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“Triple Espresso.” The deep growl of his voice wraps around my body and squeezes me.
I nod.
I’m still reeling from the fact that I am working fortheBrick Blackthroat. Or, rather, Blackthroat’s assistant, Indira.
My boss is the same age I am–just out of undergrad. She told meherboss got fired Friday, and she was bumped up the line. She’s only been here three weeks total, herself.
At the moment, she is hurrying around her desk area, picking up and searching through folders. I suspect she doesn’t even know what reports he’s talking about.
It’s probably some kind of test.
Well, I’ll make sure we pass it right after I handle their coffee orders.
I don’t plan on either of us getting fired today.
Or tomorrow.
Good thing I know how to navigate the waters of the one percent of the one percent.
Rule number two: act as if you belong.
So I pretend I’m not unnerved by the six good-looking assholes in ten thousand dollar suits sitting around a giant table. I recognize them as members of the executive team. I memorized the employee roster, as well as the three hundred and fourteen page handbook on the way to work this morning.
Rule number three: Always be prepared.
“I’ll have a large red-eye, extra cream, no sugar,” an exec says in the Queen’s English. He must be Nicholas Cavendish, the seventh. “Nickel” transferred from Oxford to Yale, Blackthroat’s alma mater.
Then there’s Vance Blackthroat, CFO. A cousin to the king. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Flat white. Tall.”
“You aren’t going to write this down?” William “Billy” White wears a smirk, like he thinks I’m about to bomb this test. He sports dimples in his cheeks and chin and hasplayerwritten all over him.
“No, I’ll remember,” I assure him brightly. I’m not using a pen and paper or entering it into a text on my phone as a matter of pride. I have an excellent memory and intend to keep it honed, even if all I’m doing with my Princeton degree is serving a bunch of entitled assholes their coffee. I use the memory device of picturing me setting each paper cup with the label printed with their exact drink in front of them.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll have a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip.”
“Got it.” I look politely at the next guy, but Billy interrupts, changing his mind. “No, actually, make that a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate.”
I take two more orders when he changes it again. “Wait, hold up. I’d like a large latte breve with an extra shot. Got it?” The cocky bastard has the nerve to wink.
“Got it.” I turn politely to get the last of the orders and leave the conference room.
I find Indira frantically clicking the mouse at her computer. “I had to get IT to get my former boss’ password. Hopefully I can find the reports he needs. Are you okay to get the coffees? Just hit the cafe outside the building.”
“No problem. Good luck with the reports. I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes later, I’m down the block waiting in line to place the order. I should have ordered ahead on the app. I try not to get fidgety about getting raked over the coals for taking so long. There’s nothing I can do at this point except apologize if I’m called out.
When I finally make it back with the two loaded trays of drinks, I have to set one of the carriers on the floor to open the door to the conference room.
Indira’s inside, handing out the reports.
I serve the coffees, and Billy says, “What is this? Where’s my flat white?”
My mind spins as I try to figure out if he’s screwing with me.
He’s frowning like he’s pissed, but I catch a lip-twitch from Vance.
Heisscrewing with me. He totally is.
