"So, what's up with you and Joe? Every time he's around you these days, he acts like he's afraid of you."
"What do you mean?"
Vince laughs. "Come on, Vivi. You must've noticed it. He asks your permission to do just about everything."
I'm shoving my laptop into my messenger bag and look up at him when he says that. "He does not."
"He most certainly does. He acts like your personal lap dog."
That cracks me up. Greasy-haired Joe-a lap dog. "So, just for shits and giggles, what breed would you classify him as?"
Vince is wiping down the last table. "When I was a kid, our neighbor had this squatty, mean as hell bulldog. That dog was the worst animal ever. He barked all the time and would drive us crazy. When the guy finally moved away we were so relieved. That's who Joe reminds me of-an annoying-as-fuck bulldog. And the weird thing is I have a bulldog now who is the coolest pet in the world."
"Maybe it was the owner."
"Nah, he was a good guy. He told us the dog had brain damage from birth or something."
The conversation has me picturing Joe with a goofy bulldog head. Only this dog has greasy wavy fur and is constantly barking. I cover my mouth to try and hold back a laugh. It doesn't work. A loud snort bursts out of me, and Vince looks at me as though I'm on drugs.
"What was that all about?"
After I tell him about Bulldog Joe, he cracks up too. "Oh, Vivi, I can picture him barking, nipping your heels, and following you around the coffee shop."
Vince does his best imitation of that then.
"If you don't stop, I'm not going to dinner." My ribs ache from laughing so much.
"He's the biggest loser, though, isn't he?"
I don't immediately respond. I'm still not one hundred percent sure I can trust Vince. What if he goes back to Joe and tells him?
"Oh, he's not that bad." I watch him for any type of sign to see if he's on Team Joe.
"Seriously? He's disgusting. He makes a play for all the female employees and should be sued for sexual harassment. What he does is illegal as hell. Jenny was telling me the other day that he tried to push her into the storeroom and grabbed her breast while he did it. Then he claimed it was an accident."
Jeez. That's not only disgusting, but scary. "I didn't know. Is that why she quit?"
"Yes! She was worried the next time, he'd fully assault her. As if what he did wasn't an assault. You should be careful around him." Vince's narrowed eyes and set jaws tell me he's serious. "Don't trust him at all, especially when you're alone with him and try not to put yourself in a situation where you are."
"I'm not worried about that anymore. Something happened to that end and I put a stop to it. Let's just say he's more than a little afraid of me."
"So that's it. That's why he hangs on every one of your words."
"I suppose."
"What did you say to him?"
I lift a shoulder and scrunch up my mouth. "I sort of name dropped."
Vince stares at me beneath furrowed brows but says nothing. By this time, he's finished cleaning up and puts everything up for the night.
"Hey, let's go eat. I'm starving," I say to change the subject. We grab our things, lock up, and head to the pub.
The place is fairly packed when we arrive, but we luck out and grab an empty booth. The waitress drops off a couple of menus and takes our beverage order. When she brings us our beers, we give her our dinner selections.
"So what's next?" Vince asks.
"Monday I start on the Upper East Side. I'm rotating in all the shops. This one was the main store and now that the program is implemented, I just need to make sure everyone is trained properly."
"Ah, the Upper East Side. You get to mingle with the rich folk."
I shake my head and take a long swallow of the ice-cold beer. It hits the spot. "And what exactly do you call all those suits who come in and frequent this shop? We're not exactly slumming it down here."
"True, but the Upper East Side is the crème de la crème."
"Puh-lese."
"No, it's true. Down here, you get more of a blend. You have the wealthy, but you also have the working class, students, artists, etc. It's more of a hodgepodge. Up there, you'll have the mainstream elite."
"You may have a point. I don't know, in fairness, but it doesn't matter either. I have to go up there no matter what. Ditto to all the other shops in Manhattan. I'm kind of excited to get a taste of different neighborhoods in the city. Haven't had much time to explore since I've moved here."
