The Delivery Girl

10. Cafe

"Whatever you like," Mr. Sterling says as I peer up at the giant chalkboard. The bustling cafe's menu is expansive, filled with most of the classics, but even more experimental drinks.

I decide it's best to play it safe. "Small flat white, please," I say to the barista.

"And a medium, black please," he adds, taking out a platinum credit card.

The cheerful barista, probably only eighteen or nineteen years old, blushes a bit. "Of course, Mr. Sterling!"

Jeez. I can understand several people greeting him on our way downstairs and through the lobby, but we're nearly three blocks from the office. How many people does he know?

"Thank you, Katrina," he says politely. His demeanour is almost the same with everyone; calm and stoic, and strictly professional – besides some of the clients I've seen him with. He knows how to turn on the charm when he needs to. "You can take a seat first," he says to me.

"Sure." I sit down at a small table against the window.

I watch him as he waits by the pick-up counter, speaking to a different barista now. She rests her palms on the wooden counter, leaning forward towards him. She talks to him, giggling and twirling her hair.

Real subtle.

But he doesn't seem phased by it, he speaks calmly with indifference on his face – as if it's a typical occurrence that he regularly has to shake off.

I find my gaze lingering on him. Wavy, jet black hair styled perfectly; a well fitted suit that hints at a toned body underneath; a jaw sharp enough to cut glass; and an overall intense, powerful aura.

I force myself to snap out of it when I realize I'm staring. Mr. Sterling might look like a model you would see on the cover of a magazine, but that's no way to think about my boss.

He sets the two steaming cups on the table before taking a seat across from me.

I pretend not to notice his bodyguard, Jacob, was it? Sitting a few tables away.

"Thank you," I say softly, taking the pastel yellow mug. "It's a nice place."

It's expertly designed and furnished, but everything costs at least three times as much as they do at my usual cafe. It's definitely not a sustainable place for me to go to.

"I agree," he says before taking a small sip of his coffee. "I bring a lot of clients here for casual meetings."

"That's nice." I try not to show my surprise. If he brings clients to a place as nice as this for casual meetings, where in the world does he bring clients for serious meetings?

"I apologize for missing our meeting on Monday." The sincerity in his tone almost makes me feel guilty. "This is just a casual chat to get to know each other, we'll do a formal meeting to discuss your career goals and professional development in a few weeks."

My tense grip on the hem of my skirt relaxes. "Got it."

"I'd love to hear how your first day went."

I clasp my mug and lightly tap my nails against it. There's really not much to say. "It was good," I say; a safe answer. "I'm still getting settled in, but I'm really excited to be here."

He gives me what looks like a relieved smile – I've noticed he doesn't smile much. "Glad to hear it," he says. "Everything going well with Hayley?"

I chew on my lip. She's definitely not my biggest fan, but I decide that complaining about my supervisor on my second day is a bad idea. "She's been very helpful with getting me set up and showing me around," I say. "I appreciate it, especially because she always seems so busy. I dont think I've ever seen her take a break."

He seems content with my answer. "She's good at her job, but I'm hoping having you around will lighten her workload a bit."

"Makes sense." I'm here as an assistant's assistant, afterall. "You and Hayley seem pretty close, have you been working together for a long time?"

He looks out the window thoughtfully and rubs his palm against the dark stubble on his chin, contrasting against his light olive skin.

"Something like that," he says slowly. He's leaving something out, but I can't tell what.

Even after just a few interactions, I've noticed how difficult he can be to read. There's something mysterious about him that I can't help but find intriguing. I hear Ivan's words in my mind again. Could Mr. Sterling really be that bad of a person? Is that what he's trying to hide?

"But I do know that we cross the line sometimes and get too casual around each other," he adds. "My apologies if it has made you uncomfortable."

"Oh no, it's completely fine, I haven't even noticed." I insist, shaking my head so quickly that both of my braids get flicked behind my shoulders.

I can't tell whether he sees through my lie or not. Having my boss apologize so earnestly to me feels... wrong, and apparently my first instinct is to downplay it. My only other experience with managers is dad, after all. That man would rather be in permanent denial than ever admit he was wrong.

Mr. Sterling and Hayley have a strange dynamic that I have no idea how to describe. They tease each other, Hayley usually just walks into his office without knocking, they curse in front of each other, and he either doesn't notice or care that she doesn't follow the dress code.

"Ok, thank you for letting me know," he says.

Mr. Sterling isn't much of a talker. I find myself filling most of the awkward silence, as he usually doesn't seem to have much to say about himself. He is a good listener though, he listens attentively and often asks questions. He makes me feel like what I have to say is actually important.

"Do you have any siblings?" he asks.

"A younger sister."

"Does she live here too?"

"Yup. We live here with our dad and grandma in a little apartment above our restaurant," I say. "We moved here when I was a kid."

He nods and takes a slow sip of coffee. "Where are you from?"

"I was born in Shanghai, but my parents and I moved to Canada when I was four," I explain. I pause, waiting expectantly for Mr. Sterling to share his background, but he remains silent. I continue, "My dad was sure that our prospects would be better here."

I still remember our first few months here. I was an innocent, oblivious child, but even I could tell that mom was absolutely terrified. She had left all of her friends and family behind – dad didn't really have friends and was an only child – to come to a new country where she barely spoke the language.

Dad reassured her almost every day that things would turn out fine. He was sort of right – eventually at least.

He seems to think for a moment. "So the restaurant you work at is your family's?"

I nod.

"Is... all of the staff family?" he asks slowly.

I can't seem to read the weird energy he's giving off. Maybe it's all just in my head. "My sister and I are servers, my uncles and cousin cook, and my dad is the one in charge."

His expression doesn't change. "I see." Mr. Sterling suddenly looks at his phone at the sound of a beep. "Oh my apologies, but I have a meeting I need to head back for."

I realize we'd both finished our drinks some time ago, but I hadn't noticed at the slightest. "Let's head out," I say, bringing our empty cups to the dirty dish bin.

"Thank you for getting coffee with me, Miss Leong," he says. "It was quite lovely."

For some reason, I feel myself blushing as we leave the cafe.