Grounds for Romance (The Coffee Loft Series: Fall Collection)

22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zara

O ne week later

I stare at the tic-tac-toe grid on the screen in front of me, my daily call with my office. My knees bounce from the staccato beat my toes force from pressing on the footrest of the café stool. This is the fifth day in a row I’ve told myself to remain courageous and do what I know is right for me. The last four days, I’ve chickened out.

“Next week, we’ll name the lead for the special holiday line for the Gyriss collection,” Christine drops the news as if I hadn’t already learned they’ve decided to pass me over yet again. “With that, any other business?”

I glance over my shoulder, a habit I’ve been unable to break. He’s not here, yet my eyes continue to search for him. My stupid heart continues to pound hard for him. My soul still longs for him. Mrs. Whitehead’s words ring in my ears, In our jobs, we all play a role. I’m not exempt.

I press the keyboard shortcut and watch my digital hand flash on the screen. “Zara? You have a question?” I hear the shock in Christine’s voice. The message is clear as the bright sun streaming through the café window, You’re supposed to sit in the corner quietly and not say a word.

“Yes, I just wanted to give my notice. I’m resigning,” I push out the words I should have said five days ago. Words I should have uttered five months ago. This firm doesn’t respect me or what I bring to the table. After the pitch, I expected to come down from that high and return to normal. But I haven’t. My brain has been in overdrive ever since. I wake up every morning, energized with design ideas. Itching to sketch and plan, only to be reminded of my nine to five, which not only sucks away time but also my creative energy.

Regardless of what the Magic decides, I know I’m talented. I can compete with the top firms out there. My voice matters. And I’ll no longer let it be muted.

“Resigning?” Christine’s face says all the words she doesn’t. How ridiculous, whatever will you do? You’ll be homeless within a month. “ I’m not sure what to make of that. This isn’t really the proper forum.”

“You’re right. There’s nothing proper about this group. My formal resignation is in your inbox. Along with my transition plan. I can stick around for two weeks to assist but am more than happy to make this my last call for this company. Your decision.” My knees stop bouncing, and I expect a wave of regret and tension to sweep over me—neither does.

I don’t have another job waiting for me. The fact that I haven’t heard from the Magic in nearly a week can only mean they’ve selected a different company for their design. But none of these matters. I’m no longer contented to watch and wait.

Christine lowers her head, her fingers flying across the keyboard. When I spot two of the other team members fail in their attempts to suppress laughter, I know what she’s doing. She’s typing an instant message to a group chat I’m not a part of.

An evil smile crosses her face as she stares into the screen. I’m no longer their patsy. I’m not waiting for their crumbs or their decision. “On second thought, I’ll notify security myself and have them revoke my access. I’m quitting at this moment. Good day.”

I disconnect from the Zoom call before they can speak, and I exhale. It’s done. I slam the door shut to a difficult chapter of my life and make a note of the time. Future me would want me to remember this detail.

It’s early, but I don’t hesitate to swipe the phone and connect. “I couldn’t wait, I just quit.”

His chuckle warms my heart. For the last week, Devon and I have talked every day. Some days, multiple times a day. He’s become a man of his word. He’s letting me get to know him, the real him. Two nights ago, we went on what we both realized was our first official, no secrets date. We both lowered our wall and talked one on one about anything and everything. We stayed at the restaurant until close, then took a scenic drive along the coast, and continued the conversation. His background is even more fascinating than his present. He’s stuck his hands in a little bit of everything. As he jokes, he knows just enough to be dangerous. Truer words have never been spoken.

I’m still taking it slow. I allowed him a peck on my cheek that night but have been dreaming about so much more. “Good for you.” He gives me the support I need. The support he always provides. “They were holding back your greatness. Are you ready to soar?” Devon always sees me in the best of light. He makes me feel like I can do anything. I think back to David’s words, the four pillars necessary to succeed and realize Devon has worked his way into the fourth box alongside my sister. “Today’s the day. I can feel it.”

I laugh at his enthusiasm. Every day when we chat, he tells me the same line. He still believes the Magic is going to reach out. As each day passes, the chances of it happening dwindle. “Even if it doesn’t come about, I already feel like a winner. I’ve quit, and I’ve gotten to talk with you.”

“I feel the same.” Devon tilts his head and stares directly into his phone, the screen capturing every inch of his handsome face. Earlier this week, he cut his hair for the part, and I miss his locs. His new look highlights his handsome face in a new way. A short choir boy afro. Another version of him that’s just as striking. “When can I see you again?”

It’s a simple question, but it kicks off a wave of emotions. Every time we chat, I want to hop in the car and drive to Pomona and see him. It’s only twenty miles from Crestline, but in the land of L.A., it can take up to an hour to traverse. My every instinct wants to run toward him, just as it did before. But something holds me back. The pain of his deceit has faded with time, yet a small part of me refuses to let go. An unrealistic concern that what we’re building this time isn’t solid enough to stand the test of time.

“Technically, I’m unemployed,” I joke.

“Let’s celebrate tonight.” He’s not joking. “No pressure. Do you want to come to my place?” Devon is a sensitive soul. He’s attempting to read my face as I ponder his question. He’s giving me what I’ve asked from him. Time, space, and access to his life.

I catch the scent of the caramel latte before I spot it. It appears on the edge of the counter, next to my laptop. “Mrs. Whitehead said this was your favorite.”

I recognize the strong baritone voice immediately. It puts me on edge. I twist on the seat, my eyes merely confirming what I already know. David Blaine, the owner of the Magic, stands two feet in front of me. “Is this seat taken?”

He tips his coffee at the empty seat next to me. I nod my consent and speak into my phone. “Devon, I’m going to have to call you back. David is here at the café.” I click off the line even as I hear Devon speaking.

