One Bossy Dare

We both burst out laughing. She leans on my shoulder for support.

“You’re hilarious and you seem really happy. I love it!”

“Well, yeah. It’s a dream job, minus Commander Coffee. He’s still a massive jerkwad, but no need to waste the breath on him, right?” I say, honestly hoping she doesn’t ask. “What’s the game plan here?”

Dakota scans the table, adjusting a few signs. “Donuts are three bucks each. Coffee goes for five bucks a cup today, or they can get a donut and coffee combo for seven.”

“Those are some high-dollar donuts.”

Lincoln appears from the back, weirdly baby free. He drapes an arm around Dakota.

“Half an hour at the zoo and Ma says she’s already tuckered out.”

They share a moony-eyed moment, whispering back and forth about the baby and her outing with grandma until I clear my throat.

Yeah, these two are disgustingly cute. Hard to believe they once hated each other’s guts.

“Hey, Eliza. All proceeds go to Seattle homeless shelters today,” he says with a friendly smile.

I meet his eyes. “You’re decent—for a billionaire.”

“Thanks—I think?” He shrugs, chuckling. “I can’t give up on the homeless even after Wyatt made it out of that camp. He had me to get back on his feet. How many of them have nobody?”

Dakota grins at him. “This is small potatoes, though. A way for the people to give back. But he gives most of the profits of his company to the cause.”

I smile at him. “Nice. I’m glad to hear there’s one CEO in this city who’s not a total jackass.”

“So what did Coffee Dick do to win the hee-haw award this time?” Dakota picks up a donut and turns to Linc as she takes a gaping bite out of it. “Keep a tab for me. You can just write a check at the end of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a swat on her butt.

“His teenage daughter started shadowing me for a school project...” I start, filling her in on the latest.

“Sounds rough. But I don’t know, should you really be babysitting at work if it isn’t part of the job description?” Dakota bites her donut again with the kind of appetite only a new mom has.

“She’s a sweet kid. I don’t mind. Her dad is just a hornet. He wants her to take over Wired Cup when she’s older, and she’s not interested. So she’s hanging out with me and learning all about the research side. I’m saving her from a boring stack of paperwork.”

“Smart kid,” Dakota says, sipping a coffee.

“Did you say you work at Wired Cup now?” Lincoln asks.

“Yeah.”

“Cole Lancaster?”

“You know him?” I ask, raising my brows.

“Not well. I’ve met him a few times, yeah. Think you might be the only person in the city who wants to throw a brick at his face,” Linc says with a laugh, his big shoulders rippling.

I raise an eyebrow. He’s got to be kidding.

“I find that hard to believe. The people in his stores must hate him. You didn’t see the way he talked to this barista friend of mine...”

“He can be gruff sometimes, but he gives them good performance bonuses, from what I’ve heard. I tried to steal his EA once. No salary bid would buy her, though, and when I asked why, she said the Lancasters were like family. She wouldn’t leave Cole.”

“Well, maybe, he’s different with the senior roles. I don’t know. I just know in R & D we call him a lump of Cole.”

Not quite. I call him that now. But I’m R & D, so it still counts, doesn’t it?

While Lincoln collects cash, Dakota sells a few cups of coffee, and I ask every donor for a coffee rating. I might as well gather data while I’m here.

“Hey, Commander Coffee! Over here,” Linc says loudly.

“Not funny.” I spin around and glare at him.

But what happens next is one big cosmic joke.

The Lump himself struts up like he belongs here, hefting two huge Wired Cup branded urns on the table.

“Has she been talking about me all morning?” he asks with a knowing look.

Holy no.

I must be hallucinating. But the longer I stare, the less likely it is that he’ll just go “poof” in my hallucination.

“What are you doing here?” I grind out, almost afraid to ask.

“What does it look like, Miss Angelo? Giving back to the community on a sunny morning. Nothing new. I could ask you the same question.”

“I’ve been doing this long before I knew you existed...”

“What’s this?” He motions to my coffee urns.

“A summer campfire brew with hints of watermelon. My brew, not yours. Try it.”

“Save it for another time. Wired Cup is providing the coffee here, and your brews are now confidential corporate business,” he says, not even deigning to look at me as he heaves up the worst choice of words.

“Oh, no. You haven’t actually licensed anything yet, and even if you had, you can’t claim the coffee I make in my own kitchen. Plus, you have two giant urns. When I run out, we’ll use your very reliable coffee.” I smile, knowing he’ll hate that.