Chapter 2
TWO
ANDREA
Mr. Lewis
I know you’re off today, but I have some good news to share with you. Can you come in?
If you’d told my eighteen-year-old self that by twenty-five I’d be living in my little sister’s apartment and still chasing an unfinished master’s degree, I would’ve laughed in your face.
Then again, back when I was high on optimism and a little delusion, I probably would’ve said, “How is that even possible? I worked my way through college at Sweet Seasons and graduated two years early. Make it make sense.”
Knowing what I know now, some equations just don’t add up—no matter how many times you run them.
“Everly!” I called for my sister. “Have you seen my light gray suit?”
“Huh?” She stumbled out of the bathroom. “What’s gray?”
“My lucky suit.”
“Lucky?” She leaned against the doorframe. “You planning to get laid in a business suit?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Lewis just called me in for a private meeting. He says he has big news, and I think it means—”
“He’s finally making you an executive!” She smiled. “I told you he wouldn’t care whether you finished that degree, but um, I don’t have your lucky suit.”
“I always leave it hanging behind here.” I motioned to the pantry door. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally move it?”
“Here it is!” Her best friend Lisa—my other roommate—rushed into the living room. “I forgot to return it when I borrowed it last week.”
“You borrowed my suit without asking me?”
“Uh, yeah, because you would’ve said no.” She handed it to me. “I wanted to impress this lawyer guy I met on Tinder, and guess what?”
I didn’t dare ask.
“I got laid!” She smiled. “You were a huge part of it, thanks.”
“Please tell me you took my suit off before having sex.”
“The pants? Yes. The jacket, no.”
I bit my tongue to stifle a groan.
You can move out once you become an executive. The moment you become an executive…
To prevent myself from giving her a lecture she wouldn’t remember, I rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.
Peeling out of my pajamas, I took the quickest shower of my life.
Then I put on my makeup and went light on the mascara. This meeting mattered too much to risk streaks.
The last time he asked me to meet him this early, it was to present me with a five-thousand-dollar bonus.
Even though I had to use most of it to pay Everly’s nursing school tuition, the memory still stands as one of the recent good things in my life.
Maybe there are more coming…
Letting out a breath, I checked for flyaways and put on one final layer of matte pink lipstick, then slid into my favorite black heels.
I grabbed my suitcase and stole one of my sister’s hangover biscuits before rushing outside and heading to the subway.
Mr. Lewis
Are you still coming in to chat, Andrea?
Yes, sir. Just running a tad bit later than expected.
You’re never “late” when it comes to me, Miss Stone :-) Take your time.
Go ahead and treat yourself to some coffee and a croissant at our Times Square store whenever you’re near.
Is that… your way of asking me to get you some, too?
Yes. LOL. Use the company card.
Looking forward to chatting with you.
Will do, sir. See you soon!
OMG, it’s really happening…
I couldn’t contain my smile as I boarded a crowded train. It didn’t falter in the slightest for the entire ride, even when the woman sitting across from me started scraping dead skin off her feet.
Welcome to New York…
The moment the train stopped at Times Square, I pushed my way through suits and tourists to step off. I rushed toward the exit, emerging into a view that still felt magical no matter how many times I saw it.
Dancing digital billboards, a sea of taxis and town cars drifting through the streets, and wide-eyed tourists taking in this city would never fail to make an impression.
Making a left, I strolled down the block until my eyes caught sight of the huge golden coffee cup that hung over our flagship store. The words Sweet Seasons were emblazoned in a sparkling emerald green, and a small mermaid etched in gray swam near its bottom.
To this day, I refused to believe Starbucks didn’t copy Mr. Lewis’s idea from top to bottom.
When I stepped through the café’s double doors, disappointment instantly hit my chest.
It was packed from window to window, and the “please bear with us” sign was flashing. Yet, the sugary scent of our signature coffee prevented me from changing my mind.
