Not many people walk down the streets of New York drunk especially in the middle of the day. They usually rush along and across the streets trying to race with time to earn more money.

But not Cassandra.

She was taking her precious time wandering around, struggling to walk in a straight line.

Trying to keep her smile to herself, she looked around her, wondering why these people wore blurry, poker faces as they talked on their phones while walking briskly down the street. She was thankful she was self-employed—well, as what she would call it.

Cassandra took a deep breath, the taste of beer still lingering in her mouth. She had been drinking since lunch time for no apparent reason. She just felt like drinking. She squeezed her eyes for a better vision as she slowly walked while trying hard not to drop on the ground every time a passerby bumped into her with their darting eyes and wrinkled nose as they took her state and smell. She felt her way to the wall and leaned against it, breathing heavily. She shouldn't have drank that much, she thought. Her hands were getting numb, her feet losing their strength.

I'm going to faint right here if I don't find somewhere to rest, she thought. Hope abandoned her when she saw the long crowded street. Even her blurred sight was a hindrance. She knew the street very well and she was pretty aware that there was not a place to rest.

Fine, anywhere will do then. Squinting one eye, she walked toward the nearest store and dropped on the bottom step, trying to keep her head high. If she dropped it any lower, she'd definitely puke right there and then. Her phone started ringing again. She didn't answer. She knew it was her father and he had been asking to see her since last week. She thought she should call him tomorrow, once she was back to her sober self just to get it over with.

Cassandra didn't have a problem—really, she didn't. She was just like that. She did anything that came to her mind without thinking. When she had ordered her first bottle, she reasoned she wanted to celebrate her upcoming exhibit. When the second one came, she thought she was celebrating life. On the succeeding bottles, thoughts of celebration flew out the window.

She stood up after her head cleared a little bit. She needed a cup of coffee, and she knew just the place for a perfect one. The rest must have done something good for she found it less difficult to find her way to the coffee shop.

"My head is throbbing, I need a strong one," she told the lady at the counter the moment she entered the shop. The usual people who would line up for their daily dose of caffeine were long gone and back on the streets. It seemed that Cassandra was the only customer after the morning rush.

"What would you like?"

Cassandra looked up at the menu, the letters merging into one. "Just...fix me something strong."

"Okay, one really strong and very black Americano coming up," the lady said with a smile.

She fumbled in her purse for some coins, handed the lady a handful and said, "Just get the exact amount. I have trouble counting at the moment,"

The lady looked at her curiously but did as she asked. She handed Cassandra the rest of the coins and said, "I'll serve you your coffee if you want." She must have noticed her customer struggling to stay on her feet.

"Thanks. That will be great..." Cassandra went to the nearest table and made herself comfortable, resting her chin on her hand. Her lids were drooping but she had to stay alert. She still had to go home after all. But her lids closed anyway, desperate for a good sleep.

"Cassandra Anders?" a male voice said over her.

"Hmm?" was all she could muster. She sensed some movement across the table from her and when she peered through her heavy lids, she noticed that a man was sitting at the once empty chair facing her.

"I'm Philip Strindberg. I have something to discuss with you."

"Come back at a good time," she slurred and closed her eyes once again.

"Now is the best time." The voice was now etched with irritation so she opened her eyes once again to look at the man, her gray blue ones meeting his blue ones—or maybe they weren't blue but she didn't care at the moment.

"Best time for what?" she asked, not really in the mood for a chat.

"To give you an offer you surely won't resist."

He looked completely serious that she snorted. "And what is that?" If this man was out early in the morning to read her passages from the bible because of her drunken state, she didn't know if she could deal with him properly without being a bitch.

"To be my wife."

The alcohol that had been flowing like crazy through her veins stopped and drained down her head as she looked at the handsome stranger in disbelief.

******

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hi!

If you are new to my works, you may want to know that I now focus mainly on historical romance stories for a couple of years now. If you enjoy works like Bridgerton, feel free to hop into the worlds of the Town and Sutherland!

All my stories (and the series they belong to) can be found on the Reading Lists on my profile. 

Enjoy!

J.D. Ruiz