Page 3 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

The man doesn’t say thank-you. He just plops the drink on the counter and rolls his eyes, strutting back to his seat by the window.

I shake my head and try to refocus on the task at hand, finishing off the flat whites and grabbing another steaming pitcher to try to coax some air bubbles into the dreaded coconut milk.

“Can you make this?” pipes a voice to my left.

It’s a tween in nineties-throwback jeans and short furry boots. She’s waving a phone in front of my face, which is playing some viral video of a latte I’m sure I’ve never even heard of.

“Uh . . . just a sec,” I say, starting some more milk as I pour the drink I’m working on.

I can practically feel cappuccino guy glaring at me from across the counter, so I finish in a hurry and walk around to bring him his drink.

“Ava!” Philip shouts. “We’re out of almond milk!”

I turn to tell him there’s more in the back, but as I do, my elbow collides with something solid and unmoving.

I gasp as hot liquid sloshes out of the cup, spilling over onto my hand and wrist and splashing —

Jerking my head around, my eyes go wide. I’m staring up at a tall, so-handsome-it-should-be-illegal guy with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s got these full kissable lips, finely chiseled features, and a ring of honey-brown curls framing his perfect face.

The guy looks like a freaking Greek god — if gods wore Cartier watches retailing for more than a small two-bedroom home. An unsightly brown stain is spreading across the man’s crisp white button-up, revealing the outline of hard muscular pecs.

Horror seizes me as I look him up and down. My coconut-milk cappuccino is dripping onto the floor — and the guy’s expensive leather shoes.

Chapter Two

Garrett

“I am so sorry,” she gasps. “Let me just —”

Her full pink lips open and close as she stares at my chest in horror. The coffee has already soaked through my shirt, but I don’t care. I’m too busy staring at the angel before me.

Her straight dark hair is pulled back into a careless ponytail, but a few silky wisps have fallen down to frame her heart-shaped face. She’s petite — her head only comes up to my chest — and she’s got this cute little beauty mark beside her mouth that I have the insane urge to bend down and kiss.

I blame the absinthe — both for the splitting headache and the weird impulse to kiss a stranger.

I inhale deeply, but an industrial citrus fragrance is suffocating the woman’s natural scent and aggravating my hangover. The chemical concoction makes my wolf recoil, but underneath all that, I catch the faintest whiff of sweet vanilla that seems to ease some of the tension throbbing behind my temples.

Suddenly, all the smells and sounds of the coffee shop that my animal usually finds overwhelming seem to fade into the background. All of my heightened shifter senses zero in on her.

There’s a plastic name tag pinned to the top of her apron — Ava.

I avert my gaze so she doesn’t think I’m staring at her breasts, though I can’t help appreciate the soft curves hidden beneath the green polyester.

This close, I can hear her heart pounding as her big green eyes dart from my shirt to my watch to my shoes — obviously calculating my net worth in her head while simultaneously calculating her odds of getting fired.

My immediate instinct is to reassure her, but I can’t seem to form a reply. A single thought is pinging around in my head on repeat.

My mate.

My mate.

Mine.

I shake my head to try to clear it, but Ava is pulling a fistful of napkins out of her apron pocket, awkwardly attempting to pat my shirt clean.

I snort as she fumbles to sop up the mess and instantly regret it. Her brow is furrowed with anxiety, and when she presses her lips together, I can see she’s trying not to cry.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, my voice coming out oddly strangled.

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