Bound By Contract

One week earlier ........

The espresso machine hissed loudly, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that momentarily obscured Emily's view of the café. She breathed in deeply, savoring the rich, bitter aroma of freshly ground coffee beans that permeated everything in Brewed Awakening—her sanctuary for the past three years.

"Order up for table seven!" she called out, sliding the ceramic mug across the counter to her coworker, Zach.

The morning rush at the café created a symphony of sounds—the gentle clinking of spoons against ceramic, the murmur of conversations, fingers tapping on laptop keyboards, and the occasional burst of laughter. Outside, the autumn leaves rustling in the breeze, visible through the café's large windows that let in streams of golden morning light.

Emily wiped her hands on her apron, leaving faint traces of coffee grounds. The sweet, subtle scent of the pumpkin muffins baking in the kitchen wafted through the air, mingling with the ever -present coffee aroma. It was comforting. Familiar. Everything in her life had been comfortably familiar for quite some time now.

That was about to change.

"He's here again," Zach whispered as he returned to the counter, nodding subtly toward the corner table.

Emily didn't need to look to know who "he" was. For the past week, the same man had claimed the corner table by the window, arriving precisely at 8:15 AM, ordering a black coffee and nothing else, and spending exactly one hour typing on his laptop before leaving.

Emily had nicknamed him "Mr. Punctual" in her head. Tall, impeccably dressed in tailored suits that probably cost more than her monthly rent, with dark hair always neatly styled and piercing blue eyes that rarely looked up from his screen.

"Maybe he's writing the next great American novel," Emily suggested, arranging fresh pastries in the display case.

Zach snorted. "More likely some corporate big shot preparing to fire half his employees."

The bell above the door jingled as a new customer entered, bringing with them a gust of cool air and the earthy scent of fallen leaves. Emily straightened up, customer service smile at the ready, only to freeze when she saw who it was.

"Michael." His name left her lips before she could stop it.

Her ex-fiancé looked exactly as he had six months ago when he'd called off their wedding two weeks before the date. His sandy blonde hair was slightly longer, but his easy smile and the familiar scent of his citrusy cologne were unchanged.

"Hey, Em," he said, approaching the counter with unearned confidence. "You look good."

Emily's heart hammered against her ribs as memories flooded back—the humiliation of canceling wedding arrangements, returning gifts, explaining to everyone that the man who'd promised to love her forever had changed his mind.

"What do you want, Michael?" The words came out sharper than she intended, drawing glances from nearby customers.

He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I was hoping we could talk. Maybe after your shift?"

"I don't think we have anything to talk about." She busied herself wiping down the already clean counter, the smell of the sanitizer sharp in her nostrils.

"Em, please. It's important."

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Punctual looking up from his laptop, observing their interaction with subtle interest.

"I'm about to inherit my grandmother's estate," Michael continued, lowering his voice. "But there's a catch—she always wanted me to get married before I turned thirty. My birthday's in three months."

Emily stared at him, realization dawning with a sickening clarity. "Are you—are you asking me to marry you for your inheritance?"

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "It would just be temporary. A business arrangement. We could divorce after I secure the inheritance, and I'd make it worth your while financially."

The café seemed to go silent around them, though Emily knew it was just the blood rushing in her ears drowning out the ambient noise. The smell of coffee suddenly made her stomach turn.

"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "You dumped me before our wedding, and now you want me to marry you anyway—for money?"

"When you put it like that—"

"Get out." The words were quiet but firm.

"Emily—"

"I think the lady asked you to leave."

The deep voice came from directly behind Michael. Mr. Punctual had approached without either of them noticing, and now stood tall and imposing, his blue eyes cold as they fixed on Michael.

Michael sized up the stranger, clearly calculating whether this was a fight worth picking. Evidently deciding it wasn't, he backed toward the door.

"This isn't over, Em. Think about it—it could solve your financial problems too. I know the café is struggling." secure the inheritance, and I'd make it worth your while financially."

The bell jingled again as he left, leaving behind a suffocating tension and the lingering scent of his cologne that now seemed cloying and unpleasant.

"Thank you," Emily said to Mr. Punctual after a moment, embarrassed that he'd witnessed the scene. "Though I could have handled it."

"I have no doubt," he replied, his voice carrying the slightest hint of an accent she couldn't place.

"Some men need a more direct approach to understanding the word 'no.'"

Up close, she noticed details she'd missed from behind the counter—a small scar near his right eyebrow, the subtle pattern in his navy tie, the way his eyes weren't simply blue but had flecks of gray around the pupils.

"Can I get you a refill?" she offered, noticing his empty mug. "On the house, as thanks."

He smiled for the first time since he'd started frequenting the café. "That's kind, but unnecessary. Actually, I'd like to make you a proposition of my own."

Emily's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Not that kind of proposition," he clarified quickly. "A business offer. My name is James Thornton. I'm a corporate lawyer, and I couldn't help overhearing your situation."

"My situation?"

"Your ex-fiancé mentioned the café is struggling financially. I happen to be looking for an investment opportunity in this neighborhood."

Emily's defenses immediately rose. "The café isn't for sale."

"I'm not looking to buy it. I'm looking for a partnership." He reached into his pocket and produced a business card, placing it on the counter. "If you're interested in discussing possibilities that don't involve marrying that imbecile, I'll be at this address tomorrow at noon."

Emily glanced down at the card. James Thornton, Senior Partner, Thornton & Associates. The paper was thick, expensive, and embossed with a subtle pattern she could feel under her fingertips.

"Why would a corporate lawyer want to invest in a small café?" she asked suspiciously. James Thornton picked up his laptop and tucked it into a leather messenger bag that probably cost more than her monthly rent.

"Let's just say I have my reasons," he replied cryptically. "Tomorrow at noon, if you're interested."

As he walked away, the bell jingling with his departure, Emily caught a subtle scent she hadn't noticed before—not cologne, but something more elemental. Like the pages of old books and distant thunderstorms.

She slipped the business card into her pocket, unsure if she would use it but unwilling to throw it away just yet.

From across the café, Zach caught her eye and mouthed dramatically: "What was that about?"

Emily shook her head slightly, turning back to the espresso machine.

"I have absolutely no idea," she murmured to herself as the machine roared to life again, drowning out her thoughts with its familiar, comforting noise.