One Bossy Dare

Once they’re gone, Wayne sighs and says, “Okay, E. I gotta be honest. He chatted me up after you left and I promised him you’d get in touch. I hate putting you on the spot, but he offered me a bonus—”

I stare at him.

He holds his hands up.

“Like I said. I don’t want to twist your arm. I know you don’t do corporate. It’s just—well, mom, you know—her insurance wouldn’t even cover the last round of diabetic stuff. We’re strapped for cash and I need the money, so I’m asking—begging—if there’s any chance you’d just hear him out? I’d be grateful as hell if you did.”

My heart plunges into my belly.

I’m stunned and annoyed at myself for feeling frustrated when Wayne’s giving me those big puppy dog eyes. How can I be pissed at a man who’s just trying to do right by his sick mother?

“Wayne, it’s cool, but I have to be honest...I’m not keen on doing anything for that jackass.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that, but I had to mention it anyway. After yesterday, I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell you’d ever work for Wired Cup. But I figured you might be willing to talk to him, see what he wants.”

My mind races in the silence between us.

“You thought right. I wouldn’t work for that dude if he was offering a whole coffee farm.”

“I think he owns one in Hawaii somewhere. So they say.” Wayne shrugs, wearing a strained smile. “You’re better off on your own for sure. Any of the local shops in this city would be happy to have you, and they’d probably pay more. Wired Cup is about as corporate as it gets after the national chains.”

“You know my problem with taking odd jobs...remember the backup shifts I picked up for you? Too much of that cuts into my brew time. That’s why I’ve settled for the VA work. It’s flexible and different enough from what I like to do at home. It doesn’t wear my creativity down to a nub. Then again, I’ll have to find something else soon. This was a mediocre month for freelancing and Seattle isn’t getting any cheaper.”

He smiles knowingly.

“Just stay true to your dream. You’ve got a thousand people here who want to open their own shops, but most of ’em give up and leave the industry for good. I only know one lady who actually opened a successful café. She was fifty before she could do it. Scalding yourself day in and day out for tips and dealing with rude assholes is the best way to get burned out.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m scalding myself for free right now. A little cash would be an upgrade.”

“But you’re actually roasting and brewing. Making real joe. I grind beans and toss them in a machine. It’s not the same. Hell, you know I won’t sneeze at that bonus, but it’s not the only reason I brought it up. I thought you might be interested.”

I sigh. “How big is the carrot he’s holding?”

“Ten thousand bucks. Paid after you start, from what I understand,” he says.

Damn. That’s months of income for Wayne and a lot less stress from medical bills. I feel my conscience twitch, stabbing my heart with a little pitchfork.

“So it’s a job? I do have to work for him?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

He shrugs roughly.

“What if I just start and quit the next day?”

Wayne scratches his beard. “He didn’t go too deep in the weeds. But it’s Lancaster. I’d check the fine print for sure. It’s really not a big deal, though. You don’t have to do this for me if it’s too much. I’ve always managed.”

He has, but his uneven smile tells me he’s also approaching his wit’s end.

This. Sucks.

I want to help Wayne, and I need the money too. It’s the kind of no-brainer that just has to come with a horrible catch.

I sigh so hard it rattles my bones. “I came to Seattle to follow my dreams. Not have them dashed by corporate America—”

“I know.”

“But if he likes my brew that much...do you think it could open some doors?” I swallow. Freelancing as a VA is feast or famine and not reliable, even if it saves me from creative brain drain.

“It could. I’m sure having whatever he wants on your resume can’t hurt. My dealings with Cole Lancaster have pretty much been limited to two or three odd inspections like you saw yesterday. He doesn’t do small talk. Still, working for him means skills and money. No question.”

He definitely isn’t making this easier.

I feel like I’m being morally ripped in half.

“What would you do?” I ask quietly.

“Me? Shit, I don’t know.” He laughs loudly. “I’m not the most unbiased person to be asking for advice, either. I’ve got ten thousand smackers on the line.”