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Blurry buildings, slow traffic, and hushed neighborhood noises. Half an hour later, I busted in through the ‘Private’ entrance of Le Coin Brulet.
It wasn’t a French restaurant. Wasn’t owned or managed by a French man either. John Olson, my manager, was very much American, and the senior boss, Mr. Vaughn Rhodes had a weird obsession with foreign elements, especially everything French, Asian, and Russian.
I didn’t mind. What mattered was that I got paid. And the pay at Le Coin Brulet was well above average.
I clutched my bag and started tiptoeing to the female bathroom to change into my uniform when a light cough from behind caused me to halt.
Sigh.
I shut my eyes and raised my hand like a prisoner caught trying to escape. “Okay, you caught me,” I said and turned around.
He had his arms folded across his chest. His bushy eyebrows hung high above his brow line as he stared down at me.
“I caught you again, Julie.”
“I know, I know,” I murmured, playing the guilty card.
But he wasn’t having it. “It’s been what, three times in a row? You’re slipping, and you’re slipping fast.”
“I know. Look, I swear, it’s not on purpose. Things at school have been…” I remembered the banter with the professor and shuddered. “Things have been spiraling lately, our schedules have been crazy-hectic, and today our classes ran late. John, you were an A-student; you know how these things are. I’m trying hard, I promise. I’ll do better.”
“That’s what you said the last time.”
I put on puppy-dog eyes and raised my shoulders. “And I meant it.”
He exhaled. “Julie, I have a job to keep. You know better than anyone else; excuses are obstacles to our progress. Right?”
“I think it depends on what the excuses are, don’t you think?”
“Here we go again.” The scowl on his face melted and the corner of his grey eyes crinkled. I could spot a bright smile breaking forth. “The problem is you care too damn much about education.”
“Coming from a genius with an I.Q score of 150, I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Firstly, Albert Einstein’s still better. Secondly, that was what, twenty years ago? I’m an old man now. I doubt I’d reach a hundred.”
I tittered, beating a hand across the air. “I don’t think being forty-five qualifies to be called old, John.”
He grinned like an old boy and crossed his muscular arms in front of his broad chest. “Are you saying you like older men?”
With an eye roll, I sized him up, playing along. John was unmarried and not at all bad-looking. He sported low-cut sandy blonde hair, gunmetal blue eyes, puffy cheeks, and a decent height—just a bit taller than me. He was friendly and fatherly and had a bubbly laugh that forced smiles on faces.
He was the best boss I’d ever had. And that was it. Nothing more. Nothing could be more because, even if older men sounded like an adventure, I doubted that road was for me. I barely had time, juggling school—and airheads like Mr. McGuire—and work at Le Coin Brulet.
A relationship with men from any age grade was a solid “No-no.”
“I just might,” I said, instead. “Who knows? If he’s handsome, loves the things I love, and is filthy rich, of course, like John Bezos—”
“I’m thinking you mean Jeff Bezos?”
I waved my hand with a cheeky grin. “Same thing.”
John laughed and shook his head. “Ahh, Julie, it’s impossible to be angry with you.”
I fluttered my lashes. “It’s because I’m tots-adorb.” He chuckled.
“If you put it like that ... Just get ready. Today’s going to be a long, long day, Juliana Blair. Let’s hope your charm helps you get through it.”
My knees were already weak and wobbly from walking and running on the sidewalks and jumping on the buses, and my bones were worn out from exhaustion. But I covered up with a smile. “I’m sure it will, boss.”
