Chapter 5 Sullivan #2
“For Miss Lion,” she says, glancing at Molly who’s poking at the foam on her drink with her finger.
“Thanks.”
She places them on the table. “No problem. I like to keep things here for the kids.”
Molly beams at her, clearly won over by some dust resembling an animal. “Awabella not here today,” she announces.
“Oh, that’s right. I hope her mom is doing okay,” the redhead replies. She smiles at Molly, then glances at me before returning behind the counter.
I stare at her as she fixes a drink with a dreamy look on her face. I bet she’s humming to herself again.
I go to my call list and bring up Arabella’s number.
“Hi. How’s your mom doing?” I force myself to ask, despite wanting to get straight to the reason I’m really calling.
“Oh, well… she’s trying to keep her spirits up… and she says thank you for the flowers,” Arabella tells me. “But she’s not so good. It’s hard to tell if the meds are working. She’s scared she’ll lose her foot.”
“Give her all of the team’s regards,” I say.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about that, just be with her. Listen, I needed to ask you… You said your friend’s niece works at the coffee place next door?”
“Oh, she does. Such a lovely girl.”
“The kindergarten teacher?”
“That’s right. She’s working there while she interviews for jobs. Kids love her. She’s a sweet girl. Beautiful too. Men are always giving her their number.”
My eyes drop over the redhead’s curves as she serves a guy at the counter. He grins at her and drops a business card into the tip jar, along with a bill.
“So I could trust her with Molly?”
“Oh God, yes. She’s a gem. And HR already checked her out. She helped serve at some Beaufort events in LA before she and her boyfriend moved to the city.”
Not as good as a full security check Denver could do, but it’ll suffice for now. And she’ll have had extra vetting if she’s a teacher.
“I see. Thank you.”
I sit and fire off some strongly worded emails to legal, informing them to be ready for an imminent conference call, while Molly finishes her drink and colors in a picture of a bunny eating a carrot.
“You ready, Sweetheart?” I ask after she proudly holds it up for my inspection and I take my time to study it, telling her it’s the best colored-in rabbit I’ve ever seen.
“I want Den-va.” She pouts as she takes my hand and slides off her chair.
“Denver’s busy today. You’ll have fun with Clare. Daddy won’t be long, and then you can play in my office.”
She stops walking and I ready myself for negotiations. Last time Molly dug her heels in, it cost me a day at the zoo and a custom-made princess carriage bed just to get her onboard. And she still won’t sleep in it every night.
“Molly,” I say as I turn.
But she’s not stopped to be stubborn. She’s stopped to beam at the redhead behind the counter who’s fixing another drink.
Molly thrusts her picture up in the air proudly.
“That’s beautiful. Did you do that yourself, or did your daddy help you?”
The redhead’s light blue eyes flick from the purple scribble that’s spilling over the lines of the drawing, to mine, then back to Molly as she gives her a bright smile.
“Me.” Molly grins.
“Good job.”
My daughter glows under her praise, and images flash into my head of all the redhead’s kindergarten pupils looking at her like this. She has something about her that kids must pick up on. Some people are born naturally good with kids. The rest of us have to learn when we become parents.
“For you,” Molly declares, brandishing the paper higher.
“Molly, the lady’s busy,” I say.
“Not too busy to admire this masterpiece,” the redhead says, looking at Molly and ignoring me, as she wipes her hands on her apron, leaving brown smudges behind.
She steps closer and takes the picture from Molly, holding it between both hands as she studies it.
The same guy who slipped his number in the tip jar earlier hovers at the counter even though he’s already got a drink in his hand.
His eyes drop to the redhead’s cleavage as she leans over to talk to Molly.
He sees me watching and raises his brows like we’re bros sharing some harmless eye candy.
I glower at him until he looks away, clearing his throat and pulling on his collar.
“Are you sure I can keep this? It’s very good.”
Molly nods at her.
“Thank you. I’ll hang it right up over here where people can see how pretty it is.
” She comes out from behind the counter and walks to a small noticeboard on the wall where there are posters about a book club, a charity of the month the coffee house is donating to, and some thank you cards that have small essays written inside.
“There,” she announces, pinning the picture in the center, then standing back with her hands on her hips to admire it.
The douche at the counter takes the opportunity to check out her ass.
“You waiting on something?” I snap in his direction, unable to help myself.
“Did I fix you the wrong thing? Americano with a shot of caramel syrup, wasn’t it?” The redhead’s eyes widen, and she looks like she’s actually worried about disappointing the jerk.
“No, it tastes perfect, Tate. Yours always do.” He flashes an overly toothy smile at her.
“I was actually…” He glances at me, looking me up and down—a microsecond scan trying to decipher the level of competition I pose.
His eyes flick to Molly and his shoulders relax like he’s got nothing to worry about.
My teeth grind, and I rub my thumb over Molly’s tiny hand inside mine.
“… I was thinking we could grab a coffee together when you finish your shift. There’s a place I know a block from here that makes a great cup.”
I snort and he flashes me a scowl before turning back to Tate.
“A great coffee?” She frowns.
The burning urge to storm back to my office and vent about Fabienne to Legal is momentarily paused as I watch the loser who thinks asking out a woman surrounded by coffee all day—with the added brilliance of telling her he knows a place that makes a great one, while holding the very drink she just made him—is too epic a fuck-up not to witness.
This is exactly the sort of shit my brother would have eaten up hearing about when he was alive.
“What time do you finish?” the guy continues, unaware he’s on a sinking ship.
“She’s here until lunch, but she’s on a thirty-minute break starting now,” the other barista pipes up from where she’s just walked out from a back room. She gives Tate an encouraging smile like she’s doing her a favor.
“Great,” Douchebag says. “Shall we leave?”
“He wants to take me to a place he knows that makes great coffee around the corner,” Tate tells her colleague.
“Great coffee?” The other woman recoils, her face screwing up as she shoots the guy a look that could freeze Hell. I glance down at Molly who’s watching the whole exchange.
“I like it here, Daddy,” she says, tugging on my hand and gazing at me with innocent eyes.
“I know you do, Sweetheart.”
I glow with smug pride as I throw the guy a look that says, ‘my almost three-year-old is smarter than you, jackass’.
“I meant bagels. The place makes great bagels.” The guy backtracks furiously.
Tate looks at him the way I imagine someone looking at an injured dog would. Pity laced with a desperate need to say or do something to make them feel better before she speaks.
“Well, I—”
“She’s spending her break with my daughter,” I say. “They’ve got coloring to do.”
“Yay!” Molly squeals, vibrating with excitement in her furry lion onesie next to me.
“Coloring?” This time, it’s the douchebag snorting.
His smirk dies as I level him with a stare.
“That’s right, I forgot. Have her back in thirty,” the other barista chimes in with a giant grin.
Tate stumbles forward like she’s been shoved, then shoots a warning look at her friend.
“We go now?” Molly questions.
Tate’s mouth opens but nothing comes out as my daughter slips her hand inside hers and beams.
“Yes, we can go now, Sweetheart,” I tell her as my gaze meets shocked, light blue eyes.