The Billion-Dollar deal

Mornings smelled like burnt espresso and cheap floor cleaner.

It was the kind of scent that clung to your clothes long after your shift ended, the kind that whispered "you're still stuck here." I tied my apron for the third time that day, trying to force the knot to hold like the rest of my life.

The café was buzzing with noise coffee orders, impatient tapping, and the occasional hiss of steamed milk.

My back ached. My feet were screaming. Rent was due in four days. And I still hadn't figured out how to pay Mikey's school fees.

I wiped down the counter and forced a smile as the next customer stepped up, barely looking. "Hi, welcome to Daily Roast. What can I get you?"

"Medium chamomile tea. No sugar."

I paused. Not at the order, but the voice.

It was deep, precise, and smooth the kind of voice that didn't ask it expected. Like velvet laid over steel.

I looked up... and regretted it instantly.

He stood at least six-foot-three, dressed in a tailored black coat that looked like it belonged in some fashion campaign, not in our dusty little café on the 6th.

His hair was dark and perfectly styled, though slightly windswept like he'd just stepped out of a car driven by someone else. But it was his eyes that made my mouth go dry, piercing ocean blue, sharp and unreadable.

They looked over me like I was something on a spreadsheet he hadn't decided whether to delete or invest in.

And I was staring.

His hot my subconsciousness told me

Too long.

And maybe I would've kept staring if my elbow hadn't caught the tray behind me.

Hot tea. Full cup. No lid.

Before I could blink, the cup tipped forward, hot liquid splashing down the front of his pristine shirt.

"Oh my God!"

I gasped, reaching over the counter with a napkin like that would fix a ruined thirty-thousand dollar dress shirt.

"I'm so so so sorry Sir, I didn't mean to please".

The café went silent. Even the espresso machine stopped hissing, like it wanted to hear what would happen next.

He looked down at his shirt, slowly, like he was confirming this wasn't a joke. Then his eyes lifted back to mine. No yelling. No swearing. Just silence and an unreadable look that made my stomach twist.

Then... he pulled a small silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed at the stain, calm as ever.

"This better not happen twice," he said.

But it wasn't anger in his tone.

It was something else.

Something quieter. Sharper. Like curiosity, barely restrained.

And then I heard it.

My manager's voice cut through the awkward tension behind the bar.

"Aria! Get over here and clean up the spill!"

He froze.

His eyes flicked back at me.

"Aria," he repeated softly, like he was testing how the name felt on his tongue.

That was the moment. The exact second something shifted behind those cold, blue eyes.

He walked away without another word.

I stood frozen, heart hammering, hands shaking, trying to breathe past the panic tightening my throat. My shirt stuck to my back from sweat and nerves. It took all my strength not to collapse on the counter.

"He didn't yell," Tara whispered beside me, blinking. "That man looked like he owns three islands and a private jet... and you poured boiling tea on him. And he smirked?"

I groaned. "Please don't."

She grinned. "You might've just stumbled into your sugar daddy era."

I tossed a napkin at her, but the corner of my lips curved slightly. Just slightly.

But the moment was gone as quickly as it came. The manager, Mrs. Mal stormed out from the back, her sharp heels clacking like gunshots on the tiled floor.

"Aria Reed," she snapped, and not without a hot slap that rang bells in my ears, "That man you almost burned is not a regular." A very quiet and rare one. Do you have any idea what that shirt probably cost? You can't afford to breathe next to it!"

"I said I'm sorry"

"No. Don't apologize. Just mop the floor, stay off the counter, and pray he doesn't report us."

By the time my shift ended, my body felt like it had been run over by caffeine and capitalism. I untied my apron, shoved it into my locker, and pulled on my faded hoodie.

The sun was already dipping low outside. I had forty minutes to get home, start dinner, and help Mikey with his assignments.

Tara caught up with me near the door, slipping me a tiny wrapped candy. "Here. Sweetness for the road."

"Thanks."

"Hey." She looked at me. "That guy... blue-eyes? He didn't look angry. He looked like he noticed you. Like... really noticed."

I shrugged. "I'm not in the business of being noticed."

"Well, you should be. You're cute. And smart. And your life deserves better than this place."

I offered her a tired smile. "We do what we can."

She bumped her shoulder into mine. "Take care of that little brother of yours."

I walked home. I couldn't afford transport tonight. Again.

The sky had turned a soft orange, the wind tugging at my sleeves. My phone buzzed with a reminder:

Mikey's exam fees due in 2 weeks. $5,000 still missing

I swallowed hard.

The walk gave me time to think which was usually the worst part of my day.

What if I can't come up with the money?

What if Mikey had to drop out of school?

What if this was just... it? A life of running between coffee shifts, cleaning jobs, and night shifts at that fast-food place just to survive?

When I opened the door to our tiny apartment, Mikey looked up from the floor, his textbooks spread out like a broken fan. He was thirteen, thin for his age, but sharp as ever.

