Latina Cinderella and The Ice King

CHAPTER 6 

Lexi's POV 

“¡Mira esto, Lexi! (Look at this, Lexi!) You’re practically royalty now,” Aria said between bursts of laughter, nearly dropping her phone. “Mystery Latina Beauty Tames the Billionaire Ice," she read aloud dramatically. “Dios mío (oh my God), I can’t breathe!”

“Nope. No. I’m not doing this,” I said, sipping some coffee.

“Wait, wait—listen to this one!” Aria said through her giggles. “‘The billionaire bachelor has been hiding a spicy romance? And she’s not from the Upper East Side, folks!’ Girl, they think you’re exotic!”

I groaned from the kitchen table, clutching my mug like it was my last tie to sanity. “I told you to stop reading those ridiculous articles.”

“But they’re so good!” Aria grinned, scrolling through her phone again. “This one says you’ve been secretly dating him for two years. And this blog—oh my God—look at this comment: ‘Latina Cinderella meets emotionally constipated CEO. I ship it!’”

She cracked up again, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming.

“Do not say ‘spicy,’” I groaned. “We are not peppers.”

“You sure weren’t mild yesterday,” she teased, clicking through another blog post. “They got like, ten angles of you cleaning his shirt. You looked so domestic. Like a wife already.”

I sat up and snatched her phone. “This is insane. This is... dangerous.”

“You? Or your bone structure?” Aria smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up. “I spilled coffee on the man. We had a few exchanges, most of them rude, I might add. That’s all. I was in a rush, and he was obviously too busy making millions to look up and see where he was going. For the millionth time, he was in the way, and the universe clearly hates me.”

Aria shrugged. “You got caught in billionaire lighting, hermana (sister). You think this city needs facts when it can have a fantasy?”

I stared at the headline again. One blog even had a side-by-side of me glaring at him and then reaching for his chest, with the caption: “Enemies to lovers? We’d read it.”

“And sure, while you were yelling at him in Spanish, someone captured the moment,” she said, making air quotes and giving me a playful look. “You have to admit, it did look a little romantic. Kind of like when the leads in telenovelas fight and then—”

“No.”

“Oh come on—”

“No. This is not a novela. This is my life. And now, thanks to whoever thought they were being cute with a camera, the whole internet thinks I’m dating Brandon-freaking-Wilson.”

She paused and wiggled her eyebrows. “Could be worse. He’s hot.”

I glared at her. “He’s also arrogant, rude, and he called me a distraction the last time we met. Then the next time,he walked off like I ruined his designer suit on purpose.”

Aria shrugged and flopped onto the couch, and I followed suit, her legs draped over the armrest. “Well, this is the second—no, the third—time you two are being linked together, so clearly the universe remembers you. It obviously has a plan for you both. And maybe, just maybe, it can be as good as those telenovelas. I hope so, because life was getting boring, and now you’re famous.”

She said this, clearly enjoying the situation far more than she should.

I shot her a look, but she just giggled, yup definitely enjoyed this way more than she should.

The truth was, I didn’t find it funny at all. With every share and comment, the fantasy people had built around me and Brandon Wilson was growing like wildfire—and wildfire spreads and burns everything in its path.

“I have work,” I muttered. “A life. Responsibilities. Bills. A sister who’s supposed to be resting, not stalking celebrity gossip.”

She shot me a look. “I’m literally resting right now with this amazing breakfast you made me and romance drama. Let me live.”

I sighed, tossing her phone onto the table. “Well, that man—Brandon Wilson or whatever—he’s not my drama. And this thing online? It'll blow over.”

But somewhere in my gut, I knew it wouldn’t.

Things like this don’t just blow over. Not when the media smells romance. Not when someone like Brandon Wilson is involved. And definitely not when your life is one paycheck away from collapsing.

I just hoped I never saw him again.

By the time I got to work, the stares had already begun.

It started the second I walked out of the house and continued through the front doors of the restaurant. I was expecting it, but it was worse than I thought. Half of the morning shift froze mid-task. A few whisperers near the coffee bar weren’t even subtle about it.

I tightened my apron and kept my eyes forward. Don’t engage. Don’t look up. Just survive.

“Lexiiiiiiii,” Dan sang when I stepped into the kitchen. He was already grinning from ear to ear, latte cup in one hand and frothing wand in the other. “You didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend—Brandon freaking Wilson?”

I gave him a look.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said dramatically. “Your secret is safe with me. But I’m going to need front-row seats for the wedding. Preferably next to Rihanna.”

I slapped a towel down on the counter. “Dan.”

“Yes, my queen?”

“Please, I haven't had enough caffeine to deal with this. I haven't had any peace, and I haven't even had breakfast. All I've had is a lot of people who think I sleep on piles of hundred-dollar bills and wear diamond heels to brunch.”

Dan chuckled. “So… no diamond heels?”

“I tripped and spilled coffee on him. That’s all.”

“Is that what we’re calling chemistry now?” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. “Can you just hand me the orders?”

He leaned in slightly, and his voice softened. “Hey, I’m joking, but seriously… are you okay? You look wrecked.”

“I feel wrecked,” I muttered. “Everyone’s either laughing or assuming I’m some gold digger. Aria thinks it’s hilarious. And the worst part? I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

Dan opened his mouth to respond, but our manager’s voice sliced through the chatter like a knife.

“Lexi. Office. Now.”

Here we go, I thought sarcastically.

I sighed and pulled off my apron, trudging toward the back office like a prisoner headed for sentencing, if I get fired we're screwed.

Mr. Owne, a.k.a. Dickly, sat behind his desk, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his expression unreadable. Not good.

He held up his tablet. On the screen? A gossip site, with the headline in bold color. Me. Brandon. The coffee spill. One photo made it look like we were about to kiss—if kissing came after arguing in public.

“I had to hear from a customer that one of my staff is now dating a billionaire heir?” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” I replied, my voice flat. “It was a coincidence. A misunderstanding. I bumped into him. That’s it.”

He exhaled sharply and set the tablet down. “I don’t care what it was, Lexi. But I’m going to be very clear: I don’t want drama in my cafe. Not from customers, and definitely not from staff.”

“I didn’t ask for this—”

“I believe you,” he cut in, but his tone was sharp. “But if this circus returns to my doors, I won’t hesitate to cut you from the schedule.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to let the sting show.

“Understood?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now get back to work—and wipe that look off your face before someone starts tipping you for tears.”

I walked out, shoulders stiff, trying to compose myself. As soon as I stepped back behind the counter, Dan handed me a cinnamon roll and a cup of tea.

“Don’t ask,” he said gently. “Just eat.”

I could have cried.

I just hope I never meet Brandon Wilson again because he seems to only bring more problems into my life.