I need this job more than my pride. He needs order like oxygen. From my "trial shift" to the rooftop where one reckless kiss ignites a "one night only" rule, we battle behind the bar-steam hissing, tempers flaring, chemistry burning through every don't-you-dare. I'm sunshine with a spine; he's a grumpy perfectionist with inked forearms and a past that tastes like regret. When an old flame struts in and the line between boss and mistake blurs, desire turns possessive, jealousy turns scorching, and control is the first casualty.
But this isn't just caffeine and heat. It's after-hours confessions, rules we keep breaking, and a choice that could cost me my job and him the café he built from nothing. If we survive the spill of secrets and the burn behind our banter, we might brew something worth the mess.
Enemies-to-lovers. Workplace war. Filthy-sweet HEA energy. Strong coffee required.
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