"Hey, sis!" he called. "You smell like coffee and regrets."

"Charming." I dropped my bag and sank into the old couch. "You eat?"

"Leftover jollof. I saved you the last spoon."

"My hero."

He grinned, and I felt a piece of the day slide off my shoulders. Mikey was my anchor the only family I had left. Mom passed three years ago. Dad walked out long before that.

It was just us now.

And I would work myself to the bone if it meant keeping him in school, in clothes, in a life that didn't look like mine.

I didn't think about the man with the ocean-blue eyes again until much later that night, when I finally collapsed into bed and let my body stop pretending it was strong.

He said my name.

The way he said it...

"Aria."

It was nothing. Just a customer. Just a slip.

Right?

Meanwhile, in a black car parked two streets over...

Julian Styles leaned back in his seat, unbothered by the faint tea stain on his shirt. His driver said nothing. The city lights blinked outside the window, casting shadows across his jaw.

He held the silk handkerchief loosely in one hand.

And murmured to himself.

Aria

He smiled faintly.

"That's the name."

Then, quietly:

"Interesting."

It was past 1 AM, and the room was quiet except for the ticking of the wall clock and Mikey's soft breathing from the mattress on the floor.

I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. It spun in slow, sleepy circles, barely cutting through the humidity. My body was aching, but my mind... my mind was wide awake.

I should've been thinking about rent. Or the bill notice on the kitchen counter. Or the late-night text from my second boss asking if I could pick up someone's shift tomorrow at the restaurant.

But I wasn't.

I was thinking about him.

The man with a voice like silk and eyes like storms. Julian. I didn't know his name yet, but that's how he lived in my mind now, cold, sharp, too clean for this city. He didn't belong in our café, didn't belong anywhere near girls like me who walked home on blistered feet and scraped their dignity together like pocket change.

But still.

He said my name.

Aria.

Like it mattered.

I turned over and shut my eyes tight, forcing myself to forget the shape of his mouth when he said it.

The next morning started before the sun did.

Mikey groaned when I woke him up. "It's Saturday," he mumbled.

"I know," I said, handing him bread and eggs. But you've got a school club. "You're the future genius, remember?"

He smirked, half-asleep. "Future billionaire."

I tapped his forehead gently. "Make it happen faster, please. Your big sister needs a mansion."

While he dressed, I pulled on a wrinkled work shirt. My schedule today was back-to-back: café till 2 PM, cleaning shift at the hotel till 6. If I survived both, maybe I could rest before tomorrow's waitressing job.

Maybe.

Maybe not

As we stepped outside, the city was already buzzing. Yellow buses screeched down cracked roads. Street sellers shouted prices like battle cries. Life here didn't pause. It didn't care if you were tired, or broke, or broken.

Mikey waved as he headed for the school gate. I watched until he disappeared into the crowd, then adjusted my bag and headed toward the café.

Across town...

Julian stood in a conference room full of glass and silence.

His assistant read out figures, but he wasn't listening. His mind was elsewhere. Somewhere far from spreadsheets and board members. Somewhere closer to... spilled tea and a trembling voice.

That girl.

Aria.

Not a name he'd expected to hear again. But there it was, echoing in his memory like a chord that hadn't finished playing.

He didn't know why she stood out.

She was clumsy. Nervous. Drenched in cheap perfume and worry.

But she had looked him in the eye and looked like she didn't care who he was. And for some reason... that had stayed with him.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and typed the name into a note app.

Aria Daily Roast Café.

Just in case.

Back at the café, the morning rush was brutal.

I was halfway through mopping a milk spill when Tara bumped into me again.

"Oh my God," she hissed, waving her phone. "Guess who just posted a story tagging this café?"

I blinked. "Who?"

"Julian. Styles. The billionaire. Real estate. Tech. He's like... worth hundreds of millions!"

I froze. "Wait..what?"

Tara shoved the screen in my face. Sure enough, there it was a blurry image of our café front. Captioned only:

"Tea. Unexpected."

And tagged right underneath?

@dailyroastcafe.

I stared at the screen, heat crawling up my neck.

"Oh God."

"You made a billionaire spill his tea," Tara said, laughing. "You're officially famous."

"No, I'm officially unemployed," I muttered.

But deep down... a strange warmth flickered in my chest.

That night, Julian sat in his penthouse study, untouched whiskey by his side. The city lights glittered through the glass behind him.

He scrolled through his calendar of meetings, launches, mergers.

His parents called twice today.

"You need a woman in your life, Julian. "You're thirty. "We're not handing the company to a man who can't build a family."

He rolled his eyes. He didn't believe in love. Not after Nicole. Not after the betrayal. Not after losing his grandmother the only woman he trusted.

But still...

Aria.

Her name pulsed in his thoughts like a small ember refusing to die out.

He clicked on her café tag one more time.

And said softly to no one but the city sky:

"Maybe you're exactly what I need."