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Mini Skirt takes one look at us and practically sneers. “Mr. Winthrope, this presentation feels...dated. Are you sure this stuff is suitable for the younger crowd?”
Destiny steps in front of me—and before I can stop her—clears her throat so loudly their heads turn to face her.
“Mr. Winthrope, hi. Can I ask you a question? How many of your under-thirty guests would kill for coffee? The kind they can’t get anywhere else.” Destiny smiles.
I can’t help but smile.
The kid’s seriously brave. There’s no way I would’ve had the courage to challenge a billionaire at fifteen.
“Our guests are a mixed demographic,” Winthrope says with some amusement in his eyes. “We get some honeymooners and young people with their parents. A lot of business guests come in the winter months. Some are under thirty, and a lot of them aren’t.”
“Is hip really what you’re after, though? From your Insta, I kind of thought you went for sophisticated.” Destiny holds his gaze.
“Fair observation. I do.” He nods firmly.
Mini Skirt scowls at Dess and slouches in her chair.
Brock’s whole team files in then and sits across from us.
“How many drinks are you slinging today?” he asks.
“Four,” I say with a smile. “Do you want to start with espresso or the drip brew?”
“The drip. If I didn’t have to taste it, I’d ask for an IV.”
I laugh politely. It’s nice to see a guy even richer than Cole with a sense of humor, even if his jokes seem dumb.
“Wonderful. We’ll start with the Kona campfire basic brew then. It’s actually the perfect starting point since this is the original inspiration for today’s espresso drinks.” Neat rows of white tasting cups sit in front of each of us. I wait for the staff to fill each one before I pick up my white cup labeled “K” and hold it up like a precious chalice.
“If you all want to grab a 'K' cup, that’s the Kona campfire brew.” I bring it to my mouth and sip anxiously. My tongue doesn’t work and I don’t taste much while I wait for them.
Brock lifts his cup, turning it over slowly in his fingers. He takes a small sniff and then throws it back in one gulp.
His face goes blank...and thoughtful? I hope.
Does that mean he likes it?
Oof. If he doesn’t, he’ll hate everything.
My stomach knots. I’m not used to people hating my stuff, and I can’t afford to blow it with this crowd.
Mini Skirt takes a small sip and sets the cup down. Her face screws up as she says, “Well. It’s okay. A little sweet.”
Big yikes.
Also, it’s peaberry coffee. That’s the trademark flavor profile.
What the hell was she expecting?
But the room goes quiet as Brock clears his throat.
“It’s surprisingly delicate—at the same time, the flavor couldn’t be more robust. I’m fucking impressed.” My heart soars, but he holds up a finger. “However, bear in mind I have to please everyone at my resorts. That’s why I travel with a team, and today I’ve brought two of my finest people, my head chef from Lanai and a sommelier with twenty years refining her palate.”
Oh, God.
While a professional wine taster doesn’t know coffee, they have sensory skills that can rival a bloodhound. If there’s anything off with my drinks, they’ll find it.
For now, the rest of the team compliments the coffee while the golden duo step forward.
Cole has been lingering near the back after greeting Winthrope.
Now, he stands up and comes close to me, his presence so thick and warming it’s like I can feel him holding me even when he can’t do it openly.
It feels like an eternity as the chef and professional taster do three rounds of tastings, clearing their mouths with water each time.
“It gets a solid A from me, chief,” the chef says.
Brock nods happily and all eyes turn to the sommelier, a thin birdlike woman with glasses that seem too big for her face. She holds up her cup, peering through it, her lips pursed in an unreadable line.
“It’s a complex beverage. Remarkably faithful to the flavors of Kona while also standing on its own. While it may not pair with everything—not without checking every item on the menu, at least—I think, Mr. Winthrope, that you have an acceptable headline coffee.”
Acceptable?
Oh, my God.
Coming from her, it feels like having a gold medal hung around my neck.
I almost can’t believe that Mini Skirt’s “It’s okay,” is the worst criticism the coffee gets.
When it’s all over, after showing off the special espresso drinks, I exhale so long I’m light-headed and floating.
I did it.
Brock Winthrope wants to sign a contract today thanks to my work.
I turn to Cole, grinning, and absentmindedly throw my arms around him. He swings an arm around me, leans in close like he’s about to kiss me, and freezes.
“Eliza,” he whispers hoarsely.
Oh, crapsticks.
What was I thinking?
