Dream Maker - Kristen Ashley Page 0,128

do,” Gert decreed. “Go get donuts. It’s loud in here.”

“We’re not allowed to leave,” Hattie whispered to Gert. “Luke Stark said we had to stay here until the guys got here.”

“You don’t have to say Luke Stark’s full name every time you talk about him, Hatz,” Pepper told her.

“That man is too much man for one name. Two syllables barely cover him,” Hattie replied.

I had to admit, she was right about that.

“Okay,” Jet was saying, “I know the latte is four dollars and fifty-seven cents, with tax, and the cookie is a buck fifty. But no one just buys a cookie, so I’m just gonna have to guess on tax for that. So let’s say six twenty-five and if you give me—”

Enough!

I couldn’t hack it.

“Sales tax is eight point three one percent, which makes the cookie a dollar and sixty-two cents,” I called, getting up and heading toward the barista counter. “Add the latte, it’s six dollars and nineteen cents. She’s giving you a twenty, that’s thirteen dollars and eighty-one cents change.”

Everyone had stopped talking (and shouting) and was staring at me.

I moved behind the counter and shoved through Indy and Tex, edged out Jet and stared at the cash register.

“I need a screwdriver and the key,” I announced.

“On it,” I heard Indy say.

“Key’s right here,” Jet said, reaching to the shelf under the register and pulling out a rectangular Tupperware filled with Sharpies, paper clips, baby binder clips, a couple bouncy balls and a pack of Bubblemint-flavored Orbit gum.

It also had a key, which she pulled out and handed to me.

I opened the top of the register and Indy showed with the screwdriver, so I also opened the plate at the base.

I pulled the top off, looked at the mess inside, made an immediate diagnosis and turned to Indy.

“From the looks of it, this has had approximately five hundred and twenty-seven coffees spilled on it. It’s a miracle it worked at all. However, the latest spill means it’s gasped its last breath. It’s a wash. You need a new register.”

“Shit,” Indy muttered.

“You did all that math in your head?” Tex asked.

“I’m good with math. I’m usually good with this kind of stuff too.” I waved a hand to the register. “But at a guess, that was made in 1982. It was probably time to say good-bye two decades ago.” I turned my attention to Indy. “You should upgrade to a tablet-based POS system. Not only are they rad, they save tons of space, and have business, tech, data and environmental features you’ll like. If you still want the feel of a register, or deal in a lot of cash, they’ve got tablet-based with a cash drawer. I can do some research for you and help you set it up if you want.”

Indy, Tex, Jet (and I could feel it, everyone) were staring at me.

No one said anything.

And then Tex muttered (trying to make his lips not move, and failing) to Indy, “What does ‘POS’ mean?”

“Point of sale,” Indy muttered back.

“Gotcha,” he replied.

“Will you train us on it?” Indy asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure.”

“She charges one hundred and fifty dollars an hour,” Gert called.

I shook my head at Indy trying to look like I wasn’t shaking my head at Indy.

She grinned at me and said, “We’ll work something out.”

“Seven times forty-two,” Tex threw out at me.

“Two hundred and ninety-four,” I told him.

“Check that, Loopy Loo,” Tex ordered Jet (he called her Loopy Loo, I had no idea why, but it was cute). Then to me, he shot, “Two hundred and ninety-four minus eighty-two plus one hundred and twenty.”

“Three thirty-two.”

“Three thirty-two times thirty-two.”

That one, I had to give a second.

Then I answered, “Uh, ten thousand and um, six hundred and twenty-four.”

“Holy crap,” Jet breathed, looking up from her calculator. “She’s right.”

Tex grinned a maniacal grin (that was kinda cute too). “Fuckin’ A, smarty-pants, I’m impressed.”

I shrugged again but felt my cheeks heat, not with embarrassment, with pride.

That feeling was a first for me.

And it far from sucked.

“Got me a girl who’s been hiding her light under a bushel, which can’t be easy, since she’s naked most the time she’s in my joint,” Smithie said.

Oh man.

I slowly turned my gaze to Smithie and caught myself from biting my lip, because soon, I would not be naked in his joint at all.

He looked at my face and then he screwed up his face and looked at mine harder.

Uh-oh.

“You’re quitting,” he accurately deduced.

“Smithie, it’s just that I want to go to school and—”

readonlinefreenovel.com Copyright 2016 - 2024