Forced to Wed: A Billionaire's Demand

Chapter 29

Sarah

I strut up to the counter, hips swaying, eyes glinting with mischief. Now that I have my prized possession, my mama's painting, I feel a lot better now.

"Two lattes, please. Extra hot," I purr, gaze sliding to where Vincent sits.

His eyes pin me in place, dark and fathomless. Waiting. Watching.

Always watching.

The chalkboard menu blurs before me as my heart pounds. Damn him. He still gets to me, even now.

The barista clears her throat. "Sorry, what kind of lattes did you want?"

I drag my gaze away from Vincent's, pulse racing. "Caramel macchiato for me, flat white for him."

That's what he ordered. It's not my fault that he is boring!

The barista nods and gets to work as I pay, with Vincent's credit card, of course.

My hands tremble and I clench them into fists. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he affects me.

How much power he still holds.

When the drinks are ready, I saunter back to the table, hips swinging in exaggerated confidence.

Vincent's gaze darkens, fingers tightening around his cup.

Good. A crack in that aloof facade.

I slide into the seat opposite, nudging his flat white across the table.

"For you." My tone drips with sweetness.

His eyes narrow, staring at the coffee like it's a trap.

Which it is, in a way.

"What in the hell is this?" Vincent barks.

"It's a latte, of course," I speak to him as if I am speaking to a kindergartener.

"Why the hell is there a smiley face drawn on this?" he asks.

"To cheer things up," I say as I take a slow sip of my latte, watching Vincent over the rim of the cup. "And also to see you squirm." My voice comes out a hiss.

"It's stupid," he grumbles.

"Oh my god, try to enjoy the little things for once. Look, mine has a cute little kitten!" I chirp, pointing at my cup.

Vincent's intense gaze remains fixed on the latte and then he finally takes a sip.

"There," I croon, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "It's the best coffee you've ever tasted, isn't it?"

Vincent clenches his jaw. He flexes his fingers under mine in warning, and it only makes me smile wider.

"Admit it," I press. "You like it. The latte is delicious."

Vincent's scowl deepens. "It's delicious."

Vincent's admission brings a triumphant grin to my lips. "See? I knew you'd come around."

His eyes narrow, a hint of frustration flashing across his features before he schools his expression back into its usual mask of indifference. But I've seen the crack in his armor, however fleeting it may be.

I lean back in my chair, taking another leisurely sip of my caramel macchiato, relishing in the small victory.

Vincent's gaze remains fixed on me, unreadable. "So, what's the story behind the painting?"

Vincent's sudden interest catches me off guard, but I quickly compose myself. "My mom painted it when I was little," I reply. "She used to do shows in art galleries. But after she died, Dad sold and gave away all of her paintings except for this one."