Office Grump An Enemies to Lovers Romance - Nicole Snow Page 0,3
coffee shop and wait for him to arrive. I scour the web for graphic design jobs—nada—all the while glancing toward the door for Brad.
At two fifteen, I message to see where he is.
No answer.
At ten till three, the jackass still hasn’t shown up, and I’m feeling like a massive sucker.
What kind of pretty graphics could I make by layering Brad B.’s smirky Tinder pic over a donkey?
I cock my head and ponder. If nothing else, it might be a fun way to blow off some steam.
To hell with Casper the not-so-friendly date ghost.
I need my Sweeter Grind fix and I’ve waited long enough, so I head for the counter.
“What can I get you?” a chipper redhead with a ponytail asks.
My stomach snarls, famished because I haven’t had anything all day. “A medium cinnamon latte and a cream cheese bear claw, please. Oh, and one of those Heart’s Edge truffles, too.”
“Excellent choice! That’ll be nine dollars and nineteen cents,” she says.
I wince trying to subtract nine dollars and nineteen cents from the last fifty bucks I had in my bank account this morning. Math was never my best subject, and about an hour ago, I’d really been hoping Brad B. would show up like a gentleman and insist on buying my snack.
“Are you okay?” The cashier studies my face for a second.
I look past her, my eyes flitting up to the large black-and-white photos behind the counter. They’re all scenes from some idyllic little mountain town, a smiling family, a huge man with a scarred, handsome face licking chocolate off a spoon.
“Just admiring the décor. I’m fine,” I say, already tasting a month’s worth of ramen noodles. I finally stick my debit card in the stupid machine. I really shouldn’t be spending money on this, but I need the sugar and caffeine rush to get through the day I’m having.
A couple minutes later, she hands me a paper sack holding my treats plus a hot cup of coffee. I breathe in the cinnamon steam.
Sweet nirvana.
Since I’m off work in the middle of the afternoon, I might as well enjoy it. I decide to take my coffee to the park across the street. There’s plenty to mull over besides jerks who don’t show up for dates. Like what I’m going to do now that I’m jobless, for one.
The scenic park always calms me down.
Even more so at this time of year with the trees casting off their summer greenery for the kaleidoscope reds, oranges, yellows, and browns of autumn.
I tighten my grip around the warm cup in my hand, bracing against the crisp Chicago breeze as I head across the street. My favorite bench is empty, thank God. I plop down there with so much force the cinnamon latte splashes out of the sippy hole in the lid.
Smooth. Now my new sweater dress is stained.
I hate that I wasted a sip of my drink, too. I need to savor the flavor. It’ll be my last cinnamon latte before I’m a working gal again.
My half of the rent is a thousand bucks a month. No idea how I’m going to make that, and it’s the cheapest place we could find in a decent area.
Paige pays more since her room is larger—not by much. But Paige has rich parents and zero student loans which means she has luxuries like savings.
I have debt that compounds daily and will only blow up faster if I don’t find another job, pronto.
It’s not just my rent I have to cover, either. My parents depend on me, too, whether they know it or not (hint: they don’t).
Ugh. It’s going to be tricky bulk buying Mom’s books this month with no income.
How long does it take to get unemployment, anyway? I doubt I’m even eligible since I wasn’t part of Purry Furniture for long.
Also, it’s still Friday the Thirteenth. The day’s barely half over.
Plenty of opportunities to dump more messes in my lap, I think sourly, popping the truffle in my mouth.
For a second, I wilt back against the bench, smiling as a sugar high washes over me.
Good Lord. Whatever else is conspiring to go wrong today, it’s got nothing to do with the chocolate goodness bursting in my mouth, sweeping my woes away for thirty whole seconds.
When I open my eyes, there’s a camera crew bustling around the park. Their tight, hurried movement pulls me from my thoughts.
A heavyset bearded man frames the shot with his hands, counts down, and yells, “Action!”