Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,73

populace. He rose to his feet, his mind racing. “Sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentleman. Please, everyone, indulge in a cinnamon cake. My treat. My cook makes the finest cinnamon cakes in the country.”

Mrs. Price, his coffee room manager, gasped, her eyes widening. Clearly, she was envisioning all the extra work serving free cinnamon cakes would entail.

“Go ahead and start serving, Mrs. Price,” he told her. “The other ladies and I can clean up.”

“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir.”

He reached down to assist the poor woman he had crashed into to her feet. By now Miss Caroline Ridley had reached them and was loading the fallen tray with assorted plates.

“And you,” Mrs. Price hissed at the woman whose hand he held. “I don’t want to see your face again.”

Thomas glanced at the victim of these barbs as he pulled her up, and his heart jumped into his throat. It was the woman in the blue turban. He stared at her, into her almond shaped eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he, and her skin reminded him of burnished mahogany. Though he could tell she was humiliated at being covered in milk and chocolate, she held her head high like a queen.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Miss...?”

“Sawyer,” she answered, her eyes flicking down again. Her voice was a rich alto and carried with it the faint cadence of the West Indies. “I should gather my things and go.” She pulled her hand from his.

Go? But he’d just found her. And then he remembered Mrs. Price’s orders. Thomas always placed people he trusted in positions of power, and he was not in the habit of gainsaying them. But he would be damned if he would allow Miss Sawyer out of his sight. “That’s not necessary. You can clean up and go back to work.”

She frowned, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. “But Mrs. Price—”

Thomas glanced at his manager, who was already handing out small cinnamon cakes. “Perhaps you should avoid Mrs. Price. I’ll send one of the shop employees over to this side. Come with me.” He gestured for Miss Sawyer to follow him, but she looked down at Miss Ridley, who was still cleaning up the mess on the floor. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll send a man with a mop to clean up. I can spare a man in the back.”

With Miss Sawyer trailing behind him, he moved staff here and there until he spotted Alfred in the back room, where he’d found men with mops and brooms to assist with the tidying of the coffee room. Alfred gaped at him, and Thomas, having forgotten the spilled coffee, glanced down at himself.

“Sir, what happened to you?”

“Slight accident, Alfred. Miss Sawyer, meet Mr. Miller. He oversees the entirety of Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco.”

Alfred nodded. “Miss Sawyer, we met yesterday.”

“Mr. Miller is the one who gave me the position,” she said, her voice low and mournful. “I’m so sorry to have let you down, sir.”

Alfred glanced at Thomas. “I’m assuming there was some sort of mishap with a coffee tray?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Perhaps Miss Sawyer’s talents don’t lie in serving coffee, Alfred,” Thomas said. “Mrs. Price would rather...well, can you find Miss Sawyer another position?”

If Alfred was surprised at the request, he did not show it. “Certainly. And, sir, might I suggest you change clothing before meeting with the investors this afternoon?”

“Good idea.” He would have liked to speak to Miss Sawyer longer, but it wouldn’t do to single her out. He was her employer, and he was well aware of the power of his position. “Miss Sawyer.” He nodded his head in dismissal. He started up the stairs to his office, only glancing back briefly to see Alfred conversing with Miss Sawyer. His manager scratched his head several times, clearly trying to decide what new position to give her. She couldn’t work in the front with her clothing stained as it was, and it was all men in the back room as the work of carrying and stacking tobacco and coffee was strenuous. Thomas had the urge to go back down and find a place for her himself, but he forced himself into his office, closing the door only halfway. He liked to hear what was happening downstairs.

His stack of extremely important documents had not magically diminished, and he sighed when he looked at them then went to the window. Bond Street was busy this time of day. He hadn’t