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Garrett Chapman dropped the pillow onto his plush new mattress, resisting the urge to climb up and roll around on it. 

“You are way too excited by a bed that doesn’t stand a chance of seeing any action,” Fletcher said, barely looking up from the contract he was perusing. “And I don’t just mean because it’s the one being installed in your office.”

His partner was too wrapped up in their current deal negotiations to appreciate the joys of a thousand thread-count percale cotton sheets. 

“You would be excited too if you had spent a week straight sleeping on the couch in the office.” 

Fletcher put the sheaf of papers down and raised a bushy black brow. “Here’s a crazy idea. What if instead of spending a hundred grand on an office remodel, you go home to your luxurious penthouse and sleep in the king-sized bed there?”

He fluffed the pillow and smirked. “Easier said than done these days.”

Fletcher sighed, slumping a bit so that the incipient paunch he was developing hung over his belt. “True enough, I guess,” he said, somehow managing to appear around ten years older than Garrett despite being several months younger. 

Next Chapter Enterprises, their investment company, was in a period of expansion. That was a line he’d said in various forms for the last two years and it was still true. Their little group, which dabbled in everything from microprocessors to real estate, had gone from him and Fletcher and thirty-eight staff to nearly double in that time. They had grown so much that they’d had to pull up stakes from their old office to their new one.

Their new office suite took the entire top floor of the new Lumen tower, a joint enterprise between his company and his friends including Rainer Torsten, Ian Quinn, and Elias Gardner. 

The luxury office building had opened only six months ago. It provided many amenities including security, two state-of-the-art gyms, spacious balconies, three full-service dining rooms, and a car service. All of this was in addition to the café-slash-bakery on the ground floor and coffee carts in a communal space located on every other floor. 

Add that to the modern open design, competitive pricing and location, and it was no wonder they were already ninety percent occupied with a waiting list a mile long for their small and midsized suites. 

The only reason the floor underneath him was unoccupied was because Auric Security, Quinn and Gardner’s private security firm, was waiting for their current lease to run out before moving their West Coast operations here.

“Just go ahead and jump on the damn bed.” Fletcher sighed. “You know you want to.”

Garrett snorted. “Like I’m going to do it in front of you.”

His partner got to his feet. “Fine, I can take a hint.” 

He saluted with the contract in hand, nearly giving his eyeball a paper cut. 

Refusing to acknowledge his near miss, he ducked out, leaving Garrett alone. Finally. 

Pulling out his phone, he set his alarm to go off in half an hour. Then he pulled off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Taking a running start, he leaped on the bed like a four-year-old. He landed, bouncing twice before his body weight sunk into the thick pillow top. Almost moaning with pleasure, he turned over and clapped, turning off the lights, then settled in.

However, his power nap couldn’t undo the last few weeks of burning the candle at both ends. With only a few minutes before he had to jump on to his London conference call, he decided to hit the coffee cart on the floor below. But the Back in 5 Minutes sign, along with the three guys ahead of him made him bite back a growl. 

Wishing his assistant hadn’t chosen yesterday to start their vacation, he was about to give up and head back upstairs when he caught what the guys ahead of him were saying. 

“Wish she’d hurry that glorious ass up,” the man with a visible bald spot said.

“You think it’s good? I say she’s too fat.” His thinner friend paused. “Although those tits are spectacular. Even better than her lattes.”

“What can I say? I’m an ass man,” the first guy said. “And hers makes me want to take a big bite out of it. Speaking of her lattes, I’ve got some foam for her—”

“Hey,” Garrett snapped, unable to listen to another second of their shit. “I hope you’re not talking about anyone who works here.”

The man in question spun around. As tall as him, the balding guy was a middle-aged example of what his best friend Rainer called hard fat. He reminded Garrett of an aging boxer gone to seed, but he had the air of a man who still loved to brawl. 

London be damned, the arrogant and belligerent twist of the jerk’s mouth was tempting him to give the man his unspoken wish.

“What’s it to you?” Baldy asked, sticking out his chest like a pufferfish. Any more and Garrett would lose an eye when the buttons on his shirt popped off.

