Bad For Bad

A sleek Bugatti Veyron rolled to a smooth stop outside the coffee shop. From the driver’s seat, Blake Wright cast a cautious glance into the rearview mirror. The man seated in the back exuded a commanding aura, like a Greek god sculpted in flesh—dignified, powerful, untouchable.

Blake’s pulse quickened. Despite having worked for this man for several years, the presence of Zachary Gonzalez still unnerved him. He rubbed his sweaty palms together, opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. Zac’s head was lowered, eyes fixed on his phone, utterly absorbed.

Blake gulped nothing. That was just how his boss was. Immaculately dressed, heartbreakingly handsome, emotionally impenetrable. His sharp, cold demeanor had sent more employees packing than Blake could count. One minor mistake was all it took.

“Mr. Gonzalez, shall I go in and order your usual coffee?” Blake asked slowly, carefully, almost reverently.

“No. I’ll go in myself,” Zac replied in his trademark glacial tone. Then, as if to spare Blake from further torment, he finally looked up.

The stare was brief, but enough to jolt Blake back to his senses. “Yes, sir,” he blurted, scrambling out of the car. He hurried around and opened the door for Zac with practiced precision.

Zac stepped out of the car with unhurried grace, one foot and then the other, towering over Blake. His custom-tailored suit clung perfectly to his sculpted frame, every motion radiating dominance. As he adjusted the buttons of his jacket, the soft glint of his rose-gold Patek Philippe caught the light, momentarily dazzling Blake.

He took a single, measured step away from the car, giving Blake the silent cue to shut the door. Then he headed toward the entrance. Blake rushed ahead and opened the glass door, bowing slightly as Zac entered. Behind them, the busy street felt a world away.

Just as Blake turned to ask if he should prepare a table, a sharp smack shattered the calm. His eyes darted toward the source. “She deliberately spilled water on Zac’s picture!” Layla’s indignant voice rang out.

Blake’s jaw slackened. He recognized the name Zac and the accusation all too well. Layla stood arrogantly, her voice drenched in entitlement. “Admit it! You’re jealous because you’ll never meet Zac!”

Blake stood silently behind Zac, watching the scene unfold like everyone else in the café. His gaze shifted to Ava, and a flicker of pity surfaced. She looked humiliated, water dripping from her face.

Zac hadn’t moved a muscle. His hands were in his pockets, his face an unreadable mask. But his eyes—those cold, steel-brown eyes—were fixed solely on Ava.

Ava, sensing the room’s attention, turned away quickly. She grabbed a handful of tissues and quietly began dabbing her face. She had no idea who the tall, magnetic man at the door was, but from Layla’s reaction, he clearly carried weight.

“Layla,” Cora whispered, nudging her stunned friend. Layla had been frozen, staring in disbelief at Zac.

Suddenly, she snapped out of her trance and squealed, “Zac!” She bolted toward him.

Blake reacted instinctively, stepping forward and raising a hand to block her.

 Layla, however, was too euphoric to notice. “Zac, it’s really you?” she gushed. “I’m Layla, daughter of the Brook Group. You’ve heard of us, right? I’m your biggest fan. I love you, Zac! That worthless coffee girl spilled water on your photo, so I slapped her!”

She smiled brightly, undeterred by Zac’s lack of expression. She reached for him, but Blake stepped in.

“Miss, please step back. You cannot speak to Mr. Gonzalez without his permission.”

Layla blinked at Blake, then turned to Zac. He wasn’t even looking at her. His eyes remained locked on Ava, who now pretended to be cleaning tables but was quietly watching the scene from the corner of her eye.

Water began to pool in Layla’s eyes. This wasn’t how she imagined their meeting. Was she not pretty enough? Was she not important enough?

“Zac, please,” she choked, “tell him to move. I just want to talk to you.” She reached out again, this time clasping his arm tightly.

Blake’s heart stuttered. He hadn’t expected her to be so bold. He glanced at Zac—and froze. A silent storm was brewing behind those cold eyes. Blake knew that look.

Without a word, Zac yanked his arm free, flinging Layla away as though she were something dirty. She stumbled backward and crashed to the floor, gasping in shock. A collective gasp rose from the café.

Cora rushed to her side, horrified. “Layla!”

Zac, expression unchanged, turned his back to them. Blake hurried to open the door. There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes—finally, justice served.

“Zac!” Layla screamed after him, tears streaming down her cheeks. But Zac didn’t look back. He stepped outside, and Blake shut the door behind them.

Customers began murmuring as they left, some smiling to themselves. Layla’s entitled behavior had earned her downfall.

Inside, Ava watched Zac’s retreating figure, her curiosity burning. Who was that man? She didn’t know him, but it felt like he had stepped in—for her.

Her gaze drifted to Layla, still crumpled on the floor. For the first time, Ava didn’t feel like a victim. But she wasn’t quite grateful either.

If anything, she decided, Zac Gonzalez was dangerous—and dangerously unpredictable.