Page 6 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

His partner picked up the contracts, holding them in front of his chest like a shield. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Garrett waved that off, leaving without answering. He wasn’t about to explain what he had in mind.

It was better that way. At least one of them would need plausible deniability.

Chapter Three

EMMA

Emma jumped off the bus, swearing under her breath. This line was running later and later every single day. She was eleven minutes behind schedule.

That wouldn’t have been a big deal last week, but it was a huge problem now. All because of one self-important jackass.

She didn’t know his first name. Just the last. Chapman.

Excuse me, Mr. Chapman.Hector, her boss was adamant she addressed him properly. Not that this was an actual issue. She’d been schlepping coffee from the ground floor café to his penthouse office for over a week now and the man hadn’t deigned to speak to her once.

Apparently, he had asked for her by name. Why? She had no idea. The man never spoke to her.

Kyle was sure it had to do with the troglodytes on the twenty-third floor. Mr. Chapman had heard them say something nasty about her and had reprimanded them. Her coworkers had practically canonized the man since.

“He looks after the little guy,” Hassan said while washing dishes.

Kyle had promptly agreed, going on about how forceful and righteous Mr. Chapman had been. “I bet he wants to ask if you’ve had trouble with those assholes before.”

“But HR has already spoken to me about it,” she pointed out. The woman in charge had encouraged her to file a complaint if anything else happened. “There’s no reason he has to drag me up there.”

“Well, the man can drag me anywhere he wants.” Tattooed and wiry Bethany licked her lips and danced from side to side while she washed the mugs in the triple compartment sink. “Seven days a week, twenty-four seven.”

Emma suppressed a frown. “You know those two D-bags got reamed for saying something remarkably similar.”

Bethany shrugged, unconcerned. “I did not objectify Mr. Chapman by pointing out he has abs you can bounce a quarter off of or an ass like a ripe apple.” She had winked lasciviously. “Not yet anyway.”

Needless to say, Bethany had been intensely disappointed to learn Emma alone would be delivering his coffee.

“If he asked for you, then you have to go,” Hector had told her when she offered to switch with her coworker.

She’d tried to argue her way out of it, but Hector hadn’t budged. He’d even pulled out a brand-new apron, so she’d ‘putDe Olla’s best foot forward.’

But none of her coworkers' high-minded and idealistic conjectures came to anything because the illustrious god of the building never even looked at her. Not once.

He also never asked her about the men who’d been leering and speculating about the size of her breasts in voices loud enough for the entire floor to hear.

It would have been one thing if she’d caught him on the phone, wheeling and dealing the way someone who owned the building was supposed to.

But Mr. Chapman hadn’t been on the phone. Every single time she’d been summoned to his office to deliver hiscafé de olla, the house specialty, he’d been standing behind his desk with his back to her, staring out the window at the city.

At first, she assumed he’d heard news he hadn’t liked. Maybe he’d gotten a call from his luxury car dealer telling him the Ferrari he wanted wasn’t available in midlife crisis red.

Or perhaps the weight of the gold toilet he’d installed in his penthouse had cracked the floor of his bathroom, sending it crashing down through the levels below.

Emma entertained herself with those excuses for a few days before the truth hit her.

The explanation for Mr. Moneybags’ behavior was simple really. Garrett Chapman was plotting world domination. He was probably outlining his hostile takeover of city hall or mulling over which politician to buy next.

But when the same thing kept happening day after day, Emma knew it wasn’t an accident. He was ignoring her on purpose.

Was it supposed to be a prize of some sort? Did His Highness think that getting a break from the busy café during the breakfast rush would be a treat? Was riding in the express elevator supposed to be the highlight of her day?

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