Chapter 137 - 136 Midnight Cravings
Chapter 136: Midnight Cravings
Sugar crashes are a very real, scientifically proven phenomenon, but right now I am riding a massive wave of caffeine and pure adrenaline.
Twelve empty plastic cups sit in a sticky row on the polished wooden counter of the Didi Cafe. Zoe gathers them up efficiently, her crisp white button-down shirt remaining perfectly spotless despite the chaotic chemistry experiment we just concluded. She drops the empty cups into a large recycling bin near the metal sink. The sharp scent of roasted espresso is entirely gone, completely replaced by the sweet, lingering aroma of jasmine tea and caramelized brown sugar.
I turn my attention to Fiona. She sits on the tall wooden stool beside me, casually adjusting the sleeves of her green knit sweater. Her auburn ponytail swings slightly as she looks over the remaining list of ingredients on the clipboard.
"I need a massive favor," I tell her. I swing my heavy leather backpack over my shoulder. "Could you text your mother for me? I want to pick up a large beef pizza to take back to the estate tonight. I missed lunch, and I need real food."
Fiona pulls her phone from her denim pocket, her thumbs flying across the glass screen in a rapid sequence of taps. She slides the phone back away and offers me a bright, genuine smile. Her warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Done," Fiona says. She grabs her small canvas purse from the floor and stands up. "I will walk back to the shop with you. I need to help my mom close down the registers anyway."
"Wait just a second," Zoe calls out. She leans over the espresso machine, pointing a plastic pen directly at Fiona. Her dark bob falls sharply against her cheekline. "Do not forget our deal. You have to come back tomorrow afternoon. I am brewing the final three experimental flavors, and I need your expert taste buds to verify the sweetness levels."
Fiona laughs, a bright and easy sound that echoes nicely against the wooden ceiling panels. "Are you kidding? I will be here at three o’clock sharp. You do not have to ask me twice to drink free milk tea."
We wave goodbye to Zoe and step out of the cafe. Leo immediately falls into step a few paces behind us. He remains completely silent, his tall frame and dark athletic clothing making him look like an imposing shadow against the concrete pavement.
The Asuir evening air is finally cooling down. The brutal heat of the afternoon sun gives way to a pleasant, steady breeze sweeping through the commercial district. Bright neon signs begin lighting up in the various shop windows, washing the sidewalks in vibrant shades of red and blue.
We walk at a comfortable pace, navigating through the thinning crowds of commuters and late-night shoppers. Fiona looks around with intense, analytical focus. She stops abruptly in front of a vacant corner property. The large glass windows are covered in brown wrapping paper, and a faded ’For Lease’ sign hangs taped to the door frame.
"This is a terrible location for a restaurant," Fiona observes. She points a finger toward the roof of the brick building. "The exhaust ventilation is completely inadequate for a commercial kitchen. A new tenant would have to spend at least forty thousand dollars just upgrading the HVAC system to pass the city fire codes. Plus, the landlord is asking for a triple net lease. That means the renter pays the property taxes and the structural maintenance on top of the base rent. It is a complete financial trap."
I stop walking and stare at her. I am genuinely surprised. My knowledge is strictly limited to medical chemistry and botanical catalysts. Commercial real estate is an entirely foreign language to me.
"How do you know all of that?" I ask.
Fiona shrugs, continuing her pace down the sidewalk. "I spent the last two months helping my mom renegotiate the lease for the pizza shop. I had to learn the local zoning laws and the commercial building codes so the landlord would stop taking advantage of us. You have to know exactly what to look for when you sign a five-year property contract in this city."
My brain immediately connects the missing puzzle pieces. Zoe is brilliant at operational management and product quality control, but she is going to drown under the sheer weight of opening a flagship store in less than three weeks. Zoe needs a right-hand assistant who understands the brutal reality of commercial leases and contractor negotiations.
"Fiona," I say, matching her stride. "When exactly do your university classes begin?"
She looks at me, slightly confused by the sudden change in topic. "I have a full month of free time before the fall semester officially starts. I am just helping out at the pizza shop until then. Why do you ask?"
