Chapter 01

DEA

It was my fault.

I should have paid attention and seen exactly where I was walking. Then again, I would have been able to see better if I knew where my damn glasses were. I was in a rush and my mind was so preoccupied that I had left my apartment without them. It was for that very reason I always kept a spare set in my handbag. One could tell this wasn't my first time displacing my glasses. You'd think I would have learned my lesson considering I had worn them for the majority of my life. I thought getting contact lenses would help my cause but they only made things worse. They were a pain to put in and take out—but beauty was pain and I, apparently, liked to suffer.

I rifled through my handbag—a handbag filled with junk I needed to clean out but never found the time considering my busy schedule—for my extra set of glasses. My head was down, that was my mistake. I should have, at the very least, glanced up once. That was the logical thing to do. But, it wouldn't have made a difference when all I could see were blobs of dull color. Nothing made sense.

Think Velma from Scooby-Doo. That was me right now.

So, it made sense that I collided head-first into a wall. A sharp pain emitted from the point of impact on my forehead and I lost my footing, stumbling back and bracing myself to fall flat on my ass with a yelp. Only, the wall moved, catching and steadying me. That was enough to make it obvious that I hadn't walked into a wall but rather a hard body. It had my cheeks flaring in embarrassment making me grateful that my olive complexion barely held a blush to it.

"I'm-so-sorry," the words fell out so fast they sounded like one unintelligible word, "I didn't see you there." I narrowed my eyelids, trying to focus my gaze on the person in front of me but it didn't help. With an exasperated sigh, I confessed, "Actually, I still can't see you if I'm being honest. Gosh, I wish I had my glasses," the last bit of my sentence was muttered more to myself than to the stranger who remained quiet.

So quiet it was disconcerting.

And then, I felt something. Their rough skin brushed along my temples and, I couldn't comprehend it, but I swore I felt something like a spark pass between us. But that couldn't be. That was nonsensical.

Something slid down from my hairline, down my forehead, and then rested at the bridge of my nose. I was granted clear vision when my frameless glasses fell into place, gifting me with the view of the freakishly tall and muscular man I had collided with.

His brown hair reminded me of chocolate as it caught the sun—the locks were tied at the crown of his head in a top knot, leading me to believe that this man had thick, long waves better than my own. Instantly, I wanted to know his hair routine. I frowned when I caught the way his perfectly arched eyebrows dipped into a V, leading down a straight nose and full pink lips. His cheekbones were high and the obtuse angle of his jawline could cut through steel—both were peppered with a generous dusting of neatly trimmed hair.

My eyes traveled down the thick column of his throat, noting the veins which lined the length and disappeared into a broad, muscular chest. The man wore a black silk shirt that clung to him like a second skin. The top few buttons were open, exposing his dark chest hairs, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, emphasizing the muscles defining his arms. I moved down south, finding him in pressed, black dress slacks and loafers. He was a perfectly proportionate man.

He was the epitome of handsome.

And I had run into him like a rhinoceros poking its horn into the trunk of a tree.

If the universe could sink in on itself and seize to exist right now, it would have been great. It would have saved me from the urge to bury my head in a hole like an ostrich. To top it off, I had been looking for glasses that had been comfortably sitting on my head this entire time. The irony.

"I feel so stupid," I made a sound of humiliation at the back of my throat. "I'm so sorry."

He just stared at me with eyes so blue, they had to be the prettiest eyes I had ever seen bordered by impossibly long eyelashes.

I cocked a brow at his hard, unreadable expression, "Thanks for," I waved a hand toward my glasses, "you know. You're a lifesaver," my laugh was painfully awkward even to my ears.

It must have been worse to his because he winced at the sharp sound but, still, he remained silent.

"Okay..." I drawled, shifting my weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. Propping my handbag on my shoulder, I said, "I'm going to go now or I'll be late. Thank you again."

I sidestepped the man and scurried away as fast as my little legs could take me—I wasn't a short person but I definitely didn't fit in the category of tall. My height was just below the average female's height.

Maybe that was why I thought of the man I had bumped into as a giant.

Even as I rounded the corner, my mind was still on the encounter we shared. It was awkward. I had never met anyone who was both helpful and rude all wrapped up in one package. His features were set in a mean mask as he scowled down at me. It sent a shiver ominously rushing through my body. If I believed in the divinity or anything close to it, I would have said it was a sign. But I didn't believe in that and this was just something that happened. The odds of it happening again with another stranger was high when it came to me—it was better than walking into an actual wall, though.

I paused outside the entrance of my favorite coffee shop and inhaled a calming breath. This day may have started on the wrong foot but I had the ability to make it better. That could only be achievable once I had an ice coffee in my hand. With renewed confidence in my step, I entered the coffee shop and conducted my usual Monday morning routine.

It was even worse that I had to bump into him on a Monday morning. As if I needed another reason to despise the day.

A grumble grated against the back of my throat as I reached the counter to give in my order, "Hey, can I have a pumpkin spice ice-latte?"

"Anything else?" The barista asked with a saccharin grin.

"No thank you."

She wrung up my order and I paid the bill just as she asked, "What name should I add?"

"Dea," I informed her.

