Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,12
up on my skills tomorrow. I’ll come in here on Monday knowing what a slim chocolate fizz is. Or whatever that lady ordered.”
“Gunn.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that easy. This is a luxury cafe. We have to uphold certain standards.”
Now I want to roll my eyes, too. The Paxtons are so full of themselves. “Give me one more try. One single shift. That’s all I ask.”
She sighs. “Fine. One. But only because I really need the extra hands on Monday. If it doesn’t go well, you should really apply for some bartending jobs. Something tells me that alcohol is more your speed. Do you even drink coffee?”
“On special occasions,” I lie. “Thank you for this chance. It means a lot to me.” Just to keep her off balance, I lean in and give her a quick hug.
“You’re, uh, welcome.” She shivers. “I don’t know how you’re going to become a barista in forty hours. But I’ll see you Monday before seven a.m.”
“Seven?” I whine. That’s four a.m. California time.
“Seven,” she barks. “And don’t be late.”
“Yes ma’am.” I give her a salute. Then I pull out my phone and take a photo of the espresso machine. And another one of the whole cafe.
I’d better find this murderer fast. Because I’m going to have a single shift to do it.
After kissing Posy’s (delectable) ass for just a few minutes more, I get the heck out of there. As soon as I hit Mercer Street, I walk a block and then dial Max.
“Talk to me,” he says.
“Max, we’re fucked.”
“Why? She hired someone else?”
“No. But I can’t do this job. I can’t fake it.”
“Dude,” Max says sternly. “You broke into a drug kingpin’s safe with nothing but a cell phone and a set of screwdrivers. You hacked into a Russian mobster’s bank account on a first-generation iPod. Don’t even try to tell me you can’t figure out how to work an espresso machine.”
I groan so loudly that a passing hipster’s rescue pug lets out a yip of surprise. “It’s not just the mechanics. I could probably figure that out. It’s the pretentious coffee vocabulary. I’ve got, like, thirty-six hours to learn how to be a smug asshole?”
“Don’t trash talk coffee culture,” Max grumbles. “Some of my best friends are espresso products. Take the evening to rest up, and then get your butt into the office at 0900. I’m going to fix this.”
“What if we rented a room in the building across the street?” I suggest, looking up at the row of old brick facades. “I could stake the place out the old-fashioned way.”
“We’re trying this my way first,” Max thunders. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Then he hangs up on me.
4
Posy
“I … will ... cats … it,” my five-year-old nephew slowly reads from a book in my lap. Then he squirms on the sofa beside me.
“What's that third word?” I ask. “Sound it out. What sound does 'ch' say?”
“Catch,” he says slowly. "I will catch it.”
"Excellent," I praise him as I turn the page.
This is a typical evening for me—helping Aaron practice reading, while my sister shoots us worried glances from her seat at our kitchen table. And since I wake up so early, my bedtime is barely later than my five-year-old nephew’s.
Aaron slides his pajama-covered rear down the sofa, kicks the coffee table, then wiggles himself into a vertical position again. Reading is whole body work, apparently.
I take a sip of my wine while he slowly reads all five words from the next page.
The tutoring is a favor I offered to my sister after my father’s latest crack about Aaron's reading skills during one of our rare visits to his mansion. My father is a celebrated restauranteur, as well as a successful businessman.
He's also an evil shithead. It took me more than twenty years to realize that, and an additional decade to stop caring what he thinks of my life choices. But I'm finally free of him.
Mostly free, anyway. Ginny and I still struggle sometimes, although with different sets of daddy issues. Ginny is severely dyslexic, and our father never missed a chance to make her feel stupid. She spent her teen years acting out, trying to prove to him that she couldn't be controlled.
I took the opposite strategy—spending lots of energy trying to please that man so he'd notice me and love me. It didn't work. But it did start me down the path of a career I hated, and also led me to marry the wrong man.