Page 15 of Ansel

Behind me I heard a gentle gasp. Penny had clocked him as well. She’d met him a couple of times when she’d come to the office to wait for me before we went out.

For a second, my brain stalled. What was he doing here? Why was he here? Had he just strolled in for a cup of chai or was he here for me?

He looked good in a navy blue suit, crisp white shirt, the faintest five o’clock shadow, and those sexy gray eyes.

“Neha.” He smiled as he came up to me.

I forced my expression into neutrality, even as my heart thumped painfully in my chest. I wish I were behind the counter so there would be distance between us, so I’d have time to get my armor up. Now he was close, too close, right in front of me, and I could smell his stupid cologne.

"What are you doing here?" I was surprised I didn’t squeak because inside, I was a hot mess.

His lips parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected me to be this direct. Like he thought I’d smile, offer him coffee, and pretend like he hadn’t gutted me.

“I wanted to…ah…just check in with you.”

Penny snorted loudly. “The fucking nerve.”

Ansel turned to face my friend, and I ran to the safety of theotherside of the counter, where only employees were allowed.

“Hello, Penny, how are you?”

“I was doing great, Ansel, before you walked in,” she replied. “Now, I’m going to assume you didn’t just wander in here, ‘cause this is off the beaten path from Lower Manhattan and Tribeca.”

Ansel lived in a high-rise luxury condo in Tribeca that practically screamed finance bro with money to burn. I’d been there once for a team Christmas party—impressed by how sleek it was, disappointed by how sterile.

He cleared his throat. “You’re right. I came to see Neha.”

“Ansel?” I asked softly, intervening before Penny got violent and I had to empty my savings account for bail. “What can I get you?”

There, I’d play barista, he’d play customer, and we’d have a nice, easy interaction—no drama required.

He looked at me with hurt in his eyes. I knew what he drank, but I wasn’t his lackey anymore. I didn’t have torememberhis preferences for anything.

“Triple-shot espresso with milk.”

“Whole or?—”

“Oat,” he gritted out. He was lactose intolerant.

I rang him up as professionally as possible, pointedly ignoring Penny’s glare, while silently willing someone—anyone to walk into the café. Because right now, it was just the three of us in a silent standoff, like some modern-day O.K. Corral.

The bell over the door jingled, and I nearly cried out in relief as a group of three walked in—a young couple and an older man who looked like he was probably the woman’s father. They glanced around before the woman, dressed in a navy wool coat and knee-high boots, smiled politely.

“Do you have a table for three?” she asked.

“Of course! Right this way.” Penny smiled, shooting me a look before slipping into hostess mode. She grabbed a few menus and led them toward a small table near the window, leaving me alone behind the counter with Ansel who had not taken his damned coffee to a table and parked his ass at the bar.

The sight of him, seated at the counter like any other customer, felt wrong. Ansel Tyler didn’t belong in this café, drinking coffee, trying to…what? Talk?

I exhaled sharply, keeping my hands busy as I poured him a glass of water.

Professionalism is the key to avoiding emotions, Neha, so, keep it professional.

“You make good coffee,” he murmured.

“Yeah, we assistants are good at that.” The words slipped out to my horror and laid bare the hurt I still carried.

I wiped my hands on a towel and busied myself behind the counter, hoping he’d take the hint.

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