His voice dropped to the register that sent his staff running for the hills. “I think it would be wise if you kept those kinds of thoughts to yourself. We don’t need De Olla coffee filing charges for sexual harassment—although they would be justified.”

The guys rounded on him. “What is your problem, asshole? Is the fat-ass barista your girlfriend?”

He rolled his eyes and turned his back, muttering to his friend. 

Garrett’s body flashed hot and cold, and he hid his hands behind his back because they were turning into fists without his volition. “I would take the free advice, buddy, unless you want someone to revisit your lease…”

He looked over the guy’s shoulder, reading and repeating the name of the accounting firm printed on the glass.

“Our lease?” The jerk blinked several times. “Are you fucking serious? Who the hell do you think you are?”

The other guy elbowed him, his eyes widening in recognition. 

“He owns the building,” loser number two hissed at his red-faced companion. 

“I’m also on the board of De Olla,” he added with the scariest smile he could summon—the one that made his subordinates run for cover on those rare occasions they screwed up. “Which means the employee you’re harassing works for me.”

“We’re sorry, man,” the skinny one said, backpedaling fast enough to leave tread marks on the floor.

But the first one wasn’t budging, so Garrett gave him a verbal push. “I don’t think you need any more coffee today.”

“Nah, man, not from here.” Baldy shrugged, rolling his shoulders and sniffing loudly. He jerked his head at his friend. “The coffee here sucks. Let’s go to Starbucks,” he said, heading to the elevator without waiting for his friend. 

Garrett watched the offender go, his posture transforming the farther he went. By the time he reached the elevator, Baldy was swaggering, as if leaving had been his idea.

When he turned back, the barista was standing at the coffee cart, staring at him. But it wasn’t a woman. It was a skinny white kid with a protruding Adam’s apple. 

The kid didn’t look old enough to shave, but he had to be in college at the least. Garrett had edited the employment contract so the coffee company didn’t hire underage workers at this location. Everyone had to have a high school diploma to work in his building—part of how he ensured quality service for his tenants.

Not that all of them deserved it. 

“Hey, thanks for saying something to those men,” the kid said, that huge Adam’s apple bobbing distractingly. He was holding a package of disposable coffee cups in front of him like a shield. 

“They had to change Em back to the café downstairs because of the jerks on this floor.”

“They did?” Man, he shouldn’t have let those two pervs go with a warning. No, this was shaping up to be a systemic problem.

De Olla wasn’t obligated to let the building’s management know about every little problem they were having. The way they handled issues like this was up to their discretion. But he prided himself on how his company treated female staff. 

Next Chapter staff was forty-four percent women, but Garrett was determined to get it to half—and not just with the administrative staff. His analyst, legal, and accounting teams were equally well represented. 

“I’ll look into it, Kyle,” he promised after clocking his name tag. “In the meantime, can I have a cappuccino?”

“You got it,” the kid said with a wide smile. “And thanks again. Em shouldn’t have to get moved because of guys like that. It’s much harder working in the main café. It’s so much busier.”

“I’ll speak to Hector as soon as I get a chance.”

De Olla was a new company. Their contract with Next Chapter was one of their first supplying a major office building. Maybe Hector Ortiz, the founder and general manager, didn’t know how to handle issues that brought them conflict with other businesses yet. 

Garrett was going to have to step in. He wasn’t about to let everyday sexual harassment turn the atmosphere around here to shit. Not in his own building. 

Kyle took a little longer than Garrett would have liked on his drink, but the delay was worth it when he took the cup. The kid has somehow managed to put a Superman-style S on the foam of his cappuccino. 

Snorting lightly, he saluted. Vowing to contact De Olla after his London call, he hustled back upstairs. 

Unfortunately, his conference call ran long. It was well after six by the time he was done. He stopped by the café on the way out, but it was already closed, the ground floor space dark. 

Vowing to speak to Hector before he started his day tomorrow, he decided to take Fletcher’s advice and go home for the night.

Naturally, Garrett overslept. 

By the time he got to the café, the line was out the door, lured by the aroma of roasted beans and freshly baked pastries. Cursing under his breath, he scanned the space for the manager, only to find the man hustling to fill orders along with the dark-haired barista, a woman half-hidden behind the gleaming steel of an industrial espresso machine. 