"Got it, you can wait to the side," she said and gestured for the next customer to step forward.

Just as I twisted to move out of line, I caught a glimpse of the man from the street entering the quaint cafe I visited every morning. I was a usual customer. He was not. Matter of fact, this was the first time I had ever seen him here. He was clearly walking in the opposite direction of this shop before, that was how I had bumped into him to begin with. So, what was he doing here? Was he now following me?

Another shiver skated down my spine, this time in trepidation.

I moved cautiously so no attention would be drawn to me. Maybe I could get my coffee and leave without him noticing me. Only, just as the thought crossed my mind, his head snapped in my direction and his pretty blues collided with my mud-brown eyes. I gulped but my mouth had dried so it felt like ingesting pulverized shards of glass.

And, just like that, he was closing the distance between us until he was standing over me, forcing me to crane my neck just to see past his ribcage.

I was a dear caught in headlights. At this point, one would assume my name was Bambi because I was a spitting resemblance.

He, then, brought his hands up and began using them. Signing with them. The action had me feeling like the world's shittiest person.

I quickly realized he wasn't being rude earlier.

"You're welcome," he signed.

My lips formed a shameful smile as I signed in return, "Did you come here to say that?"

He offered me a single, stiff nod, and relief washed over his features.

"That's sweet." I enunciated the words as I signed them.

This time, he wasn't stoic. His face lit up with emotion as he signed what he needed to say. ASL required someone to use not just their hands but their facial expressions as well to communicate with someone so it surprised me how stone-faced he was before.

"You don't need to sign, I can hear you. I cannot speak."

"Oh," this threw me for a loop. Curiosity burned like an inferno but I didn't want to be rude and pry, "I'm sorry. I just automatically start signing when someone else does," I admitted. When confusion riddled his face, I explained, "I've grown up with a brother who can't hear. I'm used to signing."

"Dea!" My name being called caught my attention.

"That's me, I should get going. Thank you again," I offered him my hand, "it was nice to meet you."

He stared at my hand with a ticking jaw before signing what I assumed was his name, "Victor. Nice to meet you, too."

I retracted my hand, trying not to feel awkward about the fact he had left me hanging, and left to pick up my coffee. His intrusive gaze tracked my movements as I retrieved my coffee from the barista and then proceeded to add three sugars into the mix before leaving.

I left the coffee shop into the bustling sidewalk, cutting my way through the throngs of busybodies so I could get to work. The science institute I worked at was that far away from my apartment. I had rented an apartment in this area of Seattle for that very reason—plus, scientists didn't exactly make a pretty penny so I needed something both convenient and affordable. It was worth it considering I shared the apartment with my boyfriend who worked in the same institute as me—just in a different field. He worked with cancer research while I was a theoretical scientist with a doctrine in my field—two completely different departments.

It was because of said boyfriend I had left it apartment in a rush, forgetting that I had propped my glasses on my head during one of our many heated discussions this morning. Recently, all we seemed to be doing was arguing. I didn't feel like I was at fault, though. We had been dating for five years and I wasn't getting any younger. All I wanted was to finally settle down. At the age of thirty, was that so bad?

But, whenever I asked Jason what he thought of the idea it always turned into an explosive argument which led to me storming out so I wouldn't say something I'd later on regret.

I entered the institute, swiping my entry card so I could gain access. There were certain places in the building with restricted access so these ID cards were a necessity. Without it, I wouldn't even be able to gain entry into the building.

I took the elevator up to the seventh floor as I sipped on my pumpkin spice latte and sighed. Ice coffee was the perfect bandaid to all wounds and no one could tell me otherwise. When the chrome doors parted, I was met with one of my colleague's gleaming smiles.

"Finally," Erica giddily bounced on the balls of her feet as she yanked me out of the elevator, "someone mentioned that you were on your way up so I had to get here."

Erica Freeman was, by all means, closer than a best friend. Dare I say it, but the girl was practically like a sister to me. She worked as an engineer down on the fifth floor but she always found a way to sneak up here to see me.

Her Asian features scrunched in dismay when she caught my sour expression, "Let me guess, Jason and you got into a fight again."

"Something like that," came my dreary admittance.

She rolled her sparkling brown orbs which sat in beautiful almond-shaped eyes, "You can tell me about it in your office over a donut. It's not fair that the coffee machine here is so much better than the one we have down in the engineering department, by the way."

"So that's why you're always here," I gasped, feigning outrage, "you're just trying to be friendly to steal our good coffee."

"Of course," she threw her head back, allowing her dark ringlets to bounce around her as a manic laugh shook her body, "as if there would be another reason."

I cut my friend a playful glare, immediately feeling better now that I was in her presence, "You're lucky I like you."

"I don't believe in luck, you know this," she looped her arm into mine, her rich brown skin shimmering as it caught the light.

Erica was half Asian, half African American, and a hundred percent gorgeous. With her height—which she had inherited from her father along with her complexion and hair—she could have been living the life of a supermodel.

"I know," I responded to her statement as I entered the small space I called my office, "now, I have to get some work done but I promise to fill you in on everything that happened this morning at lunch," I shooed her away with one last warning, "and stop stealing all our coffee you caffeine addict."