"Because Zoe and I are launching a new beverage brand," I explain, keeping my voice perfectly steady and professional. "We are opening a premium storefront near the medical university, and we are operating on a ridiculously tight schedule. Zoe needs an assistant manager to handle the real estate scouting, the contractor bids, and the initial supply chain logistics. I want to hire you."
Fiona stops walking entirely. Her mouth falls slightly open. The neon light from a nearby convenience store illuminates the sheer shock washing over her delicate features.
"You want to hire me?" Fiona asks. Her voice cracks just a fraction. "To help build a brand new company?"
"I need someone who understands triple net leases and ventilation codes," I tell her honestly. "You have the exact practical experience we desperately need. I will pay you a highly competitive salary for the next thirty days. You will be a crucial part of the founding team."
A massive, radiant smile takes over her entire face. The hesitation completely vanishes, replaced by a fierce, undeniable excitement. She grips the strap of her canvas purse tightly.
"I accept," Fiona says. She bounces slightly on her heels. "I absolutely accept. I will meet Zoe at the cafe tomorrow morning to start mapping out the available commercial properties. We are going to find the perfect location."
We finish the short walk back to Aunt Cherry’s artisan pizza shop. The massive line from the afternoon has finally died down, but the interior remains pleasantly full. The intense, beautiful heat of the stone ovens radiates all the way out to the front door. The rich aroma of roasted beef, caramelized onions, and melting mozzarella makes my stomach rumble loudly.
Aunt Cherry spots us walking in. She wears a fresh white apron and a tired but incredibly happy smile. She slides a large, steaming cardboard box across the wooden counter.
"One extra-large beef pizza," Aunt Cherry announces proudly. "Extra cheese, fresh out of the oven. Just the way you requested."
I reach into my leather backpack and pull out my wallet. I slide a fifty-dollar bill from the leather fold, preparing to place it on the counter. Fiona’s hand shoots out with lightning speed. She physically blocks my wrist, her fingers wrapping firmly around my arm.
"Absolutely not," Fiona says sternly. She pushes my hand back toward my bag. "You just handed me an incredible job opportunity. You saved our family business from a violent thug. Your money is completely useless in this building, Emily. Take the food."
I look at her stubborn, determined expression. I know better than to argue with a woman defending her pride. I put the cash back into my wallet and offer her a grateful nod.
"Thank you," I say. I pick up the heavy, warm cardboard box. "I will see you tomorrow."
Leo holds the heavy glass door open for me. We step out into the night air and climb into the waiting black security SUV. The drive back to the Wolfe estate is smooth and quiet. The chaotic noise and bright lights of Asuir slowly fade away, replaced by the dark, winding roads of the private mountain hills.
The heavy iron gates of the estate swing open automatically. The tires crunch softly against the pristine gravel driveway. I step out of the vehicle and look up at the massive, imposing stone facade of the mansion. The entire building is cloaked in dark shadows, save for one distinct area. The large glass windows of Alistair’s private suite glow with bright, warm yellow light against the black night sky.
He is still awake.
I walk through the grand entrance and navigate the sprawling, silent corridors. The marble floors are completely empty. I carry the hot pizza box balanced carefully on my left arm, holding a cold, sealed cup of premium taro milk tea in my right hand.
I climb the sweeping mahogany staircase. The physical weight of the food and the drink makes my arms ache slightly. I do not realize the incredibly domestic picture I am currently painting. I simply look like a devoted, caring wife bringing her hardworking husband a late-night midnight snack. The irony of our strictly contractual marriage is completely lost on me in my exhausted state.
I reach the heavy oak door of our shared bedroom. I balance the plastic cup against the cardboard box and turn the brass handle. The hinges are perfectly silent.
I push the door open and step inside. The air conditioning is turned down low, keeping the room pleasantly cool. The silver silk sheets on the massive king-sized bed are completely undisturbed. The expensive glass coffee table sits empty. I look around the expansive, luxurious space.
The room is completely empty.
I frown, walking further into the suite. I set the warm pizza box and the cold milk tea down on the glass table. Where could he possibly be? The lights are clearly on. I turn my head toward the far side of the room, scanning the pristine sitting area.
The brass handle on the massive walk-in dressing room clicks sharply. The heavy wooden door swings open.
Alistair steps out into the bedroom.