Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
N ot once had Gemma heard Kent crack a joke. Maybe it was because she’d barely spoken to him, but even so, he hadn’t given the impression of someone who liked to play pranks, and at that moment, there was no hint of humour on his face.
“Sorry?” she said, unable to form a more elaborate response. “What are you on about? I am the manager. I’ve always been the manager.”
“I get the feeling that Uncle Oscar hasn’t told you as much about the situation as I thought he was going to.”
“Do you think?” Gemma knew her voice was rising, and it was such a small space that several pairs of eyes looked in her direction, but she still didn’t lower her tone. “What the hell do you mean?”
Kent reached down to his drink, although rather than picking it up, he simply held the glass.
“The plan was—I thought you were aware of it—I thought that was where the frostiness came from.”
“Sorry, you need to step up here. Any frostiness I showed you was because of your attitude and utterly deserved. I am the manager of the Waterfront Café. I have been for the last eight years, and I don’t plan on relinquishing that position anytime soon.”
“I get that, I do, and I’m not planning on changing your day-to-day running of things—” Kent started.
“Apart from telling me that my prices are wrong and my customers can’t spend so long sitting at the tables?”
That shut him up for a moment, at least. He templed his fingers and pressed them to the bow of his lip before speaking again.
“I’m here to see the big picture, to see how we can make the most out of this business long term.”
“Eight years isn’t long term for you?” Gemma said. She was on her feet now. She wasn’t sure when she’d stood up, but she had no intention of sitting down again. “I have worked long term, as you put it, at this café. I know everything about it and do not need an executive manager.”
“If we could just?—”
“This conversation is over. And I wouldn’t get too comfortable with that fancy title of yours. You won’t have it for long.”
With that, Gemma turned on her heel and marched out of the pub.
She was fuming—beyond fuming. She could feel the blood pounding in her cheeks, causing her heart to hammer against her rib cage. How dare he? How dare he come in and start telling her about the business she had run for years and years with no help whatsoever? She knew her prices were low because not everyone could afford the top-of-the-range, organic, all-singing, all-dancing coffee beans that some places sold, and she wanted it to be possible for everyone to come and have a drink now and then. And as for a dated menu, when did a decent slice of cake become dated?
She was so furious, her hands were shaking, though as the cool air hit her skin, she realised her anger was only partially aimed at Kent. Sure, he was to blame for being such an arse, but none of this would have happened had Oscar been honest with her.
This explained why he had tried to keep his new hire quiet for so long. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it. Fighting the trembling in her hands, Gemma pulled her phone out of her bag and scrolled down to Oscar’s number. It had been a while since the pair had spoken. In fact, the last time was when he had told her he’d found someone else for George’s job and not to bother advertising it. It was all sorted. If only she’d pushed further then, and found out what was going on, but she hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Not when everything was working so well.
As she tapped on the dial button, there was a split-second pause before the call went straight to voicemail. A twinge of annoyance gnawed inside her. It was bound to be Kent, trying to warn his uncle that she was on the rampage. Well, if he thought delaying the conversation was going to calm her down, he was very wrong. Very, very wrong. As she tried to figure out a plan of action, she noticed a familiar face a little way down the road. Graham was walking into the Swan.
Sophie had obviously told him to join them, and Gemma knew the pair wouldn’t mind if she tagged along. After all, she needed a drink. A large one. But she wasn’t going to do that. No, she was going to speak to Oscar as clearheaded as possible. And so she marched home. By the time she had reached her little two-bed house, she had left three voicemails. Each in a similar vein of “call me immediately.”
If she had to, she would keep leaving messages until his inbox was full.
Though as it happened, she had just flicked on the kettle when her phone started buzzing and Oscar’s name flashed up on the screen.
“Gemma, dear,” he said, “I hear we have a bit of an issue.”