Chapter 3


    Monique and Marco saved my life again, taking care of the cleaning and bringing the order upstairs in a


    brand-new un-messed-up version. Certainly not that any of them would ever let me forget what had


    happened. ncing at the upper floor, I could see that with me gone, Mr. Lan actedposedly-sh-


    indifferently or even politely! What the hell was his problem anyway?!


    I stayed put behind the counter, waiting for all three businessmen to leave. I treated it like my personal


    bunker, keeping me safe from any nuclear reaction that this ck-haired man could induce within me. I


    could breathe again only when the door closed behind him. I crawled out of my hiding ce and started


    wiping the tables, preparing them for another tourist attack.


    Monique walked over to me with a mischievous smirk. “Here,” she said, giving me a hundred-dor bill.


    “What’s this?” I asked, dumbfounded.


    “Mr. Lan said that I should give you this. He said that you should buy yourself some good ointment for


    the hand you burned.”


    That son of a… He was bringing out the worst in me! How dare he trade “I’m sorry” for a hundred-dor


    bill?! I crushed the bill in my hand and rushed towards the door.


    “What the hell are you doing?” Monique grabbed my hand before I reached the door handle.


    “I’m going to find him, and shoved that money deep into his freaking mouth so he can choke!” I roared.


    “Are you crazy, or do you have a death wish?” Marco cut in, pulling me away from the door. “First of all,


    don’t treat money this way. What has this poor Benjamin Franklin ever done to you? Second, it’s more


    than 5% of your rent, and the hell I’m going to let you throw it away; you deserved it, hon! And third of


    all…” he paused to take a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes, “you don’t want to mess with a


    guy that owns half of New York.”


    “I don’t care who he is! Do you think he should be able to get away with anything just because he has


    money?!” I frowned, crossing my arms over my chest.


    Belonging ? N?velDram/a.Org.


    Marco sighed and stroked my head. “Why do you hate money so much?”


    “I don’t hate money, I just hate people who have a lot of it.” I shrugged.


    The truth was that I would love to have money. I loved money; it just didn’t love me in return. Money


    could solve at least 90% of my problems. I wouldn’t have to worry about paying for my Grandma’s next


    medical procedure. I wouldn’t have to worry about paying my rent, and maybe I could even get back to


    Oxford and finish my studies. I used to see those issues differently when I was still on my full


    schrship. The rest of my living expenses were covered by the inheritance I received when my


    Grandpa died. He wanted me to get the best education I could get, and I respected his wishes…


    Everything changed when my Grandma was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. Her health insurance


    could barely cover the most standard treatment, which was far from enough to improve her condition. I


    had no other choice… I took a semester off to find the best treatment for my Grandma. I found it in New


    York, but it was a private and expensive clinic, and there was no way that the insurance would cover


    the costs.


    I went to every kind of bank, hoping to get a loan, but I was a student without a job or working


    experience. My request was rejected every time. After I had exhausted every other option, I ended up


    asking my boyfriend for financial help. I knew that he was from a wealthy family, and I knew that I could


    pay him back quickly. I believed that as soon as I’d graduated, I’d start earning big money. I was


    confident because I had already gotten a few lucrative job offers. All I needed to do was to get the


    degree. I had only two semesters left…


    You can imagine how shocked I was when my boyfriend called me a beggar and a leech once I asked


    him to help my Grandma. It was the most painful p in the face I had ever received from someone I


    loved. I had never been so humiliated in my whole life. His heartless outburst equaled the end of our


    three-year rtionship. Easy to say that he was my greatest reason for developing rich-man-phobia.


    Some would say that I was prejudiced, and I knew I was. I wasn’t an idiot. Inside my head, I created an


    image where every single rich guy was cold, arrogant, and rotten to the bone, but, sadly, after over two


    years of working next to the richest of Manhattan, I was yet to be proven wrong. Mr. Lan sure as hell


    wasn’t the exception to the rule I’d made. And speaking of the devil…


    “Marco… do you know this Lan guy?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.


    Marco chuckled and went to get his phone from behind the counter. “This is him.” He pointed at his


    iPhone’s screen.


    Monique looked at the post he found, and she read it aloud. “Aren Lan, a 32-year-old billionaire, owner


    of the Lan Diamond Corporation and Lan Industries…”


    “Aren Lan…” I repeated softly, ncing at his picture in some article.


