Irish's café looked unusually quiet when Zayden arrived. There were no clinking cups or chatting customers like usual. Not even a single employee was in sight. A small sign hung on the front glass door, slightly ajar, "Closed For Private Event."
Zayden stepped inside, his footsteps echoing softly on the polished wooden floor. The air welcomed him with a soothing mix of arabica coffee and lavender. The interior was elegantly decorated, a modern rustic touch that felt both warm and deliberate.
"Welcome, Mr. Zayden."
The voice was calm, almost a deliberate whisper. Zayden turned. There she was, Irish, leaning casually against the bar counter, a glass of mocktail in her hand.
She wore a sleeveless maroon satin dress that hugged her figure with delicate grace. Her long neck exposed, her wavy brown hair left down, and her smile… not just polite, but something deeper.
Zayden paused. His eyes caught the skin revealed by the low neckline, and for a moment, his brain replayed that bikini photo he had accidentally liked earlier. He had tried to forget, but that mental image glowed like a flashing red sign in his head.
"I closed the café just for you today," Irish said as she walked closer, her steps light but calculated. "So we can focus on our discussion."
Zayden swallowed softly. "That wasn't necessary. I didn't want to trouble you."
"Oh, it's no trouble at all. Besides, I enjoy preparing something for a special guest." Her eyes twinkled, subtle and quick, barely noticeable unless Zayden was paying close attention.
He took a seat by the large window on a rattan chair. The afternoon light fell gently on his face. Irish sat across from him, crossing her legs gracefully. Her toned legs caught the light in a way that felt almost too perfect to be accidental.
"You seem to really enjoy building this business," Zayden said, his voice polite but a touch distant, as if trying to maintain a professional distance already being chipped away by her charm.
"Of course," Irish replied casually, but her eyes gleamed. "These businesses… I treat them like my own children."
She placed a tablet on the table with smooth, elegant movements. Her fingers tapped the screen before sliding it toward him. "Here are the sales figures from last month, customer traffic, and inventory reports. I'd love to hear your thoughts."
Zayden nodded, took a long breath, and began scanning the data. But his focus wasn't fully there. A small distraction was quietly pulling at his attention.
His gaze fell on her slender fingers, perfectly manicured in nude polish, holding the tablet. Then, without realizing, his eyes drifted to her lips—pink, slightly glossy, as if she had just sipped something sweet. Somehow, his mind was turning a little too vivid.
"Your margins are quite stable," he said, clearing his throat as if to reboot his concentration. "But... hmm… some operational costs are a bit too high. Like... redecoration expenses every few months?"
Irish let out a soft laugh, resting her chin on the back of her hand.
"Oh, I love beautifying this place. Sometimes I think the atmosphere itself is therapy for the people who come here. Or maybe... for the owner herself." Her gaze was probing, half teasing.
"Hm… fair point," Zayden nodded slowly. "But in business, aesthetics should be… balanced with logic. I mean, the returns need to be justifiable."
Irish narrowed her eyes slightly. "You sound just like one of my college professors," she said softly, eyeing him with a faint smile. "But your tone has changed."
Zayden raised an eyebrow. "Changed how?"
"Like... you're trying too hard to stay formal." Irish giggled, sweet and warm. "I get that business needs to be serious. But sometimes, being too serious makes people forget what life's supposed to feel like."
Zayden went silent for a moment. It wasn't a criticism. It felt more like an invitation… to loosen up. Just a little.
"You like wordplay, don't you?"
Irish shrugged. "Maybe I'm just bored of numbers. Let's keep this casual. Why don't you tell me something fun? What were you doing before you came here? Besides… stalking me on Instagram?"
Zayden chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. A rare thing for him. "That was an accident. My finger slipped."
"And it just happened to land on a bikini photo?" Irish arched an eyebrow. Her teasing smile made Zayden slightly flustered.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "It really was unintentional. And you—how did you know so fast it was me? Or… were you waiting for me?"
"Who said I was waiting?" Irish quickly looked away out the window, but the smile on her lips betrayed her. A faint blush colored her cheeks.
"Admit it!" Zayden demanded playfully.
She inhaled softly, then lifted one brow. "Okay, yes… I was. I admire you in business. Anyone would be excited if their idol came to review their work."
Zayden leaned in slightly, a half-amused glint in his eyes. "Excuses."
"What else would it be?" Irish laughed lightly, trying to sound indifferent. But there was a nervous edge to her laughter. "But I guess my topic helped lighten the mood?"
"Yeah, I'll admit that." Zayden picked up the mocktail she had served and took a sip. A light chuckle still lingered on his lips. "And… you're a lot more fun than I expected from stalking your Instagram."
Irish turned quickly. "Was that a compliment?"
"It was… an admission." Zayden replied, and Irish only smiled—shy, yet triumphant. It felt like the fish she had baited was slowly swimming closer to her hook.
For a brief moment, the silence between them turned… warm. Not awkward. Not stiff. But like two musicians who had just discovered the right notes to play together.