Chapter 9 - The Grand Lobby
Three months later.
The spring sun was warm over Manhattan, turning the glass of Sinclair Tower into a column of gold. The marble lobby was filled with the scent of fresh orchids and the soft, elegant music of a live jazz trio.
The Grand Reopening of Sinclair Tower was the event of the season.
The city’s elite—developers, politicians, artists—were all there, but they were not looking at the art on the walls or the champagne in the glasses. They were looking at the stage in the center of the lobby.
In the middle of the lobby, where the old Aurelia Coffee bar had stood, there was a new, beautiful mahogany structure. Above it, in brass letters, read: Holloway & Company.
Grace stood behind the counter, wearing a stunning, tailored dark green silk suit that highlighted her dark skin and the gold chain around her neck. Her hair was styled in soft, elegant waves, and she was laughing with a group of Stern professors who had come to celebrate her graduation.
She was no longer the barista.
She was the owner of the building’s retail concession, a business she had built with the signing bonus Dojin had given her. The coffee was still roasted in Brooklyn, but the milk was organic, the wages were double the city average, and the tips were pooled for a scholarship fund she had set up in her mother’s name.
As the crowd began to clear, Dojin walked toward her.
He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, his graphite coat carried over his arm. The bandage on his shoulder was gone, and he walked with the easy, powerful stride of a man who owned the air he breathed.
He stopped at the counter.
"Black Americano," he said, his eyes bright with a warm, private humor. "Three ice cubes. No sugar."
Grace smiled, reaching for a porcelain cup. "I'm sorry, sir. We don't serve your kind here."
"Oh?" Dojin raised an eyebrow. "And what kind is that?"
"People who pour coffee on my customers," she said, sliding the cup across the polished mahogany.
Dojin did not take the cup. Instead, he reached into his pocket and drew out a small, heavy silver key. He placed it on the counter, sliding it toward her until it touched her finger.
"What is this?" she asked.
"The key to the penthouse," Dojin said, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper that made her heart skip a beat. "And to every door in this building. I don't want to run this empire alone, Grace. I need a CFO who can keep me honest."
Grace looked at the key, then looked up at his face. She saw the man who had stood beside her in the wet shirt, the man who had taken a bullet for her in the dark, the man who had shown her that love was not a transaction.
"I have a condition," she said, her voice steady but filled with a sudden, joyous warmth.
"Name it."
"You have to let me keep the coffee tin under the bed," she said.
May you like
Dojin laughed, a beautiful, clear sound that traveled through the golden lobby like a melody.
"Always," he whispered.
