When Fire Meets Grace

The rain had a way of turning the city into something almost cinematic. Neon signs blurred into streaks of red and gold, streetlights painted everything in a washed glow, and the sound of tires hissing against the wet asphalt carried through the night.

Grace Monroe pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and balanced the tray of coffee cups with practiced skill. Her sneakers splashed in the shallow puddles along Fifth Avenue as she hurried through the storm. This wasn’t the glamorous life she had once imagined for herself, but it was hers and for now, it kept the bills paid and her younger brother in school.

She ducked under the awning of a towering glass skyscraper, the kind that screamed money, arrogance, and untouchable power. Blackwood International, the name spelled out in sleek silver letters above the revolving doors, loomed over her like a titan.

Inside this fortress of glass and steel sat a man she had never met but already disliked. Damien Blackwood. Billionaire CEO. The city’s most ruthless businessman. And unfortunately today’s delivery client.

Grace muttered under her breath as she pushed through the doors.

The lobby swallowed her whole. Everything smelled of leather and expensive perfume. The marble floors gleamed so perfectly that her reflection stared back at her from below. She felt instantly out of place in her worn jeans and rain-spotted jacket.

The receptionist eyed her like a hawk, her perfectly arched brow lifting with disdain.

Grace lifted the tray. “Four lattes, one black, one green tea.”

The receptionist’s lips curved into a smirk, as though she found the idea of someone delivering coffee into this kingdom amusing. She tapped the phone on her desk.

Grace’s stomach tightened. She had expected to drop the order off at the lobby. Instead, she was being sent to the top.

The elevator ride stretched on forever. She watched the glowing numbers climb 20, 30, 40 until they reached the penthouse floor. When the doors slid open, Grace stepped out into silence. The hallway stretched wide and endless, carpeted in thick grey. At the far end, double doors of black glass waited.

She swallowed, her pulse quickening.

Before she could knock, the doors opened with a hiss.

And there he was.

Damien Blackwood.

He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly composed. His charcoal suit fit like it had been stitched by the gods themselves. Dark hair slicked back, sharp jawline, storm-grey eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. He didn’t look like a man; he looked like power carved into flesh.

And he looked at her as though she were an inconvenience.

“You’re late,” Damien said, voice low, smooth, and edged with authority.

Grace blinked, caught between indignation and disbelief. “It’s raining,” she said. “And for the record, I’m actually three minutes early.”

His gaze flicked to the tray of coffee, then back to her face, lingering as if he were assessing whether she was worth another second of his time.

Grace glanced down at the puddles forming around her sneakers. Her cheeks heated. “Well, excuse me for not owning a private helicopter.”

A dangerous glint lit his eyes. No one talked to Damien Blackwood like that. Not his employees, not his rivals, and certainly not some delivery girl. Yet here she was, challenging him with nothing more than defiance in her hazel eyes.

He stepped closer. Grace felt the air shift, heavy with something electric.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Why?”

His lips curved not quite a smile, more a spark of intrigue. “Because you’re either the rudest delivery person I’ve ever met… or the most interesting.”

Grace tightened her grip on the tray. “It’s Grace. Grace Monroe. And if you don’t mind, these coffees aren’t going to stay hot forever.”

She brushed past him, set the tray on his polished oak desk, and straightened. For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, thick enough to choke on. His eyes lingered on her, not with the cold dismissal she had expected, but with something sharper. Curious. Dangerous.

Grace lifted her chin, refusing to look away. “Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Blackwood.”

She turned toward the door, but his voice stopped her.

“Grace Monroe.”

Her breath caught.

“Come back tomorrow. Same time.”

Grace froze. “Excuse me?”

He leaned against his desk, sipping his black coffee like a king amused by his subject. “I don’t repeat myself.”

Something in her wanted to snap back, to tell him she wasn’t his personal coffee slave. But another part of her the part that couldn’t ignore the strange pull in her chest kept her silent.

She spun on her heel and stormed out.

What the hell had just happened?

