Chapter Eight
Amanda
The coffee house is already buzzing when I show up for my morning shift. Danny is in his office with the door closed when I get there, so I wave at him through the window as I clock in, putting on my best smile and “happy to be here” face. The truth is, I am happy to still be here – I just have a hard time expressing it.
Misty is already up front handling orders, but she's swamped. Poor girl can't keep up half the time when it's slow. When it's busy, she just about loses her damn mind. The line is long, going out the doors when I take my position up front.
Misty is sweating and looking frantic as she tries to pull double duty – manning the registers and making drinks at the same time. When I step up to the counter, she looks over at me with sheer relief and gratitude in her eyes.
“Short staffed this morning?” I ask her with a smile.
“Mick is out sick,” she says. “Strep throat.”
“Ha! You're a poet and don't even know it,” I tease her as I look over the drink orders in the queue.
Misty giggles as she waits on the next customer and I see my next order is a large black coffee, no cream, no sugar. Easy enough. But as I start to prepare his drink, I realize we're out of coffee. At least up front. It's a busier than normal morning, so she must not have had a chance to grind up the beans to make more fresh coffee.
“Geez, Misty,” I mutter under my breath “We're not much of a coffee shop without the basics, are we?”
She so busy trying to take somebody's order that she doesn't hear me, but I get to work scooping the coffee beans out of the barrel, putting them into the grinder. Everything is made fresh here – no Folgers or store-bought, pre-ground coffee here. All of our beans are roasted fresh overnight and delivered in the morning.
“Excuse me?” a male voice speaks up from behind me. “How much longer will it be?”
“Just a few more minutes, sir,” I say. “Appreciate your patience, we’re working as fast as we can.”
See? That was nice, right? That wasn't so tough. I can do this. I can make it through the entire day without berating somebody. But when I hear him muttering low and under his breath, the certainty that I actually can make it through the day without verbally abusing somebody begins to evaporate.
“Is that what you call it,” he mutters. “Looks more like chatting as much as you can.”
I clench my jaw tightly and resist the urge to say something as I continued making his coffee. But because none of the beans have been ground yet – something Misty should have done before we opened this morning – the line is getting more and more backed up.
“Seriously, Miss,” the man says again. “It's just a black coffee. It's simple. Basic. It's not one of your fancy ass overpriced lattes, darlin'. How hard can this be?”
I turn around and stare into baby blue eyes and a face I'd seen a hundred times before – just never in the coffee shop. But Brady Keating is San Antonio's most eligible bachelor according to the tabloids and gossip rags in town – most eligible bachelor meaning spoiled, pompous ass, who treats women like playthings. Seriously, in almost every article I see about him, he's with a different woman – most all of them the supermodel type. Of course. What other sort of woman would he date? Certainly not a woman like me.
In that moment, I realize that I know far too much about his life for never having met him – which says a lot about my life, given that I'm reading the damn tabloids and gossip rags in the first place.
“I said it'll be a few minutes,” I say, trying my best to sound pleasant and not let my tone of voice get too snippy – something I'm really struggling with. “I'm making it fresh. Unlike the pre-packaged, processed crap you get other places, we actually roast and grind our own beans. Hence, it takes a little bit longer.”
“Do you grow the beans too?” he asks. “Because this is taking so long, it seems like you must be growing the damn things back there too.”
I finish making his coffee and slam the cup down on the counter harder than necessary, calling out his name, “Brady!” as if he isn't standing right there. The force of me slamming his cup down made a bunch of it spill – scalding my hand in the process. Didn't really think that one through very well. But it made Brady scowl at me and shake his head in irritation, so I'll call it a draw.
Smiling sweetly, I tell him, “I can make you a new cup, if you'd prefer – but it will take a few minutes.”
He looks at me like he wants to put me through the bean grinder and I'm trying to hold that phony ass smile on my face. I am trying so hard not to be snippy or rude. So, so hard. I'm making a Herculean effort. But Brady is really trying my patience this morning.
“No, I'll just take my half a cup of coffee and go,” he says, using a napkin to wipe the cup off before taking it from me. “Thanks for reminding me why I usually go across the street for my coffee.”
“You mean the snooty, pretentious place that sells overpriced, burnt water? Fine by me if you prefer that garbage. Probably suits you better anyway,” I say, unable to prevent myself from blurting out all my thoughts again. “No skin off my nose. Just know that people who know and appreciate a good cup of coffee come here. Hence, the long line of fine, discerning coffee connoisseurs.”
