“Can you put a few ice cubes in there for me?” I ask.
“You know that ruins the whole flavor profile, right? We’ve worked hard to get the perfect roast to brew ratio.” Benny sighs as he gently puts a small handful of ice into my large cup of coffee.
“I know, Benny. And I promise to drink extra coffee next time to make up for my crimes. But I have an important meeting this morning and I’m running on about three hours of sleep.”
“Ouch.” He winces in sympathy.
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I need to internalize this caffeine as quickly as possible.”
Taking a deep inhale through my nose, I let the familiar scents calm my nerves.
There are some shops that still have chimes above their doors, but BeanBag is a little different. Whenever the door is opened, the motion sets off a rain stick that’s been filled with coffee beans. The sound is quiet but always makes me smile. That quirk alone is reason enough to come here, but the real reason I’m a regular is because they make the best coffee in all of Minneapolis. Benny is an especially talented barista. He might be a super hipster, but he knows how to work a latte. And lucky for me, BeanBag is just a block away from my apartment. Extra lucky is that I happen to live only a few blocks from Mazzanti Enterprises.
“You’re forgiven this one cup of bastardized coffee.” Benny gives me a slight bow as he extends the drink over the counter.
“I don’t deserve your kindness.” I say, accepting the cup.
With my coffee already to my lips I give Benny a wave as I turn towards the exit.
“Good luck with your meeting!” Benny calls out.
Like a kid in timeout, I now have the next 15 or so minutes to think about my actions as I walk to my new office. I could catch a Lyft, but today more than ever I need the fresh air. Thankfully the morning temperature is holding out. This June weather will end up killing me, but – for now, it’s pleasantly warm and not quite humid enough to destroy my hair.
I wasn’t exaggerating to Benny. I think I clocked around three hours of sleep last night. Vincent’s coldhearted dismissal after our sudden round of tense, completely inappropriate office sex left me stunned and more hurt than I’d like to admit. But my emotions are my own personal problem to deal with. The real problem, the problem that I can’t stop worrying about, is that Vincent clearly works for M.E. There’s literally no other reason for him to have been in the office yesterday. And since he was wearing a suit, there’s not much use in crossing my fingers and hoping he was with the moving company.
I’m fairly sure that when he stepped onto the elevator with me, it was on the floor where I was supposed to get off. The floor that I work on. Dear gods, please don’t let him be on the PR team with me. I don’t think I have the sort of poker face necessary for that.
Wait.
I stop walking right in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a few curses to be tossed my way.
I close my eyes and let out my own silent curse. The elevator. My head was down when he first stepped on, but it was only for a second or two. I doubt he’d be able recognize me from the top of my head. But when I looked up, he was looking right at me. Like right freaking at me. And he wasn’t surprised. There was no shock on his face whatsoever. Running into your one night stand a month later, in a different state, should cause a person at least a moment of pause. Unless… Unless he already knew I’d be there.
“Mother fucker.” This time my curse isn’t silent.
Vegas. Goddamnit. He was there. For work. He must have been at the same meetings I’d been at. Except… Except I’m certain I would’ve noticed him. It’s not like there were hundreds of people in those meetings, and the man stands out. Either way, he works for Mazzanti Enterprises. And he was in Vegas, staying at the Mazzanti Resort.
Letting the other pedestrians jostle me into walking again, I think back through the details of the night I met him, making a point to skip over the naked parts. I remember the way he handled Mr. Idiot in the bar. The handoff to the security guards. The guy in the hallway outside his room, and later on in his room. Vincent must be part of the security team. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe even Head of Security.
I groan. I think I can probably trust that he won’t report me, but what if he’s already bragged about his conquests to his friends?
Another thought jars me more than the first. What if he knew who I was back then, and that’s why he intervened with the jerk in the bar? What if it was all just a set up to get me in bed? I feel sick just thinking about it. I take a large gulp of coffee to rinse away the sour taste in my throat.
Then I take another drink for the jolt of alertness.
That’s it. No more thinking about the Devil. He’s dead to me. I will put him out of my mind and do my best to avoid him when I’m in the building. I can do that. I can’t think of a single scenario where I’d need to interact with security. This should be easy.
Feeling slightly pacified, I remind myself that my main goal is to keep my boss from finding out about Vincent. If Cheryl knew that I slept with a client, she’d take me off the project immediately. I don’t think she’d fire me. I don’t think so, but she might. She could. Best to not dwell on it. I won’t tell her. She won’t find out. And I’ll get to stay working on this project.
I’m almost surprised when I find myself standing in front of the Mazzanti building. I spent so much time fretting; I didn’t even realize I had walked all the way here. Taking one more deep inhale for strength, I push through the front doors. Time to put my game face on.
I make quick work of hurrying up to my office so I can drop off my nearly empty coffee and my bag. Grabbing a notepad, I head up to the top floor.
The crowd for this meeting is larger than I was expecting. We’re situated in the executive conference room. I swear it seats 50 and every chair is full. There’re even a few people standing against the back wall. They’re all Mazzanti employees. Cheryl, her assistant Monica, and I are the only outsiders.
Some of the staff came here from other M.E. locations, so there’s a slight chance that they’ve met this mysterious Mr. Sin before. But even then, he’s been very off-radar. And anyone who’s new to the company definitely hasn’t seen him.
Our meetings in Vegas mostly talked about logistics. Mazzanti Enterprises wants to, once and for all, set the record straight and present themselves as a totally legal organization. There’s been a lot of secrecy regarding the company in the past and they knew that they’d need the best PR team available to make the transition into the limelight smooth. We discussed the plan for the launch of the new Minneapolis location and finally put a face and name to the man behind the curtain. But we didn’t learn any details about him. Not a name. Not a hint. Nothing. We know he’s somehow related to the Mazzanti family. We know he’s been silently running things for 20 years, but he’s buried so deep that there’s not a single picture of this mystery man online. And we know that people have referred to him as Mr. Sin for the past several years. To say that we’re going into this unprepared is an understatement.
Cheryl leans over so she can talk to me quietly. “After we wrap up here, the three of us will head back to my office to flush out the details. Once we have an actual name to research, and some details in hand, we’ll be able to square away more of our overall plan.”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
She winks. “Here’s hoping he’s good looking. That always makes the public more willing to trust a person.”
I stifle a snort of laughter. It’s not fair, but she’s not wrong.
I’m about to reply further when a small crowd of people walk through the double doors into the conference room. All conversations stop.
We’re seated near the middle of the table, facing the door. So, I can easily watch as the group makes their way towards the front of the room. It’s a cluster of bodies, but as they move forward, they start to spread out. Dark silky hair catches my attention. And then my heart clenches in my chest.
It’s Vincent. He’s in the small group that just came in.
I swallow down my rising anxiety. If he’s walking in with this crowd of higher-ups, then he must actually be in charge of security. Fuck.
Breathe. I remind myself. I already assumed this was the case. It will be fine.
As I’m trying to calm myself with that thought, the group disperses to stand against the front wall. Everyone except Vincent. Vincent steps up to the head of the table.
His sultry voice does nothing to soften the blow of his words.
“Good morning. I’m Vincent Mazzanti. Some of you know me as Mr. Sin.”
