Billionaire Sits In Busy Restaurant, Unaware The Woman Suggesting He Share Her Table Wins His Heart
An Unexpected Invitation
Yardan Lel didn’t do lines. Not for clubs, not for premieres, and definitely not for lunch. But here he was, standing in the middle of a packed Soho cafe. Sunglasses were off, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his tailored black coat.
There were absolutely no open tables in sight. He glanced at his watch. It was 12:22. His assistant was late, the reservation had been lost, and the place was crawling with people.
These people clearly didn’t care they were occupying tables someone like him could buy ten times over. A waitress rushed past him, dodging a swinging coat and a stroller.
“Give us fifteen minutes, sir,” she said, barely sparing him a glance.
Yardan exhaled, his jaw tightening. He almost turned to leave. He could have a chef from Milan fly in by dinner if he wanted. But then he heard it.
“Excuse me,” a warm voice said behind him. “You can sit with me if you want.”
He turned. She was seated alone at a small table tucked near the window. Her half-eaten panini was pushed to one side. A book was open but clearly forgotten.
She looked up at him with wide hazel eyes surrounded by thick lashes and a face flushed from the cold. Her hair was pulled into a messy twist. A pencil was stuck through it like she’d done it without thinking.
Yardan blinked.
“I mean,” she said quickly, her cheeks coloring. “You look like you’re about to either murder someone or buy the building, and the staff’s losing it. So you might as well sit.”
He stared at her for a beat, unsure whether to be offended or entertained. Then, to his own surprise, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
“I wasn’t going to murder anyone,” he said dryly, loosening the collar of his coat.
“Ah, so buy the building then.”
He let out a short laugh, the first genuine sound from his mouth all day.
“You don’t know how close you are.”
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m Yardan Lel,” he said, pausing for half a second before adding, “Lel.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t gape or fumble through an awkward “Oh my god, you’re him” moment. She just nodded and took a sip from her glass of water.
It was like he was a guy named Yardan who had just stolen half her table. He wasn’t used to that. It was oddly refreshing.
“What’s the book?” he asked, nodding toward it.
She glanced down.
“A fantasy novel about a deaf pirate queen and a cursed map. It’s weird; I like it.”
He tilted his head.
“You don’t seem like a fantasy type.”
Casha grinned.
“You don’t seem like the type to sit with strangers in busy cafes.”
“Touché.”
The waitress came by, did a double-take at their arrangement, and handed them both menus. Yardan ordered a black coffee and a steak sandwich. Casha ordered nothing.
“You’re not eating?” he asked.
“I already did,” she shrugged. “But I wasn’t going to let you stand there looking like the world owed you a table.”
He raised a brow.
“You always invite random men to sit with you?”
“Only the ones who look like they haven’t eaten in a decade and might own half of Manhattan.”
He laughed again, a low sound that made her smile widen. They talked while he ate about nothing and everything.
She worked in publishing, lived in a small apartment above a bakery in Brooklyn, and had a cat named Beans who hated everyone but her.
She teased him when he tried to discreetly Google her favorite author under the table. He teased her right back when she admitted she’d never been to Paris.
Time slipped past. His coffee went cold and his sandwich disappeared. For the first time in a long time, Yardan forgot about the emails piling up, the board, and the meetings waiting for him uptown.
When he finally glanced at the clock, it was almost two.
“I should go,” she said, standing and slipping her coat on. “You’ve got billionaire things to do.”
He stood too, brushing non-existent crumbs off his sleeve.
“Let me walk you out.”
They stepped into the cold together, the city bustling around them. Taxis honked and wind whipped through the streets. She stopped at the corner.
“Thanks for letting me share my table with you,” she said, her voice light.
He looked down at her, the wind catching strands of her hair.
“You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”
She hesitated, then smiled.
“Bye, Yardan Lel.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into a sea of people like some kind of fever dream. Yardan stood there for a long moment, staring after her. He didn’t even realize he was still smiling.
Three days later, he walked into his board meeting late, wearing a navy suit and a distracted expression.
“Mr. Lel,” his CFO said. “Is everything all right?”
Yardan lowered himself into the head chair and tapped the table.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. For the first time in years, he couldn’t stop thinking about someone. It wasn’t a headline, a merger, or a property.
It was a girl with a pencil in her hair and a sarcastic mouth who had offered him half a table like it was nothing. He hadn’t even asked for her number.
He stared out the window at the skyline. That was going to be a problem. Yardan Lel didn’t believe in fate, but he was starting to think he just met it.
