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My stomach plummets. He’s mean spirited enough to make me jobless and homeless. Out loud, I say, “Y-yes, Mr. Roberts.”
“He threatened you,” my mate growls.
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t do anything or I won’t have a home.”
His features tighten with a look that suggests I’ve sided with Mr. Roberts instead of him. I exhale a weary sigh. This is tiring—not just the all-night sex, and the pressure of having a job that takes me away from my art, but now I have a whole other person to support.
“Listen, I have to go.” I head toward the bathroom.
“You will stay.” One of his tentacles wraps around my waist, squeezing so tightly that I gasp.
“Mr. Roberts was serious, you know.” I sweep my arm across the studio apartment. “You like having a bed to fuck me on? Or a ceiling? If you don’t let me go to work, we’ll both be sleeping in the park.”
He parts his lips, either to demand an explanation or to say he doesn’t care, but this is one subject where I won’t budge.
“The park is an outdoor space where we’ll have no privacy. If you hate the thought of my boss knocking on the door, you’ll despise sleeping out in the open where all manner of men can watch us.”
Several seconds pass, and my mate stares down at me like he’s the angel of death, deliberating on my fate. I pull back my shoulders and hold his gaze. No amount of wicked grins and slippery tentacles could distract me from the prospect of being homeless.
“Very well,” he says with a sniff. “But I will accompany you.”
My shoulders sag. There’s no time for anything but a quick wash, and I don’t intend to waste precious minutes convincing him to stay in the apartment.
I walk to the closet to find a fresh uniform. “Either keep to the shadows in your alternate form or put on some clothes.”
Less than ten minutes later, I enter the store through the back staircase, hoping to avoid Mr. Roberts. It’s still early, but the coffee shop is in the thick of the morning rush hour. The line for drinks not only curls around the store’s interior but extends outside.
Jessika stands beside Ryan, fulfilling orders at one of the coffee machines. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she blurts. “Two other members of staff called in sick.”
I hurry to her side and start making drinks, part of me finally understanding why the line was so long. Mr. Roberts cares more about collecting orders than fulfilling them, which is why there are always more staff members at the cash registers than at the back.
‘Who’s ill?” I ask.
“Yvette and Maria,” she replies with a smirk.
“What?” My brows pulled together. “Do you know something?”
“Alexis,” Mr. Roberts barks from the back room. “As soon as the morning rush is over and you’ve mopped the floors, emptied the bins, and cleared the tables, I want you in my office.”
I shoot the back door my filthiest glare. Sure, he’s frustrated about being understaffed, and it was my fault for being late, but that doesn’t mean he has to take out all his anger on me.
“Do you think I should point him to the YouTube video?” she asks with a giggle.
My jaw drops, as does the cappuccino I just made. Hot coffee splashes on my pants and spreads across the floor. “Shit.”
“Whoops,” she says with a grimace. “Sorry about that.”
I rush around the counter to the back room and open the cleaning cupboard to get a mop and bucket. What on earth did Jessika just imply? The others had called in sick because they’d listened to the same video she’d recommended to me? The same video that had summoned my soul mate from another dimension?
Impossible.
Or was it?
There’s no point in speculating. Not when customers are waiting for their morning brew. I hurry back behind the counter, mop up the spilled cappuccino, and focus on my work.
The next time I corner Jessika, I will listen to everything she has to share about this soul mate meditation. If Ryan’s there, she can tell him, too.
It takes over forty-five minutes for the line to reach a manageable level of activity. Now, it’s just the regulars taking their seats around the tables.
