Beauty and the Blackmailer - Amorette Anderson Page 0,3

apartment, which will take you to work.”

Sebastian groaned. “The bus? Seriously? I can’t take the bus.”

Giovanni ignored Sebastian’s outburst and went on. “And there’s more. At the apartment, you'll find clothing to wear. You won’t have access to any of your stylish attire, son. You’ve become far too reliant on your looks—so we’re going to change all that. You’re going to visit a barber and a makeup artist, first thing tomorrow. I’ve instructed them to change your appearance.”

Sebastian put his hand up to his shaggy locks. He had a professional cut every week, but always instructed them to leave it long. “No,” he said. “No way.”

Giovanni didn’t acknowledge his son’s protests. “As for food, you’re going to save your cash tips, and use them to buy yourself groceries.”

“For my chef to use?” Sebastian asked.

Giovanni shook his head. “No chef. No assistants, no masseuse, no personal trainers, no maids, no help, Seb. You’re going to hack it on your own, and hold down a job at the same time.”

He gave him one last pat on the back. “Oh, and if anyone finds out your true identity—that you’re a Costa—before the week is out, you lose the bet, too. If you lose this bet, Sebastian, you won’t inherit the company, and you’ll be cut off from your allowance. I’ll be off now. A car will pick you up at three here, and you’ll be in Dayton by midnight tonight so that you can start work tomorrow right after your... make-under. Happy birthday, son.”

With that, he turned and made his way to the staircase that would lead him off of the boat.

Sebastian vaguely listened as his father bid goodbye to Kelcy and shared well wishes about her daughter’s surgery. Mostly, Sebastian stewed in a storm of concern that was brewing up from deep within him.

The thought of working as a lowly barista made him shudder with disgust.

He lifted a hand, and thought about his hair. A make-under? What did that mean? It probably meant he was going to look awful. And what kind of clothes had Giovanni supplied the apartment with? There was no way his father knew the cuts and styles he preferred. Thinking of the apartment made him cringe, too. Was it going to be big enough? Would there be a jacuzzi bath, or a king-size bed? Somehow, he doubted it.

It’s just one week, he thought. I’ll just make sure to help one stupid customer, and then I’ll take over the company from Dad and I won’t have to think about all of this again, for the rest of my life.

Simple.

Easy.

In one week, I’ll probably help hundreds of customers. Dad went easy on me.

Hey, if I’m not getting picked up until three, I still have time to get over to the east side of the bay for a quick surf session...

2

Beauty

“Morning, Sean,” Bridget Belvue said as she entered the back room of the café area.

Sean was standing at the sink, rinsing out a whipped cream container. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, Bridget! Hey, glad you’re here. Shelby Jackson called this morning before we were even open to the public. She asked that you call her back.”

“Great, thanks, Sean,” Bridget said. “Been busy this morning?”

“Nothing too crazy,” Sean said. “The regulars, plus some high school kids. I think they have the day off for some reason.”

“Oh boy. So lots of milkshakes, I’m guessing,” Bridget said with a roll of her eyes.

Sean laughed. “Oh yeah. I think we’re running low on cookie crumbles. How do they eat that stuff this early in the morning?”

Sean loaded the rinsed container into the washing machine nearby, and then picked up a second.

Bridget left him to his work. As she headed to her little office, she thought over what her regional supervisor, Shelby, might be calling about. It was still a few days too early for the change-of-seasons decorating instructions that usually came through before St. Patrick’s Day. Sales had been steady but not outstanding this quarter, so she didn’t expect any extra attention with regards to her numbers.

Bridget had been the manager of the café portion of the Glitter Cup Café and Bookstore in Dayton for three years. Over the course of those years, she’d picked up on the habits that her superiors had about communication. Unexpected calls like this were highly out of the ordinary.

She sat down at her desk and picked up the handwritten note that Sean had left on a post it by the phone. ‘Shelby Jackson—Call her ASAP!’

Bridget