Chapter 10
The office was quieter than usual for a Thursday afternoon. Most of the team had already trickled out, but Jamie Capulet was still at his desk, surrounded by crumpled notes, empty coffee cups, and half a chocolate croissant from earlier that he was now seriously considering licking for inspiration.
He rubbed his temple and stared at the latest draft on his screen:
“Ritual Coffee. Make your moment.”
Meh.
Too flat. Too vague. Too trying.
Ryan appeared behind him and leaned over his shoulder like a nosy seagull. “You’re in the zone, I see. Or a light nervous breakdown. Could go either way.”
Jamie groaned. “How do you end a sentence that’s supposed to sell identity, soul, and steamed milk?”
Ryan handed him a sticky note with a smiley face on it. “You don’t. You just write something that makes people feel something and hope they forgive the syntax.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Wow. So helpful.”
“Okay, fine,” Ryan said, nudging him. “Try flipping it. Less about coffee, more about the person drinking it. What does their moment feel like?”
Jamie paused.
“…Safe. Intentional. Honest.”
Ryan grinned. “There you go.”
Before Jamie could reply, Shona breezed in – long trench coat, shiny boots, aura of mild impatience.
“There you are,” she said, grabbing Ryan’s arm. “You promised me a 7:30 showing and I want popcorn layered like a wedding cake.”
Ryan grabbed his jacket and saluted Jamie. “Don’t work too hard. Or do. Just make it poetic.”
Jamie watched them leave – laughing, easy, together.
His stomach twisted in that familiar way.
I want that.
It was past eight when Jamie finally looked up again. Everyone else was gone. The lights had dimmed to after-hours mode, and the building hummed in quiet stillness.
He was rewriting a tagline when the elevator dinged.
And then…
There he was.
Blake Sterling.
Holding a paper bag that smelled like heaven.
“Figured you were still here,” Blake said casually, walking in like he hadn’t just made Jamie’s entire chest tighten. “And I was craving Thai. Got you the green curry and those ridiculous spring rolls you mentioned. Hope you’re hungry.”
Jamie blinked. “You remembered my order?”
Blake shrugged, setting the bag down. “Of course. You ramble when you’re tired. I listen.”
That shouldn’t feel this good.
They unpacked the food and sat cross-legged on the lounge rug near Jamie’s desk, like two overworked students pulling an all-nighter.
Blake picked up a stack of Jamie’s scribbled ideas and read a few.
“These are good,” he said between bites. “But you’re doing that thing again.”
Jamie paused mid-chew. “What thing?”
Blake pointed a chopstick at him. “Overthinking. You’re trying to sound like a brand. What if you just… sound like you?”
Jamie groaned. “I am the brand now.”
“No,” Blake said, leaning back and tossing Jamie a foam stress ball from his bag. “You’re Capulet. Smart, messy, overachieving, unexpectedly brilliant Capulet.”
Jamie caught the ball on reflex. “You brought a prop?”
Blake grinned. “Helps with the overthinking. Come on. Catch and speak. No filters. What does coffee mean to you?”
Jamie hesitated…
then threw the ball back.
“Mornings that don’t hurt.”
Catch. Throw.
“Comfort you can hold.”
Catch. Throw.
“Warmth. Permission to breathe.”
Catch. Throw.
“A promise to slow down.”
Jamie froze.
Oh.
Blake looked at him.
Jamie blinked. “That’s it.”
Blake tilted his head. “What?”
“The tagline.” Jamie stood up suddenly, pacing. “That’s it. That’s what we sell. Not the beans. Not the brand. The pause.”
He grabbed a marker and scrawled across the whiteboard:
“Ritual Coffee. A promise to slow down.”
Blake stood, reading it.
Then nodded.
“See?” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not just good. You’re damn good.”
Jamie turned, flustered. “I wouldn’t have gotten there without the spring rolls and motivational dodgeball.”
Blake smiled. “And you wouldn’t have gotten here at all if you hadn’t let yourself be you. That’s what sells. That’s what matters.”
Jamie stilled.
Soft lighting. Thai containers scattered. The whiteboard glowing behind them.
And Blake – standing close enough to touch.
“Seriously,” Blake added, voice just above a whisper. “You don’t need to fake perfect. You’re already magnetic when you’re real.”
Jamie swallowed.
That felt dangerous.
“That’s dangerously close to flirting,” he said, trying to lighten the air.
Blake smiled, something softer under the edge. “Capulet, I’ve been flirting.”
Jamie turned red – again.
And Blake?
Blake just leaned down, picked up a napkin, and wiped a tiny dot of curry off Jamie’s chin.
“Better,” he said.
Jamie went very, very still.
Oh. That was not work appropriate.
Blake stepped back like nothing had happened.
Jamie blinked.
His brain stalled.
Restarted.
Failed again.
“Yeah,” he said faintly. “Great. Perfect. Totally normal.”
Blake’s mouth twitched.
And Jamie?
Jamie was never sleeping again.