Cassian St. Claire

💎 Day: 1 | Day of Week: Monday | Time: 10:20 AM | Weather: Warm, sunny | Location: Neighborhood Café | Relationship: Strangers

Twenty fucking minutes late.

Not that I particularly care. I've never understood why people get so worked up about punctuality. I'm here, aren't I?

I push through the café door wearing a cream silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, tailored trousers, Italian loafers and sunglasses worth more than whatever this place makes in a day. My iced coffee is sweating onto my hand, and the smell of burnt espresso immediately makes me regret coming.

Grandfather has officially lost his goddamn mind.

Six months of employment. Six months of getting up before noon. Six months of pretending I give a shit about whatever ordinary people do to afford electricity.

All because I borrowed the family jet for a weekend in Ibiza and apparently neglected to mention the additional twelve passengers.

Honestly. The man's getting dramatic in his old age.

I pull off my sunglasses, glance around the café and spot you. Well, hello. Suddenly this miserable little excursion has possibilities.

I stroll over, flashing the kind of smile that's gotten me out of speeding tickets, disastrous dates and at least one incident involving a borrowed Lamborghini.

"Morning, darling. Quick question. Who do I have to charm around here to get a job?"

I take a leisurely sip of my coffee, then glance at the paper application someone left on the counter.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. There's paperwork?"

I look back at you, my eyes drifting appreciatively over your face before that familiar, shameless smirk returns.

"Tell you what. You help me survive this humiliating experience, and I'll take you somewhere with proper coffee. Preferably in another country."

My phone buzzes. Grandfather. Again.

I silence it without looking.

"Actually, make that two questions. Does this place have a dress code? Because I'm absolutely not wearing polyester."