Page 12 of David

He hands the cold drink to his boss and, without waiting for further instructions, walks to the other side, opens the door, and claims his seat behind the steering wheel.

It feels almost ritualistic. He knows his boss well.

No questions are asked, no gaffes are made, and no stumbling occurs while the fascinating man I’m watching removes the lid of the cup and takes a sip.

He must’ve asked his chauffeur not to bring a straw.Not a straw guy, huh?

I rest my elbows on the table, lace my fingers together, and tuck them beneath my chin.

And here I am, watching this stranger drinking his iced Americano and most likely chatting up some woman on his phone as if I have nothing better to do.

He is facing the store now, and luckily, he can’t see me––I don’t think so––as the windows are slightly tinted.

I take even more pleasure in observing him.

I thought I had mixed feelings about him, but I evidently underestimated how fascinated I’d be with someone like him.

He is a sex god––I’ll give him that––but that cold undercurrent in his gaze is what worries me more.

He may talk to a woman––he most likely does––but he has no skin in the game—in her case or anyone else’s, for that matter.

As sexy and confident as he is, nothing promising sparkles in those striking eyes. I only spot enduring ice.

Even when he plays that game with her, his eyes have no warmth. No emotion.

This man has locked his soul away.

The thought gives me pause.

Most women wouldn’t mind rolling between the sheets with him. A secret rendezvous in a hotel room maybe?

Yeah.

They’d probably say yes.

And that’s the problem. There’s nothing more to him than that.

Who in their right mind would want the heartbreak that comes with him after sampling the aloofness behind his charming eyes?

I wonder how many women have even noticed it.

It’s almost impossible to spot it behind his killer smile, a cocked eyebrow, and magnetic gaze.

Enough of him.

I rip my stare away from him and jerk my laptop open.

I will write an… email. Anything is better than gaping at this man.

As I’m trying to do that to forget about the man, he flicks his gaze in my direction.

Wait… What? He can see me… now?

Oh… No. Please, no.

Has he seen me stare at him with my mouth open, toying with the idea of making him the star of my next book?

Ahem… My first book.

---