Grace practically ran down the long corridor, clutching her coat against her chest as though it could shield her from the heat in her veins. Her heart still pounded from the nerve-wracking encounter. Damien Blackwood arrogant, cold, magnetic had the kind of presence that filled every square inch of air. Being in the same room with him felt like standing too close to fire: overwhelming, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

By the time she reached the elevator, she finally allowed herself a long exhale. “Never again,” she muttered. “Not if I can help it.”

The mirrored doors slid shut, reflecting her flushed cheeks and damp hair. She looked nothing like the polished assistants she’d seen upstairs, the ones in pencil skirts and designer heels. She looked real. And maybe that was why his sharp eyes had lingered a moment too long.

Grace shoved the thought away. He wasn’t thinking about her. People like Damien Blackwood didn’t think about people like her.

When she got back to the café, her best friend and co-worker, Lila, was wiping down the counter. Lila was tall, with a mischievous smile and eyes that always seemed to know more than they should.

“You’re late,” Lila teased, arching a brow.

Grace groaned, tossing her damp jacket aside. “Don’t start. You won’t believe what just happened.”

Lila leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Oh, I bet I will. You finally met the dragon himself, didn’t you?”

Grace pulled her hair into a messy bun, grabbing a towel to dry her hands. “If by dragon you mean Damien Blackwood, then yes. And let me tell you, he’s every bit as insufferable as they say.”

Lila gasped dramatically. “You mean to say the billionaire heartthrob wasn’t charmed by little Miss Monroe?”

Grace shot her a glare, though her lips twitched with amusement. “He accused me of being late when I was three minutes early, complained about my shoes dripping water on his precious carpet, and then…” She paused, replaying the moment in her head. “…then he told me to come back tomorrow.”

Lila dropped the rag. “Wait. Hold up. He asked you back? Like, specifically you?”

Grace frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe he just wants his coffee delivered at the same time. That’s what I’m telling myself.”

Lila grinned like a cat who’d just caught sight of cream. “Or maybe he liked you.”

Grace snorted. “Liked me? Lila, I looked like a drowned rat. And I talked back to him. No one talks back to him.”

“Exactly,” Lila said, wagging a finger. “That’s why he noticed you. Guys like him are surrounded by people who bow and scrape all day. You stood your ground. You’re like… fresh air.”

Grace shook her head, unwilling to let herself believe it. “He’s a billionaire CEO, Lila. I’m a coffee delivery girl. End of story.”

But even as she said it, a flicker of heat from his stormy eyes haunted her.

Meanwhile, at the very top of Blackwood International, Damien sat alone in his glass-walled office, the skyline spread out before him like a conquered kingdom. He should have been reviewing the contracts on his desk, but instead, his mind wandered back to the girl with hazel eyes and rain-soaked sneakers.

Grace Monroe.

He said her name under his breath, savoring the sound.

He’d met thousands of people in his life politicians, CEOs, models, actresses but none of them had ever spoken to him the way she had. No fear. No deference. Just… honesty. Sharp, unfiltered honesty.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

She thought she was done with him.

She was wrong.

Damien didn’t like being challenged, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about her defiance. It wasn’t annoyance that burned in his chest it was intrigue. And Damien Blackwood never let go of something that intrigued him.

Grace’s shift ended late that evening. She walked home through the drizzle, her umbrella fighting against the wind. Her apartment was a small two-bedroom on the edge of the city, shared with her younger brother, Jacob, who was still in high school.

When she walked in, Jacob was sprawled on the couch with textbooks open but a video game controller in his hand.

“Homework?” she asked pointedly.

He jumped guiltily, fumbling for his pen. “I was taking a break!”

Grace rolled her eyes, setting her bag down. She loved him more than anything, but ever since their parents had passed away, she’d taken on the role of both sister and guardian. It wasn’t easy, but she did it gladly.

“How was work?” Jacob asked, scribbling furiously to look busy.

Grace hesitated, then sighed. “Let’s just say… I met someone I hope I never see again.”

Jacob raised a brow. “That bad?”

“That bad,” she confirmed.

But as she changed into pajamas and made them both dinner, she couldn’t shake the memory of Damien’s voice. Deep, commanding. The way he’d said her name.

Grace Monroe.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. But somehow, it did.