I took my place in line and scrolled through my emails, inching up a spot every few minutes.
I was halfway to the counter when loud groans snapped me out of a message.
“Move out of my way.” “Step aside.” “Move,” a deep voice said from behind.
“Hey! You can’t just skip the line!” “Where are you going?” “Sir, what the hell are you doing?”
When I looked up, the only thing in my line of sight was the broad back of a man in a dark gray suit at the counter.
All the guests were exchanging glances.
“I don’t have time to wait,” he said, loud enough for all of us to hear. “You’ll need to make my order first, and I’ll handle everyone in this store.”
“Um…” The barista blushed. “Sir, you can’t just…”
Her sentence ended right there, and her cheeks burned even redder as she picked up a cup.
“Actually, um, I’ll happily take your order.”
What the hell?
“First,” he said, “I’ll need eight flat white lattes, a dozen mochas, and eighteen breakfast blends.”
And he has the audacity to have a big-ass order?
“I’ll take a dozen honey-glazed croissants, eight strawberry clusters, and—” He paused. “Two cups of your most expensive deluxe coffee.”
“The Preston?” The barista was still in a trance. “That one is really expensive, sir.”
“I’m sure I can afford it,” he said. “The quicker you fill this order, the easier this morning will be for everyone.”
Instead of telling him to get over himself, she submitted with a nod. Then she started writing on cups for him.
The murmurs from the other customers must’ve been muted to her, because she didn’t look the slightest bit ashamed.
“That’ll be two hundred and sixty-seven dollars,” she said to the asshole. “Cash or card?”
“Card.”
“Seriously?” I called out. “You’re really just going to let him skip everyone and act like we don’t exist?”
“Yes,” he called back, extending his card to the barista.
I wasn’t sure what came over me, but all I could see was red. Bloody, eff-this-entitled-prick red. Without hesitation, I pushed my way up the line and tapped him on the shoulder.
He didn’t turn right away.
He kept his back to me as if I didn’t exist, so I tapped him again.
Still, nothing.
Okay, eff you…
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” I spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “or why you think we’re all going to stand by and let you add another twenty minutes to our morning, but—”
My sentence stalled on my lips as he finally turned around, and I was forced to take in the full sight of this man.
His deep emerald eyes caught me first, stunning me into silence.
OH. MY. GOD.
My lungs suddenly forgot what they were supposed to do, and all I could do was stare.
His charcoal suit was tailored to perfection, the kind of fit that made you wonder whether the fabric had memorized the shape of him.
The crisp white shirt hugged broad shoulders and a chest carved from early mornings and stubborn discipline, while the subtle shadow along his jaw gave him just enough edge to feel dangerous.
His lips were distractingly full, the kind that looked like they were made for hours of passionate kissing.
“Do you plan on finishing your sentence, or should I?” he smirked, snapping me out of my trance.
“Yes.” I straightened my back. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but we were all here first, so you can wait your turn like a normal person. You’re no more important than the rest of us.”
“I beg to differ.” He smiled, showing a set of pearly whites.
“I wouldn’t gamble on it if I were you,” I said. “Only one of us can ban the other from ever stepping into this café again.”
He arched his brow, and my stomach betrayed me with low and unwelcome fluttering.
“I’m assuming you’re someone who’s never been told no in your life, but guess what?”
“What?” His eyes flicked to my lips, then slowly back up.
“At Sweet Seasons, no one is above anyone else, and no one cuts in line—not even me, someone who is actually at the top of the food chain.”
“So you’re a shift supervisor here?” He looked amused. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m telling you to use the damn app or wait your turn for a bulk order instead of trying to skip the people who are just here for a regular cup or two.”
“It’s way too early in the morning for you to be wound up like this.” He was too damn attractive. “Is this how you normally are?”
“Tell the barista you’ll wait, and then get comfortable at the back of the line.” I refused to let his looks distract me.