Sighing, he resigned himself to calling Hector from his office upstairs—and settling for coffee from his pod machine.

Then the barista behind the machine moved into view. 

Garrett blinked. No, it can’t be. 

The woman manning the espresso machine just looked like Emma, but it couldn’t possibly be her. 

Emmaline Mendez was a Wall Street power broker by now. In high school, she had been determined to storm those halls of power and take no prisoners. Her job would involve wearing suits and spiked heels she would use to step all over her competition. There was no way she’d be working as a bar—shit.

“Em,” he breathed in shock. The kid had called his coworker Em, the one being sexually harassed. 

No, this was just a coincidence. Garrett was overly tired and imagining things. A second look would prove that. But the barista had her head down, a long side braid covering what was visible of her face. 

Then she turned, a sunny smile stretching plush rose lips as she set a to-go cup on the counter next to her. 

“Macchiato for Evans!” she called.

The blood drained out of his head at the sound of her voice.

“Emmy,” he whispered, the tips of his fingers going numb. He tried to walk toward her, to make sure. 

He stumbled, unable to catch himself before he crashed into a tiny two-person table, jostling the coffee mug on it. He didn’t hit it hard enough to knock it over, but enough of it spilled that the woman sitting at the table jumped up with a gasp.

“I’m sorry,” he said, grabbing the napkins next to the cup to mop up the mess.

“Oh, that’s okay, Mr. Chapman,” the woman said a little breathlessly. 

He blinked down at the blonde, belatedly recognizing the woman as Fletcher’s new PA, the pretty young thing his partner had hired when his former assistant had decided not to continue after they moved offices. 

Speaking of lawsuits waiting to happen.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. “Only a bit spilled.”

“Here, let me get that.”

Garrett froze as the Emma look-alike stepped up to the table. She held out a white towel, wiping down the table with quick, efficient strokes.

Fine dark brows, thick sooty lashes, and cheekbones that would have done a twig-sized supermodel proud—a feature totally at odds with the curves that had grown even lusher over the years.

There was no doubt about it. Emmaline Mendez was working as a barista in his building. 

Garrett held his breath, the universe pausing as he waited for her to look up. Then she did.

“Did you need one too?” she asked, her caramel-colored eyes meeting his.

Garrett froze, waiting for the moment of recognition. But it never came. She just stood there, holding out a paper towel, that friendly but impersonal smile fading as the moment stretched. He might as well have been a stranger off the street.

“I’ll take one,” the blonde said when he didn’t move. 

Emma turned to the blonde with a graceful sweep of her hands—as if she lived to serve and be helpful!

She handed her several brown paper towels before the manager called out to her. Then she was gone, ducking behind the counter without a second glance.

“Can I get you a coffee before I go up, Mr. Chapman?” the blonde offered.

Garrett shook his head, irritated when the small motion made him dizzy.

“No, thank you, Sarah,” he replied, his excellent memory providing the assistant’s name. “I was going to, but I’ve changed my mind. Going to cut back.”

Starting now.

“If you’re sure,” she said, looking at him with an eager innocence that didn’t quite mask her interest.

But Garrett had lost his taste for dewy-eyed ingenues a long time ago. 

“I’m sure,” he rasped, displeased at how hoarse he sounded. “Please excuse me.” 

He rushed out, his heart pounding so hard and fast it was like it was trying to burst out of his chest. Staggering down the hallway, he stopped short of the elevator bank until his vision cleared. 

Where the hell had his discipline gone? He should be marching back into that café and getting into Emma’s face. Instead, he was hiding, trying to catch his breath like an asthmatic kid who had just seen his bully coming around the corner. 

That visual image calmed him down. Garrett forced himself to walk away, but his blood was boiling, his anger and indignation growing with every step. 

He didn’t know what game Emma was playing. But the woman who had consistently given him hell throughout high school, skipped both freshman and sophomore year, and was voted most likely to succeed alongside him was no mere barista! 

No, if Emma was working here—pretending not to recognize him for fuck’s sake—it could only mean one thing. 

She was up to no good.