Chapter 12 Tate
TATE
“Looking good, girl.” Ashley whistles as I walk in wearing my new uniform. “Although, the tip jar sure appreciated the shrunken one.”
“As if.” I snort, grabbing my apron and tying it around my waist.
Ashley raises a brow, watching me as I hum and get set up for opening. “Someone’s perky this morning. Did Mr. Billionaire give you a big fat bonus last night or something?”
“What? No.” I smile. “But guess what’s now in the basement of our building?”
“A naked guy with a big dick who’s chained up and exists only to perform cunnilingus?”
I laugh at her lit up face. “Why does he need a big dick if he only uses his tongue?”
She ponders my answer, tipping her head. “True. You’re a clever one, Miller.” She points at me. “So, what was it?”
I grin as I relay the sight my father rushed to tell me about as I walked in the door last night. “A whole row of brand new, top of the range washers and dryers.”
Ashley stares at me. “Not very sexy, but that’s great.” A grin breaks over her face. “You’ve been needing those forever! But I thought your landlord was an asshole? You said he ignores any requests he gets.”
I shrug. “He did. But he’s sold the building to a new woman, and she wants to upgrade things. Get this, that leaky tap in our bathroom? Fixed as well.” I widen my eyes in excitement, still processing all the improvements that happened while I was out yesterday.
“Give me some of that good luck,” Ashley says, shimmying her back up and down against mine. “I need it. The machine’s playing up again, we’ll have to make do with just one until the engineer comes.”
“Really?” I blow out a breath as I look at the coffee machine. Ashley’s been having problems with it ever since it was moved for the decorators to freshen up the paintwork on the walls a couple of months ago. Handling the morning rush with just one is going to be a pain in the ass.
“Yeah. If you didn’t make such a damn good cup, I’d send you to the dumpster,” she says to the machine. “Someone’s coming by later this morning to take a look.”
After we clear the morning rush, she turns to me with a wide smile, lifting the tip jar and giving it a shake.
“Coffee and charm, what did I tell you?” She dips her hand into the stuffed jar and removes the morning’s fresh business cards, sifting through them.
“Come over here and rub that luck against me again. I need it, this morning’s offerings are wetter than a shift at Fulton Fish Market.
” She tosses the cards into the drawer with a sigh.
The bell chimes and a guy in cargo pants carrying a toolkit strides in.
“Good morning,” he booms, a wide grin curving inside his dark brown beard. “I’m Huck. You called about your machine?”
“Hi. I’m Tate, this is Ashley,” I greet with a smile.
Ashley stares at him, her eyes dropping to his giant work boots as he wipes them on the entry mat. He walks straight to the counter, tipping his head toward the coffee machine behind it. “That the troublemaker?”
“Do you know what you’re doing? It’s our best machine. We can’t be doing without it,” Ashley says in horror as he walks around the counter and places his kit on the floor with a heavy thud.
“I picked up a thing or two over the years, Darlin’. Your baby’s safe with me, don’t you worry.”
He pulls a tool from his kit that has Ashley’s eyes widening as he taps the machine gently with it like he’s issuing an old friend a greeting.
“The best model we do. You been happy with it?” He turns, looking between Ashley and I, and I nod and answer when it’s clear she’s stuck for words.
“Good,” he replies, turning his attention to the machine.
“Tate,” Ashley whispers out the side of her mouth. “It’s your break. Go. I’ll keep an eye on… him.”
The way she stares at the engineer in alarm as he starts whistling to himself is priceless. I hope for his sake he does know how to fix it, or I have a feeling Ashley will find a new place to stuff his tool kit for him.
I head out of the store for my break, dropping in at the pharmacy, and grabbing a cute kids animal magazine I think Molly will like looking at with me. I don’t know when I’ll next see her, but I hope it’s soon. I love spending time with her.
Sullivan… not so much.
Molly’s always eager to learn and explore new things.
And she’s such a happy little girl, despite being a mini version of Sullivan with her dark hair and blue eyes.
She must take after her mother in personality.
I wonder where she is. Sullivan’s never mentioned her, and there are no photographs around his place that could be her.
There are barely any family photos at all.
The Google search I did of him mentioned a past fiancée. But that was over two years ago.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out, hoping it’s Sullivan asking me to watch Molly later. My stomach drops at the familiar name. I bite my lower lip and hover my thumb over the screen. I should decline it. But he’ll just call back. Like he always does.
“What do you want, Brandon?” I huff, screwing up my face as he says my name, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Tate.”
He uses the same drawn-out whine that I remember from the day I walked into his place and caught him balls deep in a stranger.
I’d arrived at the pivotal moment, just in time to see him, eyes closed, head tipped in ecstasy, coming inside a woman who wasn’t me.
She saw me before he did. We stared at one another as she was thrust forward into the couch I’d sat on with Brandon that morning while he rammed into her from behind and groaned about how good she felt wrapped around his dick.
“Tate,” he whines again, the same way he had after he’d chased me out into the hallway and told me it was nothing and that he loved me.
I snap out of the memory. “I told you to stop calling.”
