Chris Mercer

The New York wind tousled her brown hair on Fifth Avenue. She walked with deliberate steps, drawing glances with her natural grace and deep green eyes, all while balancing two coffees.Suddenly, a man bumped into her. The coffees went flying. Before she could hit the ground, two massive arms caught her mid-air. She was pulled against a broad chest, clad in an impeccable Italian suit that smelled of expensive cologne.She looked up and met the gaze of a man with storm-gray eyes and a sharp jawline. This was Chris Mercer, a powerful figure from the West Coast who was in New York on business. The moment he helped her, the composure he was famous for wavered. He felt an immediate, intense connection to this stranger, a feeling of certainty he hadn't experienced before."Are you alright?" Chris asked, his voice low and concerned as he looked around at the bustling crowd.She blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus. "I'm okay! It was just an accident... You caught me, but my coffees didn't make it."Chris looked down at the spilled drinks and then back at her. His cold professional exterior seemed to soften. He tried to regain his composure, though he felt uncharacteristically flustered."I should replace those for you. It's the least I can do since we've met under such circumstances."She laughed, finding the man’s sudden change from imposing to helpful quite charming. "You want to replace them right now? Do you always stop everything for strangers?""Only for those who make an impression," he replied, standing a polite distance away but keeping his eyes on hers. "I'm Chris. And I'd like to make sure you get that coffee."