    He was hot, and no one could state otherwise. He was wearing a ck suit and a white shirt in that


    picture. The aura of confidence that surrounded him was breathtaking. I could easily imagine a long


    line of beautiful women ready to spread their legs before him. That made me wonder even more why


    he decided toy his eyes on a waitress from a coffee shop. Was he bored and looking for some


    entertainment? I wish I could add pping his face as a part of the show, but that would without a


    doubt cost me my job.


    With a deep exhale, I switched myself back to work mode, making any thoughts about mischievous


    Aren Lan dissolve in the air filled with a coffee scent. I got through the end of the day without any other


    unexpected events. Swaying on my feet, I packed myself into the bus and felt the ind, hoping to get


    myself to bed in my Brooklyn apartment as soon as possible. I crawled inside on autopilot and put the


    tips I hid in my jeans pockets into the box I kept under my bed. The next thing I remember was my face


    meeting the softness of a pillow. Another day of focusing on nothing but earning money was over…


    For more than two years, my life consisted of nothing but work. When I wasn’t working at Café Dorado,


    I fixedputers in a little workshop that two geek friends of mine and I created. I loved working with


    computers, but I would never be able to pay Grandma’s hospital bills without my coffee shop job. And


    there I was again, standing behind the counter waiting for the customers.


    Suddenly, I found myself alone. Christine wasn’t working that day, and neither was Marco, who took a


    long-nned day off. Monique was somewhere at the back, checking our supplies, but it strangely took


    her longer than usual. ncing around the empty café, I went to clean up the table after the tourists


    that had just left.


    The bell rang, shifting my attention to the door. I froze. Aren Lan closed the door behind him. He stood


    still for a moment, presenting himself to me in a perfectly tailored gray suit, a ck shirt, and a tie. His


    lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile, as he locked his eyes on me.


    “Can I get you anything, Mr. Lan?” I breathed out shakily, barely handling his intensive gaze.


    He exhaled a chuckle and loosened up his cor. “You’re all I need.” He turned the lock on the door


    and stepped toward me.


    Panic flushed me with a shudder. “Please, don’t joke around like that, and open the door. It’s a broad


    day… and this is a public ce…” I mumbled as a peal of hystericughter escaped my throat.


    My eyes roamed around, searching for Monique. Where was she? Why was I alone with Aren Lan all of


    a sudden?! I stepped back, squeezing a damp cloth in my hand as a weapon. He nced at it and


    smirked.


    “You’re not really nning to use it, are you?” His deep, breathy voice instantly melted the strength of


    my hand grip.


    The stupid clothnded on the floor. A secondter, Aren’s hands were on my shoulders, and he


    pushed me against the wall.


    “What do you think you’re doing?!” I yelled, my hands struggling to push him away.


    “I’m giving you what you desire,” he whispered, leaning over my ear.


    “Don’t tter yourself. I don’t even find you attractive,” I hissed.


    “Liar.”


    His lips shed with mine. His tongue entered me with lush strokes that made my head spin. His


    hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer. As he pressed my body against his own, I could feel


    every inch of his rigid muscles. Unknowingly, my hands roamed to embrace his neck, my fingers


    stretching tob his thick, ck hair. Suddenly, one of his hands went to the back of my head,


    positioning me so he could deepen our kiss. I moaned against his lips, and the next moment his hands


    were on my buttocks, lifting me before cing me on the table. I surrendered to himpletely. His


    hands were on me, enticing me, making me wet and ready for him. The way he kissed my neck made


    me shiver.


    “God!” I groaned as his fingers traveled between my thighs.


    At one moment, I felt a strange wave of cold air that brought an ufortable shiver to my feverish


    skin. I shifted anxiously on the table, then I lost my bnce and hit the floor…


    “Ouch…” I hissed, rubbing my poor butt, before opening my eyes wide and finding myself in my


    apartment.


    It took me a second to realize that I had fallen off the bed, and the cold air wasing from the window


    I had forgotten to close before I fell asleep. My heart still hammered and my core throbbed. How could I


    dream about this guy?! How could I dream about him in THIS way?! I rarely had erotic dreams, and I’d


    never had this vivid. Putting my clumsy self back to bed, I started thinking that my off-bnced


    hormones and I needed to have a serious conversation…