The Boss and the Christian

1 - No use in crying over spilt coffee

If there is anything you should know about me, it is that I have not been blessed with the gift of gracefulness or elegance. I'm that friend that trips over thin air, falls up the stairs, and spills coffee on the boss of the notorious - although, obviously not notorious enough, to be heard of outside the streets of London - De Luca family. Seriously, what are the chances that out of the millions of coffee shops, littered on every street, I would quite literally crash into Elio De Luca. The full, large iced - yes, I am more than aware that it is November - vanilla latte, soaking into the crisp white cotton of his shirt, and dripping onto what looks to be a very expensive suit. This day, although only 9am, has already sailed to the top of the embarrassing moments list, that my brain likes to remind me of, during the precious hours in which I should be sleeping.

So now that I have introduced myself, let's get back to it.

"I am so sorry! It's iced." I spluttered, as though that would make things better. My mouth hung open ajar, as I looked from the empty plastic cup, to the brown stain covering most of the, what was, white cotton, to assess the damage - yep, there was in fact a lot of damage. What looked to be anger and shock flashed in his eyes, before he took a deep breath, composing himself almost immediately. His arms were still stiff, an inch or so, away from his sides,

"It's fine," he replied. I couldn't tell whether his words came out in a sort of laugh or gasp as the chill of the morning clung onto his wet shirt. I decided it was probably the cold, as I painstakingly watched him do up the three buttons on his navy blazer - failing to conceal all the damage. The tension that filled the air was making it hard to breathe, thoughts about whether I should proceed to walk away or continue to gawk at the man in front of me battled in my mind - subconsciously choosing the latter. "I needed to be woken up." He added, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as he rubbed the stubble that only seemed to highlight his strong features. It was definitely not fine, his suit was more than likely ruined.

"Again, I'm really sorry. There's a good dry cleaners around the corner from here, please let me cover the costs." Desperately trying to dig myself out of the whole, I got myself into. His eyes narrowed, at my request. Meeting his honey eyes, I stood up a little straighter, trying to muster some of the confidence that exuded from him. There was something about the way he carried himself that could captivate the attention of an entire room full of people, it hadn't gone unnoticed that those enjoying their steaming cups of morning fuel, had been whispering and side-eyeing our interaction. Everyone practically stopped breathing when I tripped.

"How are you finding London?" He asked nonchalantly, scraping one of the metal chairs to the side of us before taking a seat. The sudden change in conversation almost gave me whiplash. I didn't have time to chat. I was already running ten minutes late before this incident even happened, but still, I found myself pulling out the chair opposite him that he had gestured to.

"Sorry?" I had used that word so much in the last five minutes, it was becoming the answer to everything. His intense gaze left me, and went to an older lady, who had a black apron draped over her shoulder, giving her a warm smile. She slowly walked towards our table, with a black coffee in one hand and an iced vanilla latte in the other. She rose an eyebrow at him before turning towards me, her bright eyes and smile was infectious,

"You have great aim." She chimed. Placing the coffees on the table. She let out a soft chuckle, before walking back to the shop, as the not so amused man rolled his eyes opposite me.

"I'm guessing you're new in town. How are you finding London?" He continued. Not even acknowledging the obvious confusion on my face, at the fact that we didn't even have to order, or pay.

"Oh, it's, um, busier than I'm used to, the trains seem to be full of people, no-matter what time of day it is." I laughed, getting a nod of agreement from him. "But, although it's taking some getting used to, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Sipping the cold coffee was a refreshing break from the interview I was apparently undertaking - which was going to be good practice, if I didn't get to the office in the next 5 minutes- as I tried not to think about the past.

"I'm also guessing that you need to get going to work." He smiled.

"Was it that obvious?" I replied quietly, a smirk playing on my lips.

"It was between work or you just not enjoying my company. I was hoping it was work." He explained with a wink that landed butterflies in my stomach. Get a grip, I internally scowled, at letting something as simple as a polite wink mess with my emotions.

"Let me give you a lift, since I held you up -"

"I was already going to be late. I accepted my fate and decided to get the coffee that you are now wearing." I cringed, trying and failing to conceal the laughter at the disaster of the morning.

"But, if you insist that would be really helpful, thank you."

His brown eyes lit up, as he immediately grabbed the takeaway cup and scooted out of his chair. "I'm Elio, by the way."

"Juliette." I replied. Placing my hand in his strong grasp, before letting him lead the way. I couldn't help but notice that the loud whispers had suddenly died as we walked past, and the side-eyes remained locked to their drinks or phones - pretty much anywhere we weren't.

Well, here's to hoping that Elio isn't some kind of infamous serial killer - still I sent a silent prayer to the Lord.