Brady just stares at me, and for a moment, I swear he's amused by me. There's a twinkle in his eye and a small smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. I open my mouth to say something snarky to him, but then remembering that I'm supposed to be on my best behavior, close it again – which only seems to amuse him even more.
Though it pains me to admit, he's a good-looking man. Probably about six feet tall, short dark hair, blue eyes a girl can get lost in. He's athletic and trim – I can tell he works out. And the man knows how to dress. In a dark, well tailored suit and cowboy boots that probably costs more than I make in a decade, and a black Stetson hat – he looks like he just stepped out of a modeling shoot for good looking Texas men.
Oh, and that voice – I could listen to him talk all day. He's got a slow, smooth drawl that just drips off those luscious lips of his like honey. Being from California originally, I'm not used to the accent and can't help but be charmed by it still.
But then I give my head a shake and remember that he's an insufferable prick. Maybe he enjoys antagonizing baristas in his spare time, but I have no patience for it. I turn around to make the next order and come face-to-face with Danny. He's standing so close, it startles me.
“Oh, hey, Danny,” I say, smiling politely.
Danny isn't smiling. His hands are crossed in front of his chest, and I wonder how much of that little back and forth he's heard. Brady is still standing there, as if he's waiting to see me get my ass chewed out and is even more amused by it. I stare daggers at him because he's enjoying this way too much.
“Office. Now,” Danny says, his tone ice cold.
“There's a line out the door,” I say, pointing out the obvious.
My stomach flutters and there is a tightness in my chest. As I watch him head for the back, I feel myself begin to tremble and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes already. I have a feeling that this is it. That I went too far.
“I'm calling Jacob in,” Danny says. “To cover the rest of your shifts.”
“I can work, Danny –” I say.
“No, you can't, Amanda,” he says. “Listen, you don't want to have this conversation out here in front of everybody. We need to go into my office. Now.”
I look back at Misty who stops what she's doing to watch me, her face a mask of emotion. I can see her eyes shining with tears and her lower lip is trembling. She knows what's about to go down. And the people in line are also watching closely – everyone here knows I'm about to be fired.
Even Brady, that smug, arrogant bastard, knows he just cost me my job. And what pisses me off even more is that he looks like he doesn't care. He's just standing there, looking at me, that stupid little half-smile on his face. About the only upside to getting fired is that I can walk out there and slap that smug little grin off his face.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I don't need to go into Danny's office to know what's about to happen. I have no choice though, but to do it anyway.
I push through the doors to the back, walk into Danny's office and sit down. Right away, I try to explain and beg for my job.
“Listen, Danny, I don't know what you heard, but –”
“I heard you berate a customer, again. Amanda, you can't do that. You have to learn to control your mouth,” he says.
“I can, and I will,” I say. “But in my defense, I wasn't berating him. We were just bantering. It was all in good fun. Ask him.”
“No, it wasn't in good fun, and no you, obviously can't learn to control your mouth,” he says with a sigh. He rubs his temples and I can tell this is hard for him. “You've tied my hands here and I have no other choice, Amanda – I'm sorry but, I have to let you go. My boss got wind of what happened the other day, and they've been breathing down my neck to let you go. If they find out about this? And that I didn't fire you on the spot? I lose my job too. And I'm sorry, but I can't afford to do that.”
“I can't afford to lose my job either,” I say.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I've given you so many second chances already. And I'm out of options, Amanda.”
“So that's it?” I ask, a yawning pit opening in my stomach. “I'm fired?”
Danny shrugs. “That's it, I'm afraid,” he says. “I wish it didn't have to be like this, but you left me with no options.”
I'm numb with shock. I need this job to pay the bills. I have rent coming up, and I can't be late on that. Not again. I'm already on thin ice with my landlord too. And without a paycheck coming in, I'm going to be totally and completely screwed.
“Please, Danny –” I say, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“No, I can't, Amanda,” he says. “I have no choice but to put my foot down. Enough is enough.”
My body trembling and my mind spinning a million miles a minute, I stand up and walk out of his office without another word, still in shock. I grab my things from my locker and clock out – still not believing I won't be coming back here tomorrow. That I won't be coming back – ever. Every time the realization that I've just been fired hits me, I feel that yawning chasm in my stomach open that much wider.
I want to go back into his office, beg and plead for my job – but I know it won't do any good. Danny's made up his mind. I know I can't be mad at him. I know I can't blame him. Deep down, I know that I only have myself to blame. If only I'd been able to control my temper. If only I'd been able to hold my tongue. If only a thousand different things – none of which matter anymore.
