Castiel the 3rd, CEO of Milton Industry, heir to the Milton fortune, most eligible bachelor of all of New York according to Business Magazine, glared at his Starbucks coffee cup. He turned to his second cousin Balthazar, Viscount Rochinson, a man who was full of blue blood, of himself, and was an assbutt in Castiel's informed opinion:

"Did you get the wrong order too?"

God, he sounded stressed, even to his own ears. He should go on vacations, but his father had gone off the radar for the past months and there was no way he was letting the family corporation crash to the ground.

Balthazar, who hadn't worked a day in his life, took a sip and smiled smugly:

"No, perfect as usual. That's why I always come here, in fact. Only this staff is capable of delivering actual coffee and not watered-down American disgusting beverage, that I won't even qualify as coffee." He nodded, then his smile turned sly: "Plus, most of the barista girls here are easy..."

"You are a disgusting being yourself, that I won't qualify as human. I shouldn't have listened to you." Castiel didn't like the idea of coffee shops. He had a great expensive Espresso machine back home and when he needed coffee at work, well, he had assistants.

He tried drinking the vanilla extravaganza again, in order to keep his brain cells to shut down for ever, but it was just not possible. He got up with a grunt, followed by Balthy, who kept on chatting mindlessly:

"Just because you can't appreciate the feminine beauty yourself, Castiel, doesn't mean we should all become monks. What would women do if they were stuck with goody-two-shoes like you?"

"Be treated like decent human beings? Yes, I know, the horror… Seriously, Balthy, if I ever find out you had an illegitimate child and you didn't care about it, I'm selling you to the tabloids."

Castiel didn't even have to sound threatening, his cousin's face blanched. Only for a second, though, then he was back to his usual moronic state:

"Anyway, I was about to say, some of the male barista are exceedingly attractive too. I don't even bend that way and I can see it."

They had reached the counter and Castiel was trying to remember how the barista who had served him looked like. Was it a man or a woman? He really should go back to bed. The seats in this shop were quite comfy and tempting.

He snapped himself out of his tired trance and answered, without thinking much:

"I wouldn't be interested in someone who makes coffee for a living and you know it. I need decent conversation, not just a pretty face."

"Sir?" Talking about pretty face, here was one. In fact, it was gorgeous, lightly freckled and lit up by a pair of soft green eyes. He looked a little grumpy but still breathtaking. His name tag said 'Dean'.

Castiel gulped, tasted vanilla in his throat again and remembered what he had to complaint about:

"Excuse-me, but I think I was given the wrong order. I asked for a milk espresso, not for vanilla, and this cup is filled with it."

"Can I see your receipt?" The man was frowning now, looking at the piece of paper in furious concentration, then back at Castiel, up and down, as if he was seizing him. He licked his lip in a delicious way, then grinned and stated firmly: "Nope, no mistake here. This says vanilla."

"Then, the person made the mistake when taking the order. Can you fix that?"

Castiel was getting more and more irked. He had to be in the office soon, to perform his duty, instead of giving in to the temptation of asking this man his number. He was aware he was contradicting himself, but frankly, who could resist such a sight?

Unfortunately, the sight was stubborn:

"No can do, man. Guess you'll have to order and pay again and this time say the right words. Think you can do that?" Dean's left eyebrow was raised defiantly. Castiel wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, he realized, he was toying with his tie so much so that it was now loose and upside down. He must look really scary… He coughed, wanting to be done with this altogether:

"All right, here it it..."

They finally exited the coffee-shop, in rapid strides, Castiel gesturing for a taxi with the hand that wasn't holding the new hot paper cup, while Balthazar threw out his nonchalantly:

"You know you could have that barista fired with one phone-call Cassie?"

"I'm aware, yes. But it isn't worth it. I'm just never going to a Starbucks ever again."

"Your wrath is in full force, I see. How can you be such a terrifying business man at work and a puppy in real life?"

Castiel didn't dignify that with a response and opened the taxi door. Balthazar, never one to pass up on a free drive, sat next to him. He waited until Castiel had burned his lips on the coffee to add:

"If you want I can get you that guy's number."

"Which guy?"

"The barista? The one you were drooling over. I understand, by the way, even I was tempted for a second."

Castiel sighed:

"I have never asked a stranger on a date. How would I know they agree because of my money?"

"Oh, right, and your mommy dearest would be so distressed if you were to marry common… Although if I were to somehow persuade you to date a woman, of any origin, I think she'd be elated. Then she would have grandchildren… Maybe she would reward me, settle my debts..."

Castiel payed and left Balthazar to his daydream. He would visit his mother soon, he decided. She might be desperate for him to settle and produce an heir (He hated the term, after all, why wouldn't he and Anna both inherit? She might have ran away when she was young but now she was working as hard as he was), but she was still a loving parent, and a present one too.

He pinched his lips, resolute not to let his thoughts go there… His father was well-known, if he had died, they would have heard about it. No, he was alive, somewhere, having abandoned his family. Castiel wanted to hate him, but he wasn't one to feel so strongly. Balthazar was right, he was a goody-two-shoes who couldn't even fight about the wrong coffee. He let himself wallow for another minute, then changed his posture, put on his business face and walked to his meeting. The company was thriving under his influence and he was proud of it. Three hours later, he had struck a deal and made two grown men almost cry.