Page 11 of Born in Fire
“Just a customer,” I reply.
Lisa snorts. “Hardly, girlfriend! That’s Dorian Craven. And the big boss himself, Caleb.”
“Craven?” I repeat. My eyes widen. Craven Industries. Craven Towers.
Oh, geez.
“What did he want?” Lisa asks, taking the cup I’ve been filling and handing it to a waiting customer with a smile.
“My number,” I say in a small voice, suddenly feeling excruciatingly self-conscious. It feels like everyone is staring at me.
They’re not, you idiot. Get a grip.
Nobody in this place is interested in little old me. That’s why I like it here. Everyone’s so busy and important that I’m practically invisible.
Except to the guy who runs the company.
“Your number?” Lisa is staring at me. “Holy shit!”
“It’s nothing.” I shrug. “Probably just messing with me.”
“I doubt it.” She stares at the door, then back at me. “He looked pretty interested.”
I give another shrug, trying for casual and failing. “I doubt he’ll call.”
“Oh, I think he’ll call, alright.” She smiles impishly. “And when he does—”
“Excuse me.” A guy in a suit is at the counter, flashing a meaningful look at the clock on the wall behind us. “Anyone working here today?”
“Sorry!” Lisa says brightly, turning from me and aiming a smile at him. “What’ll it be?”
I breathe a sigh of relief as her attention shifts from me, along with the awkward questions. My heart is racing, and there’s a tingle in my skin that makes me feel warm.
I place my palms flat on the cool counter, grounding myself in the present moment. I’ve given my number to an attractive man. An influential man.
Oh God! Am I making a mistake?
No. I can do this.
It’s a small step, perhaps a crazy one, but it feels like reclaiming something Tyler took from me—the simple pleasure of connection, the possibility of something new.
Whether anything comes of it or not, today I chose possibility over fear. The astronomer’s daughter, looking toward the stars again instead of constantly watching for storms.
I’m moving forward.
Chapter 4
Dorian
I stand outside the Grind & Bean, feet rooted to the lobby’s polished marble as if gravity’s suddenly doubled. Caleb’s already disappeared into the elevator, heading to our nine o’clock meeting with the company lawyers. I should be right behind him, reviewing acquisition terms in my head. Instead, I’m watching a barista through plate glass like some horny teenager.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Inside, Juno moves between customers with a kind of unconscious grace. She tucks a strand of sandy-blonde hair behind her ear as she listens to an order, her expression attentive. Nothing overtly extraordinary about her—no supermodel features, no calculated sexiness, just a quiet presence that somehow cuts through the corporate sterility of Craven Towers like a beam of actual sunlight.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance down at it. A text from Caleb. Big surprise.
You coming?
