“I'd like a double expresso please”

Audacious, arrogant and damn attractive. Donovan Smith was these three things and more. 6’1 embodiment of pure masculinity and an irresistible aura. The stunning twenty-three-year-old has a hand full of magazine articles to his credit.

The business tycoon, amongst other names he was referred to, was the one that stuck out most. So much so that he was featured on Forbes as the most influential male in the world of business. Editors from the New York Times knew his name too well.

He was Donovan to business partners, colleagues and associates, dick head to his competitors and rivals and Dony to his family and friends.

Donovan woke up happy and very expectant this Monday morning. He was finally going to put the lid on this acquisition deal that had been lingering for too long. He had a nice view of the building he planned to purchase from a small cafe called Nexco.

“The car is ready,” Kenny, his right-hand man, spoke softly as he walked into the huge study of the Smith mansion.

“Okay, Kenny, “he buttoned up his navy suit and headed out of the study.

“The coffee shop, right?”, Kenny asked.

“Yeah, he responded “. They drove out of the underground parking at full speed to downtown Brooklyn.

They got to the coffee shop and headed in. Most times, he never even ordered coffee. It was Kenny and the other guys. Today was different. Kenny stepped out for a second to answer a call.

“Dony,” Kenny called out when he returned.

“What? “, Donovan pulled his head from out of his phone.

“Mr. Stanford insists you have more men”.

“Okay“

“Okay? I thought you hated the attention”

“I really don’t mind it today, I’m in a good mood”

“Suit yourself, “he shrugged his shoulder.

“I’d like a cup of fratte with milk and don’t be light with the sugar,” he placed his order.

“And, I’d like a double expresso,” Donovan spoke to the dull-looking girl who had her hair wrapped up in a messy bun. She looked like she wasn’t feeding properly.

“Even with my heavy tips, they still don’t seem to upgrade,” he mumbled.

The girl walked to the back of the counter, holding a wooden tray that had more weight than she did. Donovan observed the stain on the back of her shirt. He cringed. Even if he was never diagnosed, he acted like an OCD patient. After sometime, the bodyguards Donovan’s grandfather, Mr. Stanford had requested for showed up.

The girl returned with the tray after taking too long. She held the tray with one hand, used the second hand to set Kenny’s coffee on top of the coaster. She took a giant stride to the other part of the table, attempting to hand Donovan his coffee. Her attempt failed as she tripped over her leg, spilling the content of the mug all over him.

Donovan was enraged, not just because the suit was a custom made gift from Canali, but because he’d have to address his business partners in it. On the day he finally gets to sign the contract, this happens. “Shit,” he groaned, frustrated.

His irritation grew as she grabbed the tablecloth. He knew what she was trying to do, and it did not make him happy. Donovan moved forcefully as he used the heel of his shoe to push backward. His unexpected movement sent her to the floor, where she deserved to be after her careless act.

“Are you crazy? You’re really trying to ruin my suit!”, he yelled, trying to put himself together. He glared at her for a while till Kenny got his attention.

“Lets just leave. People have their phones out.” Donovan picked up his wallet, sticking it into his pocket. As he tried fitting his monocle back into his pocket, a small brunette appeared in front of him. He often described girls by the colour of their hair, as disrespectful as it was. It worked for him.

“With all due respect sir, I think you are the one who’s crazy “, Donovan was confused. Who was this insignificant person spewing rubbish? His eyebrows had formed a crease, and he was now smirking.

***

Donovan got out of the café wondering how someone so insignificant had the nerve to challenge him. He smirked at the thought.

“Where next?“, Kenny asked.

“To the office, Kenny, where else?”

“Okay sir, to the office”. Donovan got into the car, a Rolls-Royce Cullinan. It was his favorite vehicle, especially for occasions like this. He changed quickly, opened the car door, then moved to the front seat. Kenny joined him immediately.

“I called Fischer. He said he’d meet you at the office,” Kenny informed him.

“Does he have a choice? We’re the one’s doing him a favor“

“You call buying up a man’s legacy for pennies saving him?”, Kenny had an exasperated tone.

“Kenny, if you have something to say, say it now.”

“Nothing sir“

“No speak, I’d like to hear all about it”

“I said Nothing sir!,” Kenny face the passenger seat where Donovan sat, taking his hands off the steering wheel for a quick second.

“Kenny! Are you trying to kill us?”, his attention quickly shifted back to the road.

“Shit!” he yelled, taking a hold of the wheel, and steering the car to the appropriate lane.

The two men sighed with relief as the car slowly came to a halt in front of Zenith. They alighted and almost immediately, the private valet emerged.

Donovan’s reputation precedes him. So, whether it was house or office staff and colleagues, everyone respected him. On entering the building, he was greeted by security at the revolving doors.

The atmosphere in the lobby changed instantly as people walked with their head facing downwards, making sure not to make eye contact.

His amber eyes could pierce into any soul he pleases. The imperturbable CEO had class in every step. His aura was matchless. The only person who would command this much respect other that Donovan was Stanford Smith.

Kenny pressed the button on the elevator and led the way. Shortly after, Mr. Fischer walked in to go over the final pages of the contract.

“Finally,” Donovan sighed with relief as he stretched in his chair. The deal was closed.

“Ready?“, Kenny spoke from the door frame.

“Yes,” he answered, standing up from his leather chair.

***

“You called for me?”

“Sit down Dony”, Mr. Stanford laid back on a beside the infinity pool. It was a very open space with different sitting arrangements.

Donovan sat down in the chair next to his grandfather with lips pursed. The man laid down facing the sky with an avocado mask and two cucumbers circling his lids.

He wondered what had been so important to be discussed now. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot my tablet”, Donovan shot out of his seat and made way to the pocket doors.

His grandfather snapped his finger. Donovan paused. The man gestured for the boy to get back into his seat. That was how he was trained, with snaps and eye signs, hand waves and gestures, less with words. He only got sympathy from his grandfather once every three years, which was generous on his part—so he believed.

“It’s not about business. It is, but you don’t need a tablet for this,” Donovan sighed in anticipation, not in a pleasurable way.

“Donovan, you know your brother’s campaign just launched,” Donovan sighed loudly.

“Let me finish “, Stanford glared.

“I need you to organize some events for charity. It could really pull more attention,” his grandfather said, all giddy.

“Yes…Sir”, he chuckled dryly, placing a half-assed smile on his face.

“We need somebody, like an assistant. That’s the assignment I’m giving you”.

“To find an assistant for Nigel’s campaign, I’ll be on it—”

“Before the end of tomorrow”, Stanford cut him off.

“You’ll help the campaign manager. I can’t trust your brother with anything. You’re very fast witted, that’s why you were put in charge of the family business!”, his grandfather reminded him often about how his brother was dull or slow-witted.

He couldn’t blame Nigel for shying out. The boy was always so timid. He would cry when his grandfather gave an instruction or corrected him.

A part of Dony still resents Nigel for leaving him to shoulder everything at such a young age. While Dony was taking multiple AP classes in high school and studying five languages after school, Nigel was busy playing baby in a program abroad.

Stanford snapped his finger once more, and jolting Donovan back to the present. “How on earth do I pull this off in less than forty-eight hours?” he mumbled.

“Yes sir”

“I think we’re done here! Get going. Chop, chop”, he reclined back into his chair and, replaced the cucumbers on his eyelid.