Chapter 5: Coffee, Coincidences, and Chemistry

The early morning sun spilled golden light across the city skyline, catching the glass edges of the skyscrapers like scattered diamonds. Mia Collins stepped out of her sleek black coupe in front of a quiet, tucked-away coffee shop in the heart of downtown. It was one of those charming, minimalist places that felt both intimate and sophisticated—just the way she liked it.

Today, she wore a crisp white blouse tucked into high-waisted cream trousers and nude heels that clicked purposefully on the pavement. Her oversized sunglasses shielded her from the morning glare, but not from the thoughts running wild in her mind.

She hadn't intended to think about him this morning. In fact, she had planned a clean mental slate—get her coffee, review the updated blueprints for the Emerald Heights tower, and meet with the city's development board before noon. Efficient. Focused.

But Liam Bennett had a way of sneaking into her head like smoke. And last night's message exchange had only fueled the fire.

Challenge accepted.

Two simple words. And yet, they had left her wide awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she'd just opened a door she hadn't meant to. She wasn't someone who played games. She never had time for them not with the empire she was building.

Still, she hadn't deleted his number.

The café smelled of roasted espresso and caramel, a scent so familiar it nearly comforted her. She stepped up to the counter, gave her order—"Iced hazelnut latte with an extra shot, please"—and moved aside to wait.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. Emails. Notifications. Calendar reminders. Her typical chaos.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Her spine straightened. She didn't even need to look to know who it was.

Liam.

She turned, slowly, sunglasses still on, lips twitching with amusement despite herself.

"Are you stalking me now?"

He stood behind her in line, dressed in a tailored navy coat over a black turtleneck and matching slacks. Effortlessly elegant. Irritatingly confident.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said with a lopsided grin. "This is my morning coffee spot."

"Right," she said with mock suspicion. "The billionaire who owns a private jet fleet and has an entire staff at his beck and call just happens to pick up his own coffee from a little shop in Midtown."

He chuckled, stepping closer. "Sometimes I like to remind myself what the ground feels like."

She tilted her head. "And what do you think you'll find here? A woman who'll fall at your feet?"

"God, I hope not," he murmured, eyes glinting. "I'm already on dangerous footing with you."

She hated the way he made her laugh. Hated that she wanted to laugh.

"Your flirting needs work," she said, but her tone lacked real bite.

Their orders were called out at the same time—hers icy and sweet, his black with a shot of espresso. She reached for hers, ready to make a swift exit, but then paused.

He stood there, cup in hand, waiting—hopeful, expectant, and oddly calm.

"Come on," he said, motioning to a small table in the corner by the window. "Five minutes. No tricks. No smooth lines. Just coffee."

She hesitated. Every instinct told her to walk away. But another voice—the one that sounded suspiciously like curiosity—whispered: What's the worst that could happen?

"Five minutes," she said coolly, sliding into the seat.

They sat in silence for the first thirty seconds, sipping their drinks. Outside the window, the city stirred—commuters rushed, taxis honked, and street vendors set up their stands. But inside, it was just them, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

"You know," he said, "when I saw you at the gala, I thought you were going to pretend not to remember me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why would I do that?"

"Because that's what women like you do when they see a man like me coming."

Mia leaned back in her chair. "And what kind of woman am I, exactly?"

"The kind who's used to power. Who doesn't bend easily. Who's probably been chased by every eligible bachelor in this city, and still refuses to play the game."

She studied him for a moment. "You think you've got me all figured out?"

"No," Liam said. "But I'm hoping to."

That earned a laugh—short, soft, and reluctant. "You're smooth, I'll give you that."

"I'm not trying to be," he said, suddenly serious. "Look, I know how this must seem. I know my reputation. But I'm not here to charm you. I'm here because something about you... gets under my skin."

That... hit different. She wasn't used to hearing real vulnerability in a man's voice—especially not someone like Liam.

Mia sipped her coffee, trying to suppress the flutter in her chest. "You barely know me."

"Not yet," he said, "but I want to."

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she looked at him over the rim of her glass, trying to assess whether this was just another game, another phase, or if—God help her—he was actually being sincere.

And then her phone rang.

She glanced at the screen. Victor.

She sighed. "Give me a sec."

She stepped away from the table, pressing the phone to her ear. "Hey, what's up?"

"Mia, I need you at the Emerald Heights site. The zoning inspector just showed up unannounced, and he's threatening to shut everything down over the west elevator shaft. It's urgent."

"Seriously?" she groaned. "Alright. I'm on my way."

She returned to the table, grabbing her bag.

"Trouble?" Liam asked.

"Always," she said, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "Work never sleeps."

"Want a ride?" he offered.

"No thanks. I've got my own car," she said, but then added more softly, "Thanks, though."

He stood as she turned to leave, watching her like she was the only person in the room.

"You'll call me?" he asked.

She paused at the door, not turning back.

"No promises."

But when she walked out into the morning light, a small smile played on her lips.

She wouldn't admit it aloud, not even to herself—but he was already in her head.