“Long way to go for a coffee fix.” I twist my knees in his direction as he slides onto the chair, his gaze taking in my laptop, design notebook, and tablet.

“Had to come down to see where you create your magic, pun totally intended.” He takes a long sip of his iced coffee and lets my mind race with what a visit from him might mean. “I wanted to meet with you and discuss the pitch.”

“You’ve decided?” He nods but doesn’t give away a thing.

“Made it the day of the presentations.” He pauses, and I try to hide my disappointment. In the pitch language, it stated they wouldn’t notify the losing companies until the winning company had signed the contract. If he decided on day one, it can only mean he’s used the rest of the week to agree to the contract. This is just a courtesy visit.

“Congratulations, sir. I really appreciate you making the trip out here to let me know I didn’t win. An email would have been fine.”

His chuckle is warm. He’s a kind man. Too bad I won’t get to work with him. “My operation’s lead is freaking out. So is my head of marketing,” he starts, and I’m not sure where he’s going. “First time either of them fought me on a decision. I’ve known each since day one of the company, which made me take a second look at my decision.” He taps his coffee cup to mine like a celebratory clash of champagne glasses. “Didn’t change my mind, but I did tweak the terms. Congratulations, Zara! You’ve won the contract.”

I hop to my feet, not sure I’ve heard right. “Wait. What? You’ve chosen me?”

David slips his Italian loafers to the café floor, standing to mirror my movement.

My heart races. This can’t be happening. “Me? And your ops and marketing didn’t want me? They weren’t even at the pitch.”

His chuckle returns. “All the pitches were recorded. I wouldn’t say they didn’t want you—they did—but they had serious concerns about how it could work. And at the end of the day, I did see their points. But not enough to change my mind.”

“And you chose me? Despite their objections?”

“Yes, I chose you. But you still need to agree. We have certain stipulations.”

My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel my feet floating off the ground. “Whatever you need.”

David reaches to the inside pocket of his sports jacket and removes an envelope. “The details are all in there. I’ll have my assistant set up a meeting in my office for Monday. Bring your attorney and whoever else you may need. But the highlights are ops and marketing had serious concerns about giving such an important contract to a one-woman operation. We would like you to subcontract the production and inventory management to Pym Designs for the first two years. They’re one of the top production firms in the industry with decades of experience. They finished second at the pitch because they lack the vision you possess.” David’s gaze bores into mine, attempting to read my reaction.

“You’ll be in charge. For all intents and purposes, they work for you, not me.” My hands rise to my chest, and I mouth the words, my own team. “ If you don’t want them, you get to choose a different firm. If my ops team is comfortable, this is your decision.”

I’m stunned and speechless. My detailed plan had me working twenty-four hours a day to spin up production capabilities. This is a short cut I never considered. I was prepared to do everything on my own. It’s nice to know I don’t have to.

David must misread the concern on my face. Lines form across his forehead. “I know it’ll present some liquidity challenges, bringing on so many people at once while spinning up a brand-new company. I’ve been there.” His gaze softens, an empathic look that validates my instinct—he’s a man of compassion. “We’ll front load the contract, a signing bonus, and twenty percent payment of the first-year contract on Day one. A favorable line of credit at the bank I use. It’ll give you enough liquidity and flexibility to figure out the rest.”

“David, that’s a lot. I’ve never heard of any businessman offering something like this.”

“You’ll soon discover, I’m not like other businessmen. It’s my company, and I follow my instincts. And my instincts are screaming at me right now.” He places another chip on the scale, making my decision easier and easier. “I’ve had the team write into the contract a provision for you to transition from Pym over time. It’s set for a two-year transition with you taking over production one hundred percent by the end of year two.”

I know I shouldn’t press my luck, but I must know. I won’t dive into a new relationship with secrets. “Why? Why me?”

David wags a finger between us. “Because of this.” His gaze scans the café before returning to me. “I trust you. I got that sense the minute I walked into the arena. It was just you. You and me. Two businesspeople having a conversation. You were the only one who came in with just a laptop, confident enough to know your designs are all that mattered. And they did.

“Your designs have it all. Stylish, practical with an element of fun, and stunningly beautiful. They weren’t mass-produced, templated designs slapped together by a committee while juggling deadlines for a hundred other customers. You put in so many special touches that let me know you cared for my team as much as you cared for the first day at college shirt you designed for your little sister. You put your heart into every design. And it shows.”

Water wells up in my eyes, and I pray I don’t start to cry. “You had my business even before your army showed up.”

I press my hands to my chest. David’s words knock away a doubt I knew I would always carry if he hadn’t. He chose my designs even before the runway show and before the Mister Magic dance performance. As much as I adored what Stacy and Devon did for me, I would always wonder whether I won the pitch on my talents or their performance.

Relief spreads through me. I’ve done it. I’ve made the one-in-a billion shot. “Thank you for trusting me with such an important collection. I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t. And I look forward to working with you.” David stretches out his hand for a shake. He gives me a gentle squeeze. “When those other teams see what you can do, they’ll come sniffing around with offers, and they’ll remember we’re your number one client.”

I pull him into a quick hug. “Always,” I whisper. We share a laugh before he steps back and waves goodbye. “I’ll see you in my office Monday morning.”

“Monday,” I repeat his words and watch him leave. I stare at the door in disbelief this just happened. He’s chosen me. A million thoughts flash through my head, and I don’t know which to do first. I force myself to take a deep breath and trust my instinct.

My decision should surprise me. Of all the things to do, of all the people I want to share this news with. It’s him. I need to stop kidding myself that I don’t still carry strong feelings, that I still want an us.

It’s time I let him know the future me has decided. I choose him.