One Bossy Dare

“I know Prometheus, professor!” I snap. “What does that have to do with my coffee?”

He chuckles. “How are we mass producing this wonder-brew for the people?”

“Wait. You just had to bring in the Greeks to ask about production?”

“A little mythology reference never hurt—”

“So, instead, you were confusing and pretentious? Nice. Also, we were discussing how to mass produce it when you came rolling through,” I tell him.

If I’m hoping to get under his skin, he doesn’t bite.

“What did you come up with?” he asks neutrally.

“We were considering the fire issue,” Gina starts, but the bear in a suit holds up his hand.

“I want to hear it from Miss Angelo, Mrs. Walker. After all, she knows coffee better than me.”

I look at Gina, who seems bewildered, and glare at him for not noticing.

What the actual hell? Why is he such a hardass?

“The team has two thoughts,” I say, careful to credit everyone. “Gina says we could try a powder concentrate—”

“And do you think concentrate would be worth serving to my customers?” Lancaster asks coldly.

“I’ve dealt with concentrates before. They’re not bad, but not always perfect.”

“A shame. I’d rather have perfect,” he snaps.

Wouldn’t we all, Mr. High and Mighty?

“My other idea might be expensive. What if we looked at installing some sort of grill in the stores? Even if it was just a glorified Bunson burner with wood chips, that could do it,” I say, rolling it over in my head as I speak.

“I’ll have to check with the supply team, but there’s no reason it couldn’t work,” Gina adds.

“There’s one,” he says.

“What’s that?” And more importantly, do you have a better solution? But I don’t say it out loud.

“I can’t add burners to every store just for a new beverage line,” he says. “It’s impractical.”

“How much is a small grill?” I ask.

Gina pulls out her phone and starts tapping the screen. “They’re not expensive. We can get a good one installed for under three hundred dollars.”

“Per store,” the Grumpfather finishes, scowling.

“Do you trust the drinks or not?” I ask point blank. “Because if they’re truly good, you’ll make that back per store before the first day is over...”

“You’re not factoring in the installation costs. Plus, most of the barista bars don’t have the space. It doesn’t matter, though. One new gourmet product isn’t enough to satisfy my vision.”

“So, what do you want then?” I ask.

“Nothing less than a whole line of these scorched drinks, paired with food. The barbecued coffee shrinks its production cost if it wins us better sell-through of other items. That brings us back to perfection. Every last one of the drinks will have to be perfect to attract new customers.” He inhales sharply like he’s watching it all unfold in his head. “Also, I’d like the updates directly from you, Miss Angelo.”

“Me? Why?”

“This is your baby. Gina may be your immediate manager, but I want you to own it,” he says.

“But Gina gets paid to deal with you. That’s what management is for, right?”

Behind us, a few of the lab techs still standing around snicker.

They’re gone the instant his glare falls on them, though.

Then he turns the evil eye on me, like he wants to say something, but he’s holding back. “You don’t need to fret over the chain of communication. I said I want updates from you.”

The way he emphasizes that last word sends a shiver up my spine, like two strong fingers sliding across my skin.

“Don’t you have a meeting to go to? Or something?” I add desperately.

“I’m in a meeting.”

Eep. I swallow the lump building in my throat.

“I bet you have more important people than me to talk to, so by all means, feel free. We’ll keep making progress, boss.” I smile sweetly, hoping he’ll believe me.

Nope.

That’s when I realize we’re alone. And he doesn’t waste a single second before he moves closer and brings his lips to my ear.

“Not while I have this new employee whose big brain comes with a bigger mouth. If I don’t get her broken in, she’ll trample my authority. That shit won’t fly.”

Oh, God. Why does my heart feel like a trapped hummingbird?

“I-I feel your pain,” I stammer, trying to pull myself together. “I work for a guy who acts like he’s a mafia kingpin rather than a guy who sells caffeinated drinks. He has a lot of bad habits. He’s rude and annoying and forgets he’s a paper pusher, not a drill sergeant—”

“Watch that mouth, Angelo. Paper pushers don’t make multi-million-dollar decisions every day. Have you been talking to Destiny?”

“Destiny?” I jolt away from him, realizing he was brushing my shoulder.

Holy hell, the heat he leaves behind...

“Don’t lie for her. Did my daughter put you up to giving me hell?”

I blink. “Umm—are you okay? Why would I be goofing off with your teenage daughter?” I laugh at the absurdity. “When would I even talk to her?”