Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(173)

After the carpet, I washed all the table tops. After that, finally… somebody came in.

The glass door opened and I smiled at the bell chiming, then jumped, my heart knocking up toward my throat. I looked up to see if Melita was behind the register, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly breathless and sweating, I walked back behind the register, throwing my weight on one hip and trying to look casual.

“Hey, Owen,” I said pleasantly, then looked around to see if Dave heard me going off the script.

Owen grinned his magazine-model grin and gave me his customary squint. His blue eyes flickered over the open collar of my uniform shirt and I felt my chest expanding even as I willed my body to just cool it.

“Hey, Brienne,” he said evenly, his voice a low growl. I flashed backward, remembering that growl up close, how it blazed through my sternum like a thunderclap. “What’s good today?”

I looked around all sassy like I was new, like I was familiarizing myself with the menu. I felt my skin temperature cool when I turned away from him.

That’s good, keep yourself below dangerous levels, Bree. At least until he leaves.

“Gee, Owen,” I said, pretending to be uncertain about what I saw, “I think coffee is going to be a big hit. I would stick with that.”

He chuckled. “A big hit, eh?”

“Yes,” I nodded seriously. “And scones. Caramel apple. You should get some.”

“OK, OK,” he said. “I’ll take four large Cup of the Day, and four scones. And your number.”

“Coffee and scones it is,” I said, dutifully ignoring the rest of his probably insincere flirt. I kept my eyes down as I poured out the coffee from the big air-pots into tall paper cups.

“No number, still? After last night and everything?”

“We have this strict no fraternization rule here,” I said in a stage whisper, jerking my chin toward Dave.

That’s good. Show him you’re nobody’s fool. These rich guys think everybody should just fall at their feet.

“Oh… OK,” he said, cocking his head to the side. He cut his eyes toward the door in a gesture that was surprisingly charming and sincere. Almost as though he meant it.

I slipped the cups into a drink carrier and stuffed a handful of creamers, sugar, sugar substitutes, and stirrers in a bag, then grabbed a wax paper sheet to pick out scones.

When I turned back to him, he was staring at me, head still cocked playfully to the side as though he had never looked away.

“No number… really?” he repeated.

“Come on, Owen, fun is fun,” I said, as much to myself as to him.

“OK, then come work for us,” he shot back.

I pursed my lips and raised my eyebrows, somehow managing a decent impression of Melita, I thought.

“Owen, that will be $15.47, please.”

He pulled a clip from his tight front pocket and peeled a hundred off without looking, then laid it on the counter. I didn’t even glance at it. “You’re too good for this place.”

“The owner’s a friend,” I replied.

“But you could be doing so much more,” he insisted, dropping his voice. I felt the timbre tugging at my chest, willing me closer. If he didn’t leave soon I was going right over the counter after him.

“The owner is a really good friend,” I persisted. “I’m just helping out until this place is out of the toddler stage. Then it’s off to seek my glory.”

He gave me a raised-eyebrow look and took hold of the coffee and pastry bag.

“Glory, huh?”

“Well, as close as I can get to it. I promise to call you first when I am job-hunting.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, then looked down distractedly as his phone started buzzing in his other very tight front pocket. “I guess that will have to-- Oh hey. Looks like Lyle called a meeting for this morning. Say, do you have… Um… One of those really big coffees?” he asked. “Like for a meeting? Eight people?”

“Oh,” I said helpfully, “like the MegaChug? This?” I held up a bag-lined cardboard box with a handle and spigot. He nodded. “OK, sure,” I continued. “Just, uh… Give me a few seconds to get a new pot brewing here for you.”

“OK, sure,” he said in a faraway voice, thumbing the front of his phone. “No worries. Meeting’s in forty-five and I guess the espresso bar is out. Lyle can’t talk without coffee…”

I set a new filter in the brewer basket and pressed the red light, listening to it spring happily to life.

“Wait,” I interrupted, “you have an espresso bar… in your office?”

He looked up at me, the sudden sight of his aquamarine eyes sending my heart into a swirl of tight circles in my chest.