He reaches over, lays his hand on mine, and asks, "Aren't you going to miss me?"
I know he's just playing around. Vince always does stuff like this. But his fake-serious expression is spot-on this time. "Of course I'm going to miss you. You're my favorite-"
A shadow falls over our table and I think it's the waitress. I look up straight into golden irises. If I wasn't already sitting, I think I would've gone weak in the knees.
"Your favorite what?" Prescott asks in that rich voice of his. His tie is loosened and the top button of his collar is undone, but his shirt is crisp white again and his pants look to be expensive and tailored. They hug his hips and muscular thighs, which are mere inches from me. I tip my head back up to his face and see his familiar strong square jaw highlighted by his chiseled cheeks, and lick my lips. He's definitely one hundred percent male.
"Coworker," I finish as I tug my hand from beneath Vince's. For whatever reason, it makes me uncomfortable to leave it there.
Prescott slides into the booth next to me and says in an accusatory tone, "You never called me, Vivi."
Then he impales Vince with his glare. Vince withers under the intensity of it.
"Uh, look, Mr. Beckham, Vivi, I can leave."
"No!" I quickly jump in.
"That would be a good idea, Vince," Prescott says, overriding me.
"Our food hasn't arrived yet." But my protest falls on deaf ears.
Prescott reaches into his wallet and pulls out a thick wad of bills. He slides them across the table to Vince. I watch as Vince's eyes nearly tumble out of their sockets.
"It's all yours, Vince, if you leave right now."
"Yes, sir." Vince shoots me an apologetic glance, but he eagerly scoops up the money and bolts out of the booth. I can't blame him. He's a struggling part-time student who works a couple of jobs to support himself. Prescott just handed him God knows how much for vacating his seat. "See ya, Vivi. Let me know how the new shop is."
I wiggle my fingers at him as he disappears. "Is it your usual MO to bribe people to do things for you?"
"Only when it achieves a certain goal." Then he cocks a brow and continues. "Though where you're concerned, it always seems there's an exchange of funds, doesn't it? But he certainly seemed amenable to it."
The heat of Prescott's leg burns against my own, nearly singeing me. A shiver ripples through me.
"Cold?"
"This city is a block of ice." Only that's not why I shivered.
He leans back a bit and scrutinizes me. "Maybe you ought to dress warmer. Your clothes are inappropriate."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." My sarcasm isn't lost on him.
"You don't have to be so snarky."
I massage my forehead using two fingers and a thumb. "Honestly, Prescott, the world isn't at everyone's fingertips like it is yours. Your comment didn't clue me into the fact that my clothes aren't suitable. I moved here from the coast of southern Virginia where the weather was milder and I didn't have to walk everywhere in the bitter cold. This has been an unusually freezing October. Winter hit early, though you probably didn't notice since you conveniently ride around in a fancy car, I presume."
"Take a cab then, if you don't want to freeze-or buy warmer clothes."
"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps not everyone has your level of financial resources?"
The waitress delivers our food and acts confused by the change of people at the booth.
"Just leave them both here. We'll figure it out," Prescott says. He stares at the food for a second then asks me which one is mine.
"This one." I point to the large burger.
He slides my plate over to me and I prepare to eat my meal. I'm starving, having not eaten all day. My stomach rumbles on cue as I take several bites of my cheeseburger. I close my eyes as I chew the delicious food. Prescott is forgotten while I savor the meal.
"Do you always eat like that?" His husky voice pulls me back to reality.
"Eat like what?"
"Like you're worshipping the fucking thing with your mouth and tongue." The comment nails me like a blast of icy air.
I'm suddenly self-conscious of how I must appear to him. Was I gobbling down the food so fast I looked like a glutton? Was he reminded of that fat girl from Crestview? Is that why he said that? The burger that was so delicious a few seconds ago leaves a rancid taste in my mouth. I force the last bit down my throat and wash it down with a gulp of my beer.