“Why’d you do it?” I ask him, turning and looking him in the eye. “Not giving up football and all that. I get that. Why’d you put that money on the line for Mindy? Hell, until the last card, I had your ass.”
Gavin looks back at me, and I know he’s measuring something in me. Finally, he answers. “If it hadn’t been for Mindy, I’d have never had a chance with Brianna. She’s a wiseass, but she’s also totally amazing, and I was hoping . . . well, I was kinda hoping that she’d find the same happiness that she gave me and Bri.”
I nod, getting up and grabbing my empty cup. “I hope so too, Gavin. I really do. Thanks for the coffee.”
“No problem,” Gavin says, getting up. We shake hands, and he walks me around the house to my car. Just as I’m about to get in, he stops me. “Oli, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t walk away.”
“Looks like the property is yours,” the agent says, shaking hands with me. “I mean, I still need to run this by City Hall to get the title transfer registered, but I’ll have that to you by Monday afternoon.”
“No rush,” I say, looking around the huge space. Two floors and a basement, with the upper floor being the former owner’s apartment and storage area. And Anthony was right, it was a steal. “I’ll get the contractors in here starting tomorrow though.”
“Of course, Mr. Steele,” the agent says. “If you want, I can give you the number of a guy I know who does good work.”
“I’d appreciate it. Martha, what do you think?”
Martha looks around. “It’s a great property, Oliver. If anything, it’s overkill for what you need.”
“About that,” I say, then look at the agent. “If you don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” the real estate agent says, taking my contracts and putting them in his briefcase. He takes out two sets of keys and hands them to me. “I had the locksmith make a backup set, just in case. Enjoy your new place, Mr. Steele.”
He leaves, and Martha gives me an inquisitive look. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got a change of plans,” I tell her. “I’m not using the first floor or the basement.”
Martha lifts an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Follow me,” I say, walking down the stairs to the basement where the kitchen is. “Look at all that. What do you see?”
“About ten thousand dollars in renovations. Unless you want to make fried rice,” Martha says. “Why, what do you see?”
“I see a working kitchen, and I see people working here,” I reply, walking around. “Look at this, a working walk-in fridge, plenty of storage space, and lots of room to expand. And upstairs, that can be converted into your office.”
“My office? What about yours?” she asks. “You’re confusing the hell out of me.”
“Change of plans,” I repeat. “I’ll fill you in on the details, but I’m going to need you busting your ass for me over the next week. Then, Steele Security Solutions isn’t going to happen. Instead, I’ve got a new job for you.”
“What? And what are you going to be doing?” Martha asks. “You’ve got the world in your palm, Oliver. Steele Security Solutions has at least a half-dozen clients lined up. What’re you doing?”
The world in my palm. She’s right, I could have everything in the world. But the one thing I want isn’t here.
Yet.
“I’m not walking away,” I tell her, smiling. “Come on, I’ll tell you the details on the way to dinner. I’m buying.”
Mindy
“I had to leave paradise to come back to this shit,” I mutter under my breath, looking around at the chaos of the Beangal’s Den. Two weeks back, and I’m missing the mansion already.
It’s not any busier or more chaotic than normal, the logical side of my mind insists. In fact, for a Saturday mid-morning, it’s slightly less insane than normal. The line’s not out the door, and if someone wanted a table, they could get one.
Still, the customers are driving me up a wall. Cassie’s doing better, but Sarah’s off today. I’ve got a new part-timer, a college girl named Nancy. She’s learning, but I’m too frustrated to be a very good mentor, manager, or leader to her right now. Hell, I can barely believe I’m keeping myself together.
“Hey! Where the hell is my coffee?” someone yells, and I look up to see the same lady from before. Great. Why’s she even coming back if she always seems to have a problem?
“Cassie, can you please?” I order, pointing in the customer’s direction. If I have to deal with her, I’m going to have to make sure the sharp knives are as far from me as humanly possible.
“On it, boss,” Cassie says, and I’m somewhat glad. She’s improving. Unfortunately for her, though, the bitch seems to be in a particularly foul mood.
“I just want my fucking coffee, not more excuses.”
That’s enough. I look up from the latte that I’m mixing and step over to the customer, patting Cassie on the shoulder. “Go finish that. Let me handle this, Cass.”
“Sure, boss.”
Cassie leaves, and I stare at the customer, who’s wearing the same faux fur trimming from last time. “Look, I told you last time that we don’t tolerate that sort of behavior here. Please stop with the swearing or you can leave.”
Sticking her nose in the air, she sniffs at me, not backing down. “This is three weeks in a row I’ve had a problem here. Last week, they couldn't even get my order right after writing it on the damn cup. Besides, I know who runs this place, and I’m tired of your bullshit. They serve better coffee on the other side of town.”
“You said that last time too,” I half growl, just holding onto my temper. “If you’re so dissatisfied with the service here, please give the owner a call.”
She shakes her head. “Yeah, you can’t say shit because you know you’re horrible.”
“Listen. Please leave now. If you don’t, I’m going to have to call security,” I say as calmly as I can, barely keeping my thoughts about her fake fur and bitchy attitude to myself.
“Whatever, you guys fucking suck!” she yells loudly, grabbing her Louis Vuitton knockoff purse and storming out the door. “Bitch!”
I let out a sigh. I never in my life thought I’d say this, but I’m sick of working here. I know it’s not just because of the customers. It’s because . . .
I hate to admit it, but I hurt. Every morning, I wake up and my body aches, my arms are empty, and my eyes burn from crying in my sleep. I haven’t been exercising, although I’ve still lost weight because I’m barely eating.
I keep telling myself to not think about him. Whenever Brianna tries to tell me anything about him, I tell her to shut up. She’s pretty much given up on the whole thing, which just makes it hurt more.
I feel a buzz at my side, and I step into the back, checking my phone. I’ve got a text message . . . Roxy.
Mindy-girl, I just had a feeling that you needed a hug from home. I hope you’re feeling better today. I know you left feeling like shit, and I know I got on your case again. I’m sorry. You’re my sister. I love you. Gimme a call?
A sad smile touches my lips. Last Wednesday, after I left the mansion and came home, she called me. There were a few tense words in there, but the bond we have is maybe the strongest thing in the world, and soon, we were telling each other how sorry we were as we cried over the phone. Roxy admitted that she’d been pressuring me too and apologized, saying that she’d get over it and that she was coming out to visit me as soon as she got free time away from her singing gigs. She said she wanted to see if there are more Olivers out here. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Oliver’s one of a kind and that I doubt even I’m going to find him again.
“What’s happening?”
I look toward the employee entrance, sticking my phone back in my apron pocket as I see Brianna with a tired but still awake Rafe on her hip. Seeing him brightens me a little, but he can't push it all away.
“Nothing much, just slaving away as usual. Hey, thanks for covering a few shifts when I was gone. How’s my little Rafey doing?”
“Firsty,” Rafe says, perking up a little as I tickle his ribs. I walk with them back out into the cafe area and start mixing Rafe an iced chocolate milk while Bri checks out the menu.