The next morning, Grace woke up determined.

She wasn’t going back.

Damien Blackwood could drink his bitter black coffee without her. She wasn’t about to become his personal errand girl just because he snapped his fingers. She had a job, yes, but she also had self-respect.

And yet, when she arrived at the café, her boss had other plans.

“Grace,” Mr. Howard said, peering at her over his reading glasses. “Good news. Blackwood International has requested you personally for today’s delivery.”

Grace froze mid-step. “Requested me?”

Mr. Howard nodded, clearly thrilled. “Do you realize what this means? If Blackwood International keeps using us, this café will finally get the recognition it deserves. It could change everything.”

Her stomach sank. “But, sir, anyone could do the delivery. Why me?”

“Because,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “apparently, the CEO likes you.”

Grace’s cheeks burned. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the decision had already been made. She was handed the tray of coffees exactly the same order as yesterday and before she knew it, she was back in the golden elevator, rising toward the clouds.

Her reflection stared back at her, tense and uncertain. She’d pulled her hair into a neat ponytail this time, swapped her old jeans for a black skirt, and added just enough lip gloss to look awake. She wasn’t trying to impress him, she told herself firmly. This was about professionalism. That’s all.

The doors opened, and once again, the black glass doors at the end of the hallway loomed.

She knocked lightly, and a smooth voice called, “Enter.”

Damien stood at his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. His forearms were corded with muscle, veins visible beneath tanned skin. He looked up as she stepped inside, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across his face. Satisfaction.

“You came,” he said simply.

Grace set the tray down a little harder than necessary. “Not by choice.”

His lips twitched. “Of course. I imagine the universe forced you.”

She shot him a glare. “You requested me personally.”

“Is that a problem?” His tone was calm, but his eyes… those storm-grey eyes studied her as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she said firmly, surprising even herself. “I don’t like being summoned like I’m your servant.”

He chuckled a low, dark sound that sent heat curling down her spine. “Summoned? Miss Monroe, you brought coffee. I hardly think that qualifies as servitude.”

“You could’ve asked anyone else,” she shot back.

“True.” He leaned casually against his desk, hands sliding into his pockets. “But I didn’t want anyone else.”

The words hung between them like a match held over gasoline.

Grace’s pulse quickened. She hated the way her body reacted to him the way her chest tightened, the way her skin flushed. He was too much. Too intense.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” she said, forcing her voice steady, “but I’m not interested.”

“Interested in what?” His eyes gleamed. “Me?”

Her jaw dropped. “Unbelievable.” She spun on her heel, heading for the door.

“Grace.”

Her name in his voice stopped her cold. She didn’t want it to, but it did. Slowly, she turned back.

Damien’s expression had shifted. The arrogance was still there, but softer now, layered with something unreadable.

“You intrigue me,” he said. “People don’t talk to me the way you do. And I find… I don’t want it to stop.”

Grace swallowed hard. “Maybe you’re just not used to honesty.”

He considered that, then gave a small nod. “Maybe.”

The silence stretched again, thick and heavy. Grace forced herself to breathe. She had to get out of here before she drowned in the pull of him.

“Enjoy your coffee, Mr. Blackwood,” she said quickly. “But tomorrow, someone else will deliver it.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile. “We’ll see.”

Back at the café, Lila nearly exploded with excitement when Grace relayed the encounter.

“Grace!” she squealed, grabbing her arm. “Do you understand what’s happening? This is like every romance novel ever. Grumpy billionaire, feisty girl, instant sparks!”

Grace groaned, covering her face with her hands. “This isn’t a romance novel, Lila. It’s my life. And I don’t want sparks with him. I want him to leave me alone.”

But deep down, a small, traitorous part of her wasn’t so sure.

Meanwhile, Damien stared out at the skyline from his office, a glass of scotch in hand though the sun was barely past noon. Grace Monroe was dangerous not because she could ruin him, but because she could distract him. And Damien Blackwood didn’t allow distractions.

Yet for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like a man in control. He felt like a man on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name.

And he knew one thing for certain:

Grace Monroe wasn’t going to disappear from his world. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Grace tried to avoid him.

