“What time are you opening the doors?” he asked, his gaze made a slow perusal of me from head to toe, stopping at my feet and huffing. “Do you own anything aside from tennis shoes?”
I rolled my eyes. “We open at seven, which is when you open, correct?”
“That’s when the building opens. I get here by six-thirty, and the Wilsons always had a cup of coffee ready to go for me,” the smug bastard said, looking around and taking in all the details. “This actually looks—nice.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I guess.”
“So, I haven’t found another place that makes coffee like they did. I was hoping you make a decent cup and I could stop here on my way up in the morning and grab it.”
“Well, I won’t be staring out the window waiting for your arrival, but you’re welcome to stop by, and we’ll pour you a cup to go, your highness.”
“That’s fine. As long as you can actually make coffee that’s tolerable.” He smirked. Ford wore a black suit, and a white dress shirt, tailored to fit his broad, chiseled body just so. His brown hair was a bit longer on top and styled to perfection.
“I can’t wait to hear how high maintenance your order is. I mean, this ain’t Starbucks, bud.”
He rolled his eyes. “I take my coffee black.”
My head fell back, and I barked out a laugh. “Black? And you’re being dramatic about it? How hard is it to make a cup of black coffee?”
“It’s all about the beans.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised a brow at me. Smug bastard.
“You know, this is why rich men get a bad name. You’re ridiculous,” I said before shouting out to my bestie in the back. “Molly, can you grab me a cup of black coffee to go. Use the real swanky beans, okay?”
He chuckled. Ford freaking Montgomery the forty thousandth actually laughed. I was surprised to see he had an actual sense of humor under his arrogant, annoying demeanor.