“I have a remedy for your problem,” he said, his gaze dropping just long enough to make my skin tingle. “But you probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a few days…”
I swallowed hard.
For half a second, I imagined just how his lips would feel against mine, or how he would—Wake the hell up, Andrea!
“What did you just say?” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
“We both know you heard every word.”
“Cutting the line and serving some sexual harassment on the side?” I crossed my arms. “What a turn-on, sir.”
“You’re blushing, so it must be.” He let out a low laugh and pulled a black card from his wallet.
Then he held it up for the barista.
“I’ll pay for everyone’s coffee and also give them a five-hundred-dollar gift card for this inconvenience.” He looked down at me. “If that’s alright with Miss Tightly Wound Up, that is.”
“No, it is not,” I said. “You’re still skipping and being rude.”
“Shut the hell up, lady!” “Yeah, pipe down!” “We’ll wait for him to get done!”
Every customer in line turned on me at once, and just like that, he wasn’t the asshole anymore—I was.
Their stares burned in my direction—but his felt deliberate, like he owned the outcome.
I didn’t dare risk saying another word.
“Sounds like the people have spoken,” the suit said. “Can you move out of my way now?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped aside.
Helpless, I watched as the baristas made over thirty coffees, stealing glances at the impatient, sexy suit every chance they could.
Between every set of completed cups, his eyes found mine and lingered, like he was daring me to look away.
When the final latte was mixed, he purchased a batch of five-hundred-dollar gift cards as promised. Then he handed them out one by one while a fresh group of younger suits came in and retrieved all the coffees for him.
Of course, he’s too good to carry them out of the store himself.
He held out the final gift card to me, and my hand must not have received the “slap that shit away” memo from my brain, because I was slipping it into my pocket within seconds.
“You’re welcome, Miss,” he said, lowering his voice. “I hope you find someone who can unwind you sooner rather than later.”
He moved past me before I could think of something sarcastic to fire back.
“Caramel frappé with double cinnamon for Andrea!” the barista called my name, breaking me out of whatever the hell that was. “Thanks for choosing Sweet Seasons!”
“Really, Raina?” I grabbed my cup. “What happened to making every guest feel like a billionaire when they come inside? You should’ve shut him down.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks were still red. “Didn’t you notice how hot he was?”
“No.”
“He didn’t make your panties the slightest bit wet?” She lowered her voice. “Mine are soaked…”
I didn’t have a response for that.
I turned away and stepped outside.
Mr. Impatient was standing near the curb in front of a luxury black town car, sipping his coffee.
Just walk past him, Andrea. Don’t say anything else.
“Excuse me?” I cleared my throat, and he slowly turned around.
“Yes?” he asked. “Would you like another gift card?”
“No, I don’t want another freakin’ gift card. What I would like is an apology.”
“A what?”
“An a-po-lo-gy.” I enunciated every syllable.
“From who?”
“From you, for being an ass and acting like everyone else’s time is less important than yours.”
“Hmmm.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his woodsy and spicy cologne. “I have somewhere to be right now, so you can get in my car if you want to talk.”
“I don’t get in cars with strangers.”
“What about men you’re obviously attracted to?”
“Then I still wouldn’t be getting in your car.”
“Fair enough.” He took another sip from his cup. “I’m sorry, Miss.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He nodded. “I’m sorry I have somewhere to be and can’t give you what you clearly need right now.”
“That’s not the apology I asked for.”
“That’s the only one you’re getting.” He slipped into the car with a smirk.
I pulled out the gift card and tossed it into his lap before he could shut the door.
“You’ll probably need that before me,” I said. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t come back to this location. You won’t be allowed inside.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He laughed and shut the door, and I watched the car coast away.
Feeling petty, I snapped a picture of his license plate. Then I logged into our corporate “banned customers” list and added his car to it for all drive-thru cafés in the future.
I’d figure out his name later.
Then I’ll ban him from every Sweet Seasons in the city.