their fingers brushed for half a second, and she pulled her hand back a little too quickly.

"So," Kenneth said, not moving to leave. "Claire, is it?" Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name?" "Name tag," he said smoothly, nodding at the small pin on her apron that she'd honestly forgotten she was wearing. It was a good enough lie that she let it go, though something about the way he said it made her think he already knew far more about her than a name tag could explain. "And you are?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Kenneth," he said simply, no last name offered, which struck her as strange but not strange enough to press. "Kenneth Reed." The name meant nothing to her, and Kenneth seemed almost pleased by that, like her ignorance of his family's empire was a novelty he wanted to hold onto a little longer. "Well, Kenneth Reed," Claire said, "enjoy your coffee. Try not to insult anyone else's beauty on your way out." "No promises," he said, though his eyes lingered on her a beat too long before he finally turned to find a seat by the window instead of leaving, which surprised her. Rich men in expensive suits didn't usually linger in shops like this one. They ordered, they left, they went back to whatever glass tower they'd crawled out of. But Kenneth sat there for nearly an hour, laptop open, occasionally typing, occasionally glancing up to watch her work the counter. Claire tried to ignore it. She really did but it was hard to ignore a man who looked like he belonged on a magazine cover sitting quietly in the corner of her modest little coffee shop, watching her like she was the most interesting thing he'd encountered in years. When her shift finally ended and she untied her apron, she found him standing by the door, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, waiting. "Please tell me you're not stalking me," she said flatly, though there wasn't quite as much bite in it as she intended. "I have a car outside," he said instead of answering. "Let me give you a ride home." Claire actually laughed at that, a short, disbelieving sound. "Absolutely not. I don't know you. And even if I did, I take the subway. It's fine. It's normal. It's what regular people do." "I'm aware of what normal people do," Kenneth said, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "I'm simply offering an alternative." "And I'm simply declining it." She pushed past him toward the door, and to her surprise, he didn't argue further, though he fell into step beside her onto the sidewalk anyway. "Then I'll walk with you to the station," he said. "Surely you can't object to that. It's a public sidewalk." "I can absolutely object to that," Claire said, though she kept walking, and he kept pace beside her, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who'd just been rejected twice in under a minute. They walked in silence for a moment before Kenneth spoke again, his voice quieter, almost genuinely curious. "Why weren't you afraid of me yesterday? Most people are. Even when they don't know who I am, there's usually something about the suit, the money, that makes people careful. You didn't seem careful at all." Claire considered the question seriously, surprising herself. "Money doesn't scare me," she said finally. "I've never had much of it. What scares me is people thinking they can treat others badly just because they have it.

You insulted me in front of a room full of strangers because you assumed I couldn't do anything about it. I proved you wrong. That's it. That's the whole story." Kenneth was quiet for a moment, studying her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "That's oddly refreshing," he admitted. "Glad my dignity amuses you." "That's not what I meant." He almost sounded offended, which was new. "I meant that most people around me only tell me what they think I want to hear. You just told me the truth, even though it made me look bad. I don't get that very often." Something about the honesty in his voice caught Claire off guard, softening the edge of her guard just slightly, though she wasn't about to let him see that. "Must be lonely," she said instead, "surrounding yourself with people who only flatter you." "You have no idea," Kenneth murmured, almost too quiet for her to hear. They reached the subway entrance a moment later, and Claire stopped, turning to face him. "Well, this is me. Thanks for the very unnecessary escort." "I'll be back tomorrow," Kenneth said, and it wasn't a question. "Try not to insult my coffee this time," Claire said, half-turning away, though she found herself glancing back once as she descended the stairs, catching him still standing there, watching her go with an expression she couldn't name and didn't want to examine too closely. She told herself, firmly, that it meant nothing. That he was just a rich, bored man amusing himself with a novelty he'd get tired of soon enough. She had absolutely no idea how wrong she was about that too. Back at the apartment that evening, Claire found Grace waiting with two mugs of tea and an expression that told her a full interrogation was coming before she'd even taken off her shoes. "So," Grace said, handing her a mug. "You're glowing. Explain." "I am not glowing," Claire said, though she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks anyway. "He came back. The coffee guy. Apologized, if you can call it that, then walked me to the subway station and asked way too many personal questions." Grace nearly spilled her tea. "He walked you to the subway? Claire. That is not nothing. Rich men do not walk anywhere they don't have to." "It's nothing," Claire insisted, though she said it a little too quickly, a little too firmly, the way people did when they were trying to convince themselves as much as anyone else. "He's bored. I'm a novelty. He'll get tired of it in a week and go back to whatever glittering world he crawled out of." "Uh huh," Grace said, clearly unconvinced, sipping her tea with the smug expression of someone who suspected she was about to be proven right about something. "And what's his name, this bored billionaire who apparently can't stop thinking about you?" "Kenneth Reed," Claire said, and the moment the name left her mouth, Grace's mug froze halfway to her lips. "Wait." Grace set the mug down slowly. "Kenneth Reed. As in, the Reed family. As in, half of the buildings in Midtown have that name on a plaque somewhere." Claire blinked. "I ... what? No. That's not ... he didn't say anything about buildings." "Claire." Grace pulled out her phone, typing furiously before turning the screen toward her. A photo filled the display - Kenneth in a tuxedo at some gala, flanked by reporters, the caption beneath identifying him as the sole heir to Reed Holdings, one of the wealthiest families in New York. "That's your coffee guy." Claire stared at the screen, her stomach doing something complicated and uncomfortable. "He let me think he was just some guy," she said slowly. "He didn't correct me. Not once." "Maybe he wanted you to like him for him," Grace offered, though she didn't sound entirely convinced by her own theory. "Or maybe he's used to using his name to get what he wants, and figured he didn't need it with you." Claire set her tea down, unsettled in a way she didn't fully understand yet. Whatever game Kenneth Reed was playing, she was suddenly certain of one thing: it was far bigger than a simple cup of coffee.