Yes, I handled the food like I always do, but I added in a few extra treats for the crew, and I know it’s pushing the bottom line.
And I know he’s enough of a numbers guy to notice, and he probably knows I’m a good enough manager that I’ll make up the difference in the next two weeks.
If I care to.
“It’s what I do,” I say.
“I know. Thank you.” Grey sips his tea, closes his eyes briefly, and sighs, a slight smile tipping his lips, and then nods to me once more. “Also, let the staff know I’m changing the time off structure. You all work too hard and deserve more vacation time.”
I catch my jaw before it hits the floor.
“Does this mean you’re letting Bean & Nugget stay as it is?”
Blue eyes lift to mine.
My heart stops beating.
Just flails to a stop, like a fish that’s finally quit trying to get back in the stream.
We have an audience.
It’s not just Decker.
Three ladies from a local knitting group who come here every Thursday morning are watching. So is one of my mom’s closest friends.
“No, but good effort,” Grey says.
Motherfucker. “No for now. If you convert this building, I’ll quit.”
His brows slowly lift. “If you quit, you wouldn’t be my employee anymore.”
And there goes my belly dropping at the implication that we could explore this unwelcome attraction between us without the complication of Bean & Nugget as a massive boulder in the way. “I hold grudges.”
“Zen already paid my penance by eating that pineapple…cookie.”
I almost laugh.
Swear I almost do, despite the danger that my café is in, which is growing by the day.
Instead, though, I pinch my lips together, nod once, and then I swing my hips on my way back to the kitchen.
Decker texts that Grey was watching my ass the whole time.
I get zero crap from Grey for taking an unscheduled twenty-minute break to sit with a friend who’s nearly hyperventilating over a relationship problem and wants my advice.
When Marley drops in and asks where Jitter is, Grey tells her that the dog will be back tomorrow if he has anything to say about it.
Every day, he’s becoming so much more like the man I met in Hawaii that I corner Zen as the lunch rush is easing. “Did he find something on Chandler and he’s just waiting for me to figure it out?” I whisper.
They roll their eyes. “No.”
“I’m an expert in people, and I don’t think he’s acting normal for someone who’s here for vengeance and isn’t getting all of the information he wants.”
“Maybe he does have the information he wants.”
“You just said he doesn’t.”
“I said he doesn’t have what he wants on Chandler. I didn’t say he didn’t have what he wants on you.”
My stomach drops to my toes. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m the only person who can tell you if he knows what I know you did yesterday.”
All the blood drains from my face and pools in my stomach—yes, the stomach down in my toes—where it churns like sour milk. “I…worked and then hung out with my mom and my friend Laney?”
They arch a pierced brow.
Now is not the time to remember I have to pee when I get nervous.
Been too long since I’ve been this level of nervous.
“If you didn’t want anyone to know what you did,” they murmur, “you wouldn’t have given my great-grandmother your real name.”
They have an excellent point. “Your great-grandmother? Did I see her yesterday and not know it?”
“You are so lucky I think you’re fabulous and your dog is even better, and that I think Uncle Grey’s making a huge mistake with how he’s approaching what he’s trying to do here. Although in all honesty, I support the Cheese Turd getting what’s coming to him for every shit thing he’s ever done to anyone in his entire life. Also, I’m unbelievably excited at the idea of running a kombucha bar. And those are the only reasons I’m not ratting you out. You’d be so fired and this place would get shut down.”
“Is this where you try to blackmail me for a very unclear something that you think I did?”
I absolutely did it.
I called Grey’s grandmother because I know—I know—he has a good relationship with her and I have to stop him.
No matter how much I like him, I cannot bear the thought of Bean & Nugget no longer being Bean & Nugget.
But I can tell by the way Zen’s eyes are darting around my face, studying me, that they suddenly have doubts if it was me, or if it was someone pretending to be me.
They finally snort softly. “I am officially Switzerland in this whole debacle. That’s all I’m saying.”
They turn to head back up front, but just as quickly spin back to me. “No, actually, that’s not all I’m saying. This is the last thing I’ll say about it—if you call anyone else who shares DNA with either of us, I’ll personally light this building on fire.”
“I—” I squeak, but they’re gone.
This is when I’d normally text Laney and Emma and ask them to please remind me that desperate times call for desperate measures, and I wouldn’t have called his grandmother if I hadn’t trusted they had a good relationship.
And that I knew there was no way I was getting out of Zen what I wanted to know about Grey’s purchase of the café.
This is also when I’d normally high-five myself for getting another hint that all is not roses and fairy kisses in the Cartwright family, which is another path to follow if I have to play dirty.
Instead, I feel like an absolute heel.
I like Zen, even if they’re not telling me all the secrets.
And now they don’t trust me.
Getting off work half an hour later doesn’t help, because getting off work means I need to do something else that twists my stomach in knots.
Just before I clock out for the day, I whip up a special salted caramel hot chocolate in a to-go mug and pay for it and three chocolate croissants. Then it’s off to pick up Jitter and drop into Sir Pretzelot.
If I’m doing this, I’m bringing everyone’s favorite buffer.
Emma’s office is in a complex up the mountain from the historic district of the Tooth where my dentist and eye doctor also have space. When Jitter and I arrive at her building, we make our way to her second-floor unit. Despite it being Saturday, the door opens easily when I turn the knob.
Theo’s right. She’s burying herself in work.
“Hello?” I call softly.
Em’s a one-woman show, so she doesn’t have a receptionist, though her accounting practice has grown enough that she should probably consider it soon. I hear the wheels on her desk chair squeak before she appears through the half-closed inner office door.
She’s in a black cardigan with her blonde hair tucked up in a pencil bun, and her brown eyes are lacking their normal bright cheer. Instead, she’s sporting bags beneath her lower eyelids, and her cheeks look even thinner than usual.
My heart twists.
She’s struggled to keep weight on her entire life, and this isn’t helping.
“Hey.” I lift both bakery bags and the largest reusable to-go mug that Bean & Nugget sells. “Just dropping off tax season treats.”
She eyes the food, then forces a smile. “Thanks. I’m a little tied up. Do you mind leaving it on the desk out there?”
“Only if you promise you’ll eat some of it.” Jitter strains on his leash, but I hold him tight, and no, I’m not entirely sure how I’m balancing everything. “Sit, Jitter.”
“I’ll eat something,” Emma says. “Thank you.”
She scoots her chair back to her desk and out of view.
My throat burns. “I’m really sorry, Em,” I say quietly. “I’m here if you need anything.”
“I know,” comes back just as softly. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t say anything else, and I don’t know what else to say either, so I leave the hot chocolate and the pastries on the desk in her entryway, then pull Jitter back outside to the parking lot packed with snow.