For two whole days, she managed to swap delivery shifts with Lila, keeping herself far away from Blackwood International. She told herself it was the right decision that she didn’t owe Damien Blackwood anything, least of all her time.

But avoiding him didn’t stop him from finding her.

On the third day, just as she was wiping down tables near the café window, a sleek black car pulled up outside. Grace froze, rag in hand, as the tinted window rolled down.

And there he was.

Damien Blackwood.

Even from across the glass, his presence struck like a blow. His jaw was sharp as a blade, his suit immaculate, his gaze fixed directly on her. The driver opened his door, and Damien stepped out, ignoring the curious stares of passersby.

Grace’s stomach dropped.

He was walking toward the café.

“No, no, no,” she muttered under her breath, ducking behind the counter.

Lila peeked out the window, eyes widening. “Oh my god, Grace. He’s coming in here. He’s actually coming inside!”

Before Grace could protest, the bell above the door chimed, and Damien entered. The atmosphere shifted instantly the customers went silent, baristas stilled, everyone recognizing power when it walked in.

Damien’s eyes scanned the café, sharp and deliberate, until they landed on Grace.

“There you are,” he said smoothly, as though he’d simply been looking for a misplaced item.

Grace straightened, heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

“Coffee,” he replied simply, stepping closer. “But apparently, if I want it delivered properly, I have to come to you.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to be your personal coffee girl.”

“Not insane.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Persistent.”

Lila practically vibrated behind the counter, whispering, “This is better than television.”

Grace shot her a look before crossing her arms. “Why me? You have an army of assistants who would crawl over glass if you asked them to. So why”

“Because they bore me,” Damien interrupted, his voice low but carrying. “You don’t.”

The café fell silent around them. Heat rose to Grace’s cheeks, but she refused to let him see her falter. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Isn’t it?” His lips curved in that dangerous half-smile, the kind that made her want to slap him and… something else.

Before she could respond, her boss hurried over, flustered and star-struck. “Mr. Blackwood! What an honor. Please, anything you’d like, it’s on the house”

Damien barely glanced at him. “Just Miss Monroe.”

Grace’s boss blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Damien’s eyes never left hers. “She’ll handle my orders from now on.”

Her boss beamed. “Of course, of course.”

Grace nearly dropped the rag in her hand. “What? No. Absolutely not.”

Damien stepped closer, his voice dropping so only she could hear. “Fight me all you want, Grace. But I always get what I want.”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t just arrogant; he was dangerous.

And for reasons she didn’t understand, that danger thrilled her.

That night, Grace lay awake in her small bedroom, staring at the ceiling. Jacob was asleep in the next room, the quiet hum of his video game console finally silenced.

She replayed the scene over and over in her head the way Damien’s gaze had pinned her in place, the certainty in his voice when he said he always got what he wanted.

He was relentless.

And yet… why did part of her want to see what would happen if she stopped running?

Damien, meanwhile, sat alone in his penthouse apartment. The city lights stretched endlessly beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but his mind wasn’t on business tonight.

It was on her.

Grace Monroe.

He’d built an empire on control controlling markets, controlling competitors, controlling outcomes. But she… she slipped through his grasp like smoke, leaving him wanting more.

And Damien Blackwood never wanted without taking.

The next day, Grace arrived at the café only to find another black car parked outside. Waiting.

Lila nudged her with a wicked grin. “Your prince charming is here.”

“He’s not my prince anything,” Grace hissed.

But when Damien stepped out once again, her pulse betrayed her.

“Miss Monroe,” he greeted, smooth as ever. “Your chariot awaits.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I have a meeting downtown,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll be accompanying me. As my… coffee consultant.”

Grace laughed incredulously. “Coffee consultant? That’s not even a thing!”

“It is now,” Damien said simply, opening the car door for her. “Get in.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, torn between outrage and curiosity. Every instinct told her to refuse, to walk away. But something else something reckless urged her forward.

Before she could stop herself, she slid into the car.

Damien followed, closing the door behind them.

The city blurred past the tinted windows as the car pulled away. Silence stretched between them, charged and unyielding.

Grace folded her arms. “You’re insane.”

