One Bossy Dare

“I’m not a damn manager.” Suit cuts him off. “If you were listening, you’d know I own this chain. I halfway grew up on a coffee farm. So yes, I know more about coffee than some dramatic SoCal girl who grew up lounging around on Carbon Beach and training her mouth to choke on conflicts with strangers.”

Holy shit.

My jaw drops before I reel it in and set my mouth so tight my teeth hurt.

He didn’t.

But he did.

He also made one big fat mistake that’s going to cost him dearly.

“Eliza—” Wayne warns with a choppy wave.

I put up a hand to quiet him. It’s all right. I’ve got this.

Wayne doesn’t need to fight my battles with this rattlesnake of a man who shouldn’t even be in charge of dusting the place.

“Okay, chain owner, if that’s truly what you are,” I say slowly. “I get it. No need to rub it in. You were so busy mastering coffee that you didn’t learn geography, right? Because San Diego is over a hundred and twenty miles from Carbon Beach, genius.”

A collective gasp fills the room, starting with entourage and spreading behind the counter.

One of the young girls on Wayne’s crew bolts, covering her mouth to hold in terrified laughs before she flies out the back exit.

The shop goes dead silent.

All except for the teenager in the corner letting out slow, strained laughter through her fingers.

“Eliza!” Wayne’s eyes are bulging now. His barrel of a chest rises and falls in shallow breaths behind his apron.

Oops. I’ve crossed the line where I’m doing more harm than good.

The Grumpfather clears his throat like he’s been chewing broken glass, drawing my attention back to him.

“Okay, okay.” I hold my hands up defensively. “That came out a little harsh. I’ve submitted my feedback, so if you don’t mind I’ll just—”

“You’re going to rue ever having this conversation with me, I think, when you finally learn the truth,” he rumbles, his brows pulled low like storm clouds.

Hey, at least I tried.

I let out a hissing sigh.

“You want the truth?” I ask quietly. “I’m guessing not, but apparently everyone who works here is way too scared to say it. I don’t have anything to lose except Wired Cup access for life. So, here it is—you, sir, could sink in a pool of perfectly pressed dark roast and not know you were drowning in good coffee. This—” I hold up the cup again. “This serves its purpose, and I know my coffee—”

“And what do you think its purpose is?” he clips.

“It makes Wired Cup what it’s supposed to be.”

He tosses his head impatiently, as if to say, spit it the fuck out.

“Familiar. Comfortable. Easy,” I say. “It’s a decent brew of a decent bean that’s easily accessible to busy and decent middle-class people.”

He exhales sharply. “Forgive me if I don’t find a college kid calling my family’s legacy ‘decent’ until the word loses its meaning high praise.”

I don’t bother telling him to drop the act again. That ship has sailed.

“I’m not a college kid.”

“And I, apparently, am not the owner of this business.”

“Eliza...” Wayne sounds defeated, like a man begging for his life after he’s already been crushed up in a wreck.

Ouch. Now I remember why we’re doing this as I look at him.

He gives me a miserable look and says, “Sorry. I should have spoken up sooner. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Cole Lancaster, the owner of Wired Cup Incorporated—and our CEO.”

Every eye in the room sticks to me.

I wonder if they can hear the floor crumbling under me.

“CEO? Him?” I hiss, pursing my lips.

Wayne nods heavily.

“Chief Executive Officer,” Lancaster says. Like I don’t know what it stands for.

My eyes follow his voice and land on his atrociously grumpy face again.

Only, this time, he holds out a business card with the Wired Cup logo on it—an elegant-looking coffee cup plugged into an outlet.

I don’t take it. I just read.

Underneath it, plain as day, are the words COLE LANCASTER—CEO.

Before he even speaks, I realize with some horror why I’ve heard the name Lancaster before. When you’re so obsessed with coffee you’ve read the Wikipedia entry for every major brand, certain names stick. The Lancasters are basically caffeinated royalty.

I’m sure he can hear my gulp.

“If you’re any bit the expert you claim to be, I trust you’ve heard of us. My father was the CEO before me. My family founded this company long before it was ever called Wired Cup.”

The woman who stands beside him covers her face with one hand. I can’t tell if she’s trying to hide mortified laughter or disappear.

It doesn’t work. All the other suits burst into laughter at the way she looks.

Umm—well—crap.

Way to screw things up, I think to myself, already dreading what happens if the monster in the suit retaliates by taking it out on Wayne.