Page 39 of The Love Hater
“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 hersguiltily.
“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. Notthat 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.”
13
SULLIVAN
“Come play with us,”Molly calls out.
I smirk at Denver, sitting at the kitchen island. “You’ve been summoned.”
“Denver’s coming, Sweetheart,” I reply, hitting send on my email, then looking over the top of my laptop at where Molly’s playing on the floor with Sinclair and her dog, Monty.
Denver rises from his stool, his thick neck contracting as he takes his gun from the holster at his hip and removes the magazine from it. He hands both parts to me and I head to my office to put them in the safe beneath my desk.