I can stand there and think about the what if's until I'm blue in the face. But none of those things will change the fact that I've just been fired. That I'm unemployed. That I have no idea how in the hell I'm going to pay my rent, my bills – or survive. I have no idea what in the hell I'm going to do.
As I leave the back of the shop and walk out to the front, pushing my way through the small swinging door in the counter, I wave to Misty who looks shell-shocked – like she's about to cry herself. Jacob got in fast and is already working on making drinks – and is studiously avoiding my eyes. Not that we're all that close to begin with. The fact that I'd just gotten canned – and he was taking my shifts – probably isn't even a blip on his radar.
As I head for the doors, my gaze falls on the customer who started this whole mess. Brady. I try to look away, but he's sitting by the door, watching me with a smug look on his face. I look around and roll my eyes – I have to walk past him to leave.
“You're right,” he says, catching me by surprise.
“What?” I ask, stopping in my steps. “What did you say?”
“I said you were right,” he says. “About the coffee across the street being garbage, that is. I used to think coffee was coffee, it got the job done, ya know? But this right here – this is actually really good.”
“Yeah, whatever. Good for you,” I mutter.
I turn to leave before my anger gets the best of me and I do something I'll really regret. This prick just got me fired and the last thing I want to do is stand there and chit chat with him. Screw this redneck jerk. As I move away, he puts his hand on my arm. I jerk it away and look at him with pure murder in my eyes.
Reading my reaction correctly, he puts his hands up. “Listen, I'm sorry about all this,” he says, motioning to the store around me. “At least let me buy you a drink? Let me make it up to you.”
“Seriously?” I say, unable to keep the heat out of my voice. “You really think buying me a goddamn drink is somehow going to make up for me losing my job? Really? You obviously don't understand how badly I needed this job – as shitty as it was.”
“You're right. It's not enough,” he says with a smug grin. “So maybe I can buy you dinner too?”
I laugh, mostly out of pure shock over what was happening here. This man directly contributed to me losing my job, and now he has the nerve to ask me out on a date? Only minutes before, he was treating me like trash and talking down to me – and now he wants to date me?
What an arrogant prick. An absolutely arrogant prick.
“You're a piece of work, you know that?” I'm so pissed, I'm almost shouting by this point.
“You wouldn't be the first woman to say that,” he says, giving me what he probably thinks is smile that will stop my heart from beating. “Probably won't be the last.”
“Have a good day, Brady,” I say, rolling my eyes and hoping he picked up on the sarcasm dripping from my tongue. “And I hope the coffee was worth it.”
I push open the door and walk out into the summer heat, the weight of everything that happened hitting me hard. Again. I don't want to cry, not publicly. Again. I already made a fool out of myself for basically getting canned in front of everyone. The last thing I need is a public breakdown too. It would be the cherry on one screwed up sundae.
I hear the bell ring as someone comes out of the coffee shop behind me, but I don't pay any attention. I don't want to see or talk to anybody anymore today. I've had it. I'm done. I just want to go home, curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep – and then sleep for the next ten years. Maybe when I wake up, my life won't be the shitshow it currently is.
Seriously, can it get any worse than it is right now?
“Amanda, right?” I hear him say.
Apparently, it can get worse. Since I no longer have to worry about my job, I simply hold out my hand and flip him off without turning around.
“Okay, I deserve that,” he says.
Gee, you think? With my other hand, I hail a cab, giving a silent word of thanks as I see it pulling to the curb a moment later. I can't really afford to take a cab right now – I obviously need to save every penny – but I need to get away from him as quickly as possible before I punch him. The last thing I need today is to get arrested for assault on top of everything else.
“Amanda wait,” he says, in that slow Texas drawl he probably thinks is charming enough to make me forget that I hate him. “I feel terrible. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Can't you take a hint?” I ask. I step to the curb and hail a cab. “You just screwed me over and ruined my life. Screw off.”
“That's not what I –”
I turn and glare at him as I climb into the cab. I give him the finger once more for good measure before slamming the door and telling the driver to go and go quickly. As we pull away from the curb, leaving Brady and his stupid black hat standing there, I settle back in my seat.
The nerve of that guy, I think to myself as we drive off. The nerve of that arrogant, smug, condescending son of a bitch.
I need to blow off some steam and although I'd have loved nothing more than to punch Brady's lights out, some other poor schmuck at the gym will have to do. I just need to go home and get my stuff.
After that, since I can't beat the shit out of rich boy Brady, I'm going to destroy somebody else.