Page 15 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“A double shot latte please,” I say to the barista, raking my scraggly hair away from my face. I could have at least fixed up my appearance and brushed my hair, but self-care had to wait.

Running away from Emil felt way more urgent.

“Sure,” says the barista. “Anything else?”

I browse the pastries and my stomach immediately starts groaning. “A pistachio croissant please. Actually, make that two. And I’ll also take a slice of the carrot cake, thank you very much.”

May as well treat myself, since this is Emil’s money.

I take the pastries and cake from the barista and wait for my drink in a corner booth, staring through the window, watchingthe cars pass by. Raindrops slide down the glass. According to the radio, a storm is meant to hit tonight.

I take out my phone, searching for some accommodation tonight. Emil can treat me to a five-star hotel and spa, since he appears to have all the money in the world.

“Double shot latte for Fia?” says the server, bringing me my coffee.

“Thanks.” I blow on the drink, taking a sip as I scroll through some very upscale hotel options. I’m pregnant and still recovering from a car accident. I need the opposite of stress right now.

A deluxe suite in the Four Seasons Hotel, including a spa and sauna, will do just the trick.

I’m one click away from booking when someone slams their hand down on my table, causing a mini earthquake. My coffee cup clatters in the saucer, some of the coffee spilling over the edge.

“Watch where you’re going, dumbass,” I scorn, fanning out the napkin to clean up the mess.

I’m scrubbing coffee from my pants when the person sits down opposite me. I refuse to look up and make eye contact. Doing that will cause me to slap them in the face. I’m grouchy after not having caffeine for a few days, and my patience is running thinner by the fucking minute.

The woman clears their throat.

“What?” I look up and go stone cold, seeing a familiar pair of eyes staring right my way, except the look inside of them feelsforeign. I’m not used to Chloe staring at me like she wants to strangle me to death.

“Chloe,” I gasp. “Thank god.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Anger shakes her voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know. So did everyone else. But rest assured, I was in a coma.”

Her face shifts. “For an entire year?”

“No, just two days.”

Chloe bats her lashes at me, like I’m speaking a different language. “Then where the fuck were you?” Concern lines her face, her green eyes devoid of warmth.

Same as her cheeks. Normally, they’re tinted red, but she sits opposite me this evening looking grayer than the depressing atmosphere outside.

“I’m in the process of figuring that out.”

Chloe stares at me for another beat, more lines appearing between her brows. She slides the coffee across the table, taking a sip, wincing. “Double espresso. Gross.”

“It’s a latte, not a shot.”

“Certainly feels like it.” She continues staring at me. “You always have a double espresso when you’re stressed.”

“Do I?”

Chloe’s mouth gapes wide open, like she’s having trouble recognizing me. Same.

“Yes,” she says, her tone still sharp. “You started taking double espressos a few years back.”

“Can we be more specific? How many years ago are we talking?”