Innocent cravings

Chapter 23 –The Intermediary part one

Brian

The week had been hell.

Not the kind of hell built on fire and brimstone, but the quiet, gnawing kind where every thought clawed at the edges of my sanity. Alice was avoiding me. Not in the subtle, playful way that hinted at shyness, but in the deliberate, gut-wrenching way of someone who had been convinced she needed to cut me off.

And I knew exactly who had driven her to that conclusion, Clarissa.

The night I ended things with her should have been the closing of a chapter. Instead, it had opened a battlefield. I hadn't even given Alice the chance to hear it from me. That was my mistake. My pride had told me to let my actions speak for themselves, to let Clarissa figure it out and walk away quietly. But Clarissa had never been the type to walk away. She would drag her nails down the walls until everyone bled with her.

And Alice? She had bought into the lie.

Three unanswered calls. Two texts left on read. When I stopped by the diner under the pretense of needing coffee, she hid in the kitchen. That cut deeper than I cared to admit.

By the fourth day of being shut out, I realized I couldn't keep waiting for her to come around. If she wouldn't let me through the front door, I'd find another way.

That way turned out to be Sophie.

Alice's best friend. Her shadow, her defender, her constant. I knew from the first time I'd seen Sophie roll her eyes at me across the diner counter that she wasn't impressed by me, not by my reputation, not by my wealth, not by the name I carried. She wasn't like the others. Which made her perfect, and inconvenient.

Because if I wanted Alice back, I had to go through Sophie first.

So here I was, standing outside a small independent coffee shop on a Saturday morning, scanning the crowd until I saw her. She was perched on a high stool near the window, a latte in front of her and a notebook open. Her pen moved quickly, the tip scratching across the page like she was solving all the world's problems in ink.

I walked inside. The air smelled like roasted beans and cinnamon, warm and sharp. A few heads turned, people always looked, whether they meant to or not. I had long since stopped acknowledging it. My focus was Sophie.

She noticed me almost immediately. Her pen froze mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed. And then, instead of offering a polite nod, she muttered something under her breath and very deliberately flipped her notebook closed.

"Of all the people," she said when I reached her table, "it had to be you."

"Good morning to you too," I replied smoothly, sliding into the chair opposite her without asking permission.

Her brows shot up. "Excuse me, did I say you could sit?"

"No. But if I'd waited for an invitation, I'd still be standing outside."

She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. "Maybe that's where you should've stayed."

I almost smiled. She was quick. Quicker than most. But I hadn't come here for a verbal sparring match, tempting as it was.

"I need to talk to you, Sophie."

"About what? Stocks? Investments? Your cologne?" Her gaze flicked up and down me, sharp and mocking. "Because I can't imagine what else you and I could possibly have to discuss."

"Alice."

The name hung between us, cutting through the noise of the coffee shop. Sophie's playful mockery drained from her face, replaced with an expression I couldn't quite read. Protective. Suspicious. Ready to fight.

She tapped her fingers on the table. "She told me about you."

That stung. Not because I didn't expect it, but because of how she said it, flat, final, as though the verdict had already been passed.

"And what exactly did she tell you?" I asked carefully.

"That you're engaged. That you've been stringing her along while playing house with Clarissa. That you..." she stopped herself, jaw tightening. "You know what, it doesn't matter what else. Point is, you're bad news."

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Clarissa and I are over."

Sophie tilted her head, unconvinced. "Sure. And I'm the Queen of England."

I couldn't help it, I chuckled. "You don't make it easy, do you?"

"I'm not supposed to. Alice is my friend. My family. You think I'm going to let some rich guy with too much charm and not enough honesty waltz in and break her?"

Her loyalty was infuriating and admirable all at once. I liked that about her. Alice deserved people who fought for her like this.

"I'm not here to hurt her," I said quietly, the truth weighing heavy on each word. "I'm here because I can't stand another day of her thinking I chose Clarissa over her. That couldn't be further from the truth."

Sophie's lips curved into a thin smile. "Words. That's all I hear. And I'm not sure Alice needs more of those from you."

She was good. Better than most negotiators I'd ever faced across boardroom tables. She had leverage, and she knew it.

"Then what would convince you?" I asked.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?"

For the first time since I'd sat down, I leaned back and studied her. Sophie wasn't the type to be swayed by theatrics. She wanted proof, substance, consistency. The same things Alice valued.

"Convince me," she said finally, drumming her fingers once more. "Convince me you're not just another heartbreak waiting to happen."

Sophie

The nerve of him.

He looked too perfect for a Saturday morning, like he'd just stepped out of a magazine shoot instead of real life. Sharp suit, watch gleaming, hair that probably took a stylist twenty minutes to get right. Meanwhile, I was in jeans and a hoodie with coffee stains on the sleeve.

And he still thought he could sit across from me and charm his way through.

Except I wasn't Alice. I saw through the type. I'd seen enough of them try their luck around campus or the diner. Smooth talkers. Perfect smiles. Promises that turned to dust.

But this wasn't just any guy. This was Brian Carter. The Brian. Billionaire. Business heir. The kind of man people whispered about in awe. And the kind of man who, apparently, had my best friend tangled in a mess she didn't deserve.

I stared at him, at those calm blue eyes that didn't flinch under my scrutiny. If he was lying, he was damn good at it.

"You really think," I said slowly, "that I'm going to hand Alice over like she's some kind of project manager position you can just hire for?"

One corner of his mouth tugged up. "That wasn't exactly how I planned to phrase it."

"You don't get it," I pressed, leaning forward now. "Alice is... she's been through enough. She doesn't need confusion. She doesn't need to be someone's rebound. And she sure as hell doesn't need Clarissa's leftovers."

That got a reaction. His jaw tightened. "Alice will never be anyone's leftover. Not mine. Not anyone's."

The conviction in his tone caught me off guard. It wasn't defensive; it was something else. Fierce. Territorial.

For a second, I almost believed him. Almost.

But believing wasn't my job. Protecting Alice was.

"You say Clarissa's out of the picture," I said. "So what, you expect me to clap and say, 'Great, go break my best friend's heart now'?"

"I expect you to listen," he said firmly. "And to understand that I don't want to hurt Alice. I want her. All of her. For as long as she'll have me."

The coffee shop buzzed around us, machines whirring, people laughing, baristas calling orders. But between us, it was silent. Heavy.

I exhaled slowly, realizing this wasn't going to be as simple as brushing him off.

"Fine," I said at last, though my tone was sharp. "You get five minutes. Convince me you're not full of it."

The smug smile he gave me made me want to throw my latte at him. But I stayed put.

Because maybe, just maybe, I needed to hear what he had to say.