Chapter 7

At that moment, Betty stepped forward as if she’d been waiting.

“Oh, don’t even ask, Mr. Ryan! He’s really outrageous! He’s desperate to squeeze every penny out of our poor young lady!”

“Squeeze every penny? What do you mean?”

“Do you know how much he asked for? A whopping ten thousand dastals! Can you believe it, ten thousand dastals for a single lawsuit?”

“He asked for ten thousand dastals?”

Blake raised one eyebrow and let out a shallow sigh.

“Well, well. That friend is a bit too greedy.”

Betty was indignant.

“Right? Mr. Ryan, please go in and say something! Tell him just how desperate our young lady’s situation is!”

“Betty!”

Celia, embarrassed, tugged hard at Betty’s sleeve. But Betty waved her hand as if to say, just let her handle it.

Blake, looking down at the two of them, murmured in a troubled voice.

“It’s not difficult to go in and talk about it now… but I doubt it would be very effective.”

He lowered his voice as he continued.

“Telling a lawyer how desperate the client is doesn’t help at all. Those hyena-like fellows will only try to tear off more flesh from a dying deer.”

Betty frowned deeply.

“So what should we do? Are we just going to let him take ten thousand dastals? Our poor young lady…”

‘Betty, please, just stop.’

Celia, mortified, bowed her burning face low. But then she heard an unexpected suggestion.

“Miss Lancaster. If you don’t mind, shall we have a cup of tea?”

“What?”

“I thought it would be better to talk somewhere else.”

Blake tilted his chin to indicate outside the law office building.

‘He wants to have tea outside?’

But Celia hesitated to answer. Wearing mourning clothes, out on Fifth Avenue, having tea with a strange man—who knew what rumors might spread?

Blake, quietly watching her, gave a small smile. Then he moved the arm he’d extended toward Celia just a bit, placing it beneath Betty’s hand.

“To Mrs. Betty, who loves chocolate, I’ll treat you to Fifth Avenue’s famous bomb cake.”

***

They headed to a coffee house.

Recently, coffee houses had sprung up all over the city, famous for never turning off their lights, open 24 hours. They served mountains of pancakes and greasy steaks. People said you could endlessly refill watery coffee in soup-bowl-sized mugs.

‘It’s my first time actually coming to one.’

Celia glanced around as she entered.

The Fifth Avenue coffee house was nothing like the luxury tea house on 33rd Street. Huge leather chairs filled the hall, dirty dishes piled up on old tables like mountains, and guests stubbed out cigarettes right on those plates.

‘Did so many people live in New Adams?’

The café was packed with all sorts of people. Men and women, young and old, people with all kinds of skin colors, all mixed together, chatting loudly in languages Celia didn’t understand.

‘Is it alright to come to such a crowded place with a man?’

Celia unconsciously hunched her shoulders. Blake spoke.

“Don’t worry. No one here cares about you or me.”

“What?”

“They’re only interested in which company’s stock will go up, where jobs will open at which factory, or which distribution center will serve hot soup.”

He was right. The café’s patrons seemed absorbed in their own affairs. Some were reading piles of old books, others singing drunken songs in the middle of the day.

“Please, sit. The seats aren’t the most comfortable, but nowhere else would be as easy to talk in.”

Blake gestured to the seat opposite him. Celia hesitantly sat down, and a waiter approached.

“Hey, long time no see, Ryan.”

With slicked back black hair, the waiter seemed to know Blake well.

“Still got that pretty face, huh? What’s with that jewel-studded shirt? Why don’t you just wear a necklace and earrings too?”

Celia was startled by his rude manner. But Blake just smiled, as if used to it.

“Wash the grease out of your hair before you talk, Cooper. And wash that filthy shirt as well.”

Celia doubted her ears, but the waiter just laughed as if this was normal.

“I’ll have coffee. And for the ladies, a chocolate bomb cake each.”

Blake finished his order and smiled at Celia. Then, using the same voice as before, he said something straight out of a manners manual.

“It’s an honor to have two beautiful ladies at my favorite place.”

Celia stared at the man, feeling strangely.

He looked completely out of place there. With a high-quality silk hat, a sparkling gold watch, green zircon cufflinks, a crisp white shirt, and a suit tailored to highlight his slim figure, he looked like the scion of a famous family.

But he acted more naturally than anyone in the café. Sitting in a dirty chair with a broken spring, legs crossed, loafers tapping, trading crude jokes with the waiter—he could have been mistaken for the owner.

The contrast between his appearance and behavior was remarkable, and Celia couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Celia came to her senses when the waiter returned.

“Here you go, chocolate bomb cake.”

He put down a huge plate with exaggerated flair. Celia’s eyes widened. The chocolate cake was as big as her face, darker than Blake’s shoes.

Betty’s eyes bulged as she tasted a bite.

“My goodness, Mr. Ryan. This chocolate cake is amazing!”

Blake replied kindly.

“Isn’t it? I hope it suits your taste as well, Miss Lancaster.”

Celia quickly composed herself and thanked him.

“It looks delicious. Thank you, Mr. Ryan.”

Then she took a bite of the cake.

“My goodness.”

Celia’s eyes widened again. The cake was rough but intense, with thick syrup poured over buttery layers and chunks of chocolate inside.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s more than just good. This is…”

Celia exclaimed without thinking.

“It’s the best chocolate cake in New Adams!”

Blake smiled in satisfaction. It was a smile as sweet as the chocolate cake filling her mouth. Celia felt her face suddenly flush.

What’s wrong with you, Celia Lancaster?

She quickly bowed her head and took another bite. But the cake suddenly didn’t taste as sweet. It was strange.

“So, how can I help you?”

When she looked up at the gentle voice, she saw Blake’s eyes gazing at her.

“From what I heard earlier, your options are pretty limited.”

His eyes, a mix of green and brown, shimmered with a mysterious warmth.

“So the question is: get fleeced by a Fifth Avenue lawyer, or marry a depraved Old World Duke?”

“Yes, that’s right. I…”

Celia nodded and explained her situation.

Her mother-in-law had stolen her inheritance, her father was forcing a third marriage, and she had to sue to reclaim Evans Hotel, but no one would take her case. Even the Fifth Avenue lawyer she’d finally found demanded an outrageous fee.

After hearing everything, Blake murmured,

“Hm… but you don’t even have the money for the deposit right now, do you?”

Celia bit her lip. Having grown up as the daughter of the traditional Lancaster family, she wasn’t used to showing her hardship.

Then came an unexpected proposal.

“Miss Lancaster. How about I help you?”