I’m braced for her attitude today.
Only, she’s so quiet today.
Her jaw drops slightly as her eyes move from my wall of windows to the aged wood molding above it. She inhales deeply and smiles like she doesn’t want to rip out my throat.
Are we making progress?
Her eyes scan up and down, flicking to the window wall and back to me again. “At least you look the part.”
“Pardon?” I snap.
“You know...stuck-up prince in his ivory tower, so above us mortals.” Her eyes move just above my head.
Hell. She’s found my grandfather’s trophies—a ghost from his time in this seat that I never had the heart to take down—even if I’m not particularly fond of his big game trophies.
“...is that real ivory? Holy hell. Don’t tell me you’re a poacher on top of everything else?”
Everything else? What did I do besides bark shit at her in the store?
Damn, I knew this wouldn’t be easy.
I’ve only known this woman for ten minutes while she berated me in my own coffee shop, and this joke of an interview isn’t starting off much better.
I try to soften my glare, nearly biting my tongue off.
“My late grandfather’s touch. They were mounted to the wall almost sixty years ago and never removed. Times were different then. Rest assured, chasing exotic animals isn’t my thing. I’ve donated millions to zoos and wildlife sanctuaries.” I don’t even know why I offer up that last part.
“Sixty years, huh?”
Yeah. I stare through her.
She thinks she’s an untouchable coffee badass, all because she roasted a decent brew?
This place oozes history across generations.
“I suspect you already know Wired Cup started with my great-great-grandfather, Winslow Lancaster, back when it was Noble Bean. We’ve been in this city for almost a hundred years—”
“Wow. Did gramps have a trophy wife to go along with his dead animals? I guess you had to come from somewhere...”
The mouth on her.
My eyes snap to her plush lips, far too aware of how tightly they purse when she looks at me.
Oh, hell. I shouldn’t be so hard, but my body isn’t used to such lip or having it come from a spitfire who looks like this.
The things I could do to shut her up in another time and place...
“For the record, the first endangered species didn’t come out until 1967—”
“Yeah, good excuse,” she interrupts. “I hunt puppy dogs and string their teeth since they’re not endangered.”
Looks like I didn’t need my executive assistant or someone from HR to stay. I should have had someone from security sit in on the off chance she’s serious. This chick seems more psychotic by the second.
“Really? I suppose that explains the weekly missing dog posters I see tacked up in my shops then,” I tell her, pulling at my tie.
Her face falls.
“I was joking. Prick,” she adds under her breath.
“No need to make my dead grandfather part of your comedy routine. He’s been gone for twelve years.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“What? That stuck-up princes have feelings and families?” I drum my fingers against my desk.
She’s quiet for a few heady seconds, and I wonder if she’s about to get up and walk out.
“Yeah, that. I guess.” She pauses and looks down before meeting me with those big brown eyes again. “Sorry, can we try again?”
Can we?
At least she’s honest and able to apply brakes to that attitude.
“Yes. If you’ll start by telling me where you learned to make coffee like that concentrate you left in my store.”
She folds her arms and leans forward.
“I could tell you, but...that’s kind of my ace in the hole, isn’t it? The whole reason you invited me in? I’m not sure why I should give up my source so easily...”
I swallow my frustration. My eyes are locked on hers and that smug little half smile.
“Do you know how job interviews typically work, Miss Angelo? I ask questions, and you answer. Preferably with ten times less snark.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah, but I’ve never had an interview with a man who stole my intellectual property before we even agreed to meet.”
Stole? Has she talked to an IP attorney?
“I’m not asserting any claim to ownership, even if your drink was negligently left on my property. I never cross certain ethical lines, whether you choose to believe me or not. You’ll be fairly compensated—generously compensated, in fact—for any IP we agree to license or buy outright from you.”
She looks at me for a tense second and then bursts into a fit of laughter.
“What now?” I bite off.
“You should have seen the look on your face. You were all—” She forms her mouth into an “oh” and presses a palm to each cheek. “You looked like the kid from Home Alone.”
Badger witch.
“Are you done with playground insults? Hell, I called you in to let you know I’m not holding our personal tiff against you—quite the contrary.”