Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
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.