“Perhaps,” Damien murmured, his eyes lingering on her profile. “But you’re here.”

And Grace realized, with a shiver, that this was only the beginning.

The ride through the city was quiet at first, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the occasional honk from traffic outside. Grace sat rigid, her arms crossed, refusing to look at Damien.

She could feel his eyes on her, though—sharp, heavy, searching.

Finally, she snapped. “Do you always abduct women on their way to work?”

A flicker of amusement touched his lips. “You got in willingly.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I disagree.” His voice was calm, smooth as silk. “It means you’re curious. You want to see where this goes.”

Grace turned, glaring at him. “You’re so arrogant.”

“And you’re so stubborn,” he countered. “It’s refreshing.”

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window, but her heart was pounding harder than she wanted to admit.

The car pulled up to a gleaming glass building downtown. As the driver opened the door, Damien gestured toward the entrance. “After you.”

Grace hesitated. “I’m not going in there.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone left no room for argument.

And against every ounce of logic, she found herself following him inside.

The lobby was even more extravagant than Blackwood International’s polished marble floors, a chandelier dripping with crystal, walls lined with abstract art that probably cost more than her entire apartment building.

Damien’s presence commanded the space. Employees greeted him with nods and murmurs of respect. No one dared meet his eyes for long.

Grace, on the other hand, drew curious glances. She felt like a stray cat dragged into a palace.

“What exactly am I doing here?” she demanded in a hushed voice as they entered the elevator.

“You’ll see.” Damien’s lips curved in that maddeningly confident way.

The elevator ascended to the top floor. When the doors opened, a boardroom stretched before them, filled with men and women in tailored suits. They all rose to their feet as Damien entered.

Grace froze. “Oh no. I’m not”

But Damien placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward. His touch burned through the thin fabric of her blouse.

“Everyone,” Damien announced smoothly, “this is Grace Monroe. She’ll be joining us today.”

Dozens of eyes turned on her. Grace felt her knees weaken, but she forced her chin up. “Hi,” she said awkwardly. “Um… I like coffee?”

A few suppressed chuckles echoed around the table. Damien’s lips twitched with amusement, but his gaze never left her.

Throughout the meeting, Grace sat silently beside him, trying not to squirm under the curious glances of executives. Damien spoke with authority, dissecting numbers and strategies, but every so often his hand brushed against hers beneath the table. It was deliberate, and it made her pulse race each time.

By the time the meeting ended, Grace was nearly trembling with nerves and something else she didn’t dare name.

In the elevator ride down, she finally exploded. “What the hell was that? Why would you drag me into one of your meetings like I belong there?”

Damien’s gaze slid to her, calm and unreadable. “Because I wanted you there.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“It’s the only one you’ll get.”

Her frustration bubbled over. “You can’t just pluck me out of my life whenever you feel like it. I’m not some… some toy you can play with when you’re bored.”

The elevator doors slid open, and Damien stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“Grace,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “do I look like a man who plays with toys?”

Her breath hitched. He was too close so close she could see the flecks of silver in his storm-grey eyes, the faint scar near his temple, the tension in his jaw.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The air between them crackled, heavy with something sharp and undeniable.

Grace’s pulse thundered. Part of her wanted to push him away. Another part… wanted to close the distance.

But just as the tension threatened to snap, she shoved past him, storming out of the elevator.

“Stay away from me, Damien,” she said, her voice shaking. “Whatever game you’re playing I’m not interested.”

He didn’t follow her. He simply watched, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips.

Because Damien Blackwood never chased.

He hunted.

And Grace Monroe had just made herself his favorite pursuit.

That night, Grace lay awake again, replaying every moment the meeting, his touch, the way his voice dropped when he said her name.

She hated him.

She hated the way he unsettled her.

But most of all, she hated that deep, traitorous part of her that wondered what it would feel like if she stopped running.

Across the city, Damien poured himself another glass of scotch, his eyes fixed on the skyline.

He should have been thinking about his next deal, his next acquisition.

Instead, all he could think about was her.

Grace Monroe.

The girl who defied him.

The girl who made him want.

And Damien Blackwood never wanted without taking.