“Come on, at least hear me out. This is a great opportunity. I can get you a meeting. You know you won’t get it again without my help.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my fingers tightening around the pharmacy bag and magazine as I clutch them to my chest like a shield. “I don’t want your help.”
He blows out a disgruntled-sounding breath. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t mean that.”
There it is. The subtle undertone I missed throughout the nine months we were dating.
The one telling me I’m nothing without him.
That I won’t ever get a record label to give one of my songs the time of day without his help.
He always dangled the carrot over me the entire time we were dating.
Telling me that his position as a marketing assistant at Liberty Records would mean that I had a chance to get one of my songs heard over the thousands they receive every week.
But never once did he actually try to help me while we were dating. So why should I believe him now that we’ve been over for two months?
“I don’t need your help. And I don’t want it. Why don’t you shove it down the end of your tiny cheating dick?”
I hang up on him with a triumphant swell of my chest. Ashley would be proud. She’s always telling me to speak up more for myself.
I push through the door into Caffeine Couture. Ashley’s still watching the engineer with an unimpressed look. But he’s packed his tools away and is leaning against the counter, giant work boot clad feet crossed at the ankle, as he sips on a cup of coffee.
“You make a great cup,” he comments, running his tongue over his wet lips as he eyes Ashley with amusement. “You know, I’ve got a conference next week.”
“And?” she replies like she doesn’t give a shit.
He runs a hand over his beard, but I still see his smirk.
“And I figure I’ll be taking you out when I get back on Friday. Unless one of those cards you tossed in the drawer when I arrived belonged to your boyfriend?”
She ignores his question and arches a brow. “You figure, huh? Kind of arrogant to assume, don’t you think?”
“Not arrogant to hope, Darlin’.” He winks, then places his cup down and pulls a business card from his cargo pants. “Message me your address if you can squeeze me in.”
“Dream on.” Ashley purses her lips and looks at his outstretched hand.
He chuckles and drops his card into the tip jar. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Looking forward to it already.”
He walks out, whistling. Ashley lifts her chin, watching as he disappears out of sight, before diving for the tip jar and almost knocking it flying as she fishes out his card.
I laugh. “I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t before,” she says.
“Before what?”
She sighs softly. “Just… before.”
“But you were like the ice queen to the poor guy.”
“He has to work for it, Tate. I can’t have him thinking I was imagining the ways I’d mount his giant bear-like body while he was working.”
“You were?” I splutter in shock.
“Hell, yeah. Did you see the way he fixed the machine? Those hands knew what they were doing. Huck,” she muses, tapping his card against her chin. “Fuck me, Huck. It even rhymes.”
I snort with laughter as she holds the card out to read it.
“Oh shit.” She stares at the rich brown card, the color of a deep roast.
“What? Is his name really Benedict or something?”
“Nope.” Her brows lift. “Huck Turner. He owns the whole damn company.” She spins the card toward me so I can see the bronze lettering naming him as founder. She turns it back to her with a dreamy smile. “He said I make a good cup. Not his machine. Me.”
I shake my head with a grin as I put my things away and grab my apron.
“Who were you talking to earlier? I saw you through the window and you had those lines between your eyebrows I’ve warned you about,” she asks, tucking Huck’s card inside her bra.
My eyes flick to hers guiltily.
“Brandon?” she spits. “Again? I thought you blocked his number?”
“I did. But he gets new ones all the time because he loses his phone so much.”
“Like he loses his pants around other women.” She snorts in disgust.
“Yeah, exactly,” I mumble as I join her at the counter.
“In that case, we’ll get you a new one. I’ll come with you after work.” She looks at me pointedly, knowing I probably won’t bother if she doesn’t come with me and force me to do it. Brandon’s an asshole, but I can ignore him.
“Fine. After work,” I agree reluctantly.
“He keeps calling because he knows how good you are. He wants the bragging rights once he takes your song to his bosses and they go mad for it.”
“I doubt it,” I grumble.
Ashley tuts. “Believe it. I’ve heard your material. Although I haven’t heard that finished song of yours in a while.”
I concentrate on re-filling the cocoa duster. “It makes me think of Brandon,” I admit.
I wrote the song Ashley’s referring to—the same one my dad wanted me to play to him and Larry—on a relaxing weekend spent at Brandon’s place.
The weekend before I caught him cheating.
I feel like an idiot when I sing it. But it invariably slips out from time to time when I’m busy doing something else.
Like cooking in Sullivan’s kitchen.
I swallow past the uncomfortable dryness in my throat. I swear he was listening to me. I caught him staring with the usual glare on his face. Then he made that weird comment about my clothes. I don’t get why he hired me if he dislikes me so much.
“Don’t let a guy ruin what’s meant for you, Tate.” Ashley sighs. “You don’t know how much potential you have. Not that I want to lose you. You’re my star barista.” She jerks her chin at my chest. “That rack had tips up thirty percent this week.”
“Whatever.” I laugh as she throws me a wink. “That thirty percent alone was from Sullivan’s lawyer flirting with you, and you know it.”
Her eyes sparkle, and she blows on her fingertips. “All in a day’s work.”