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Dear brain, please reconnect with mouth. Immediately. Thanks. Signed, Upper Management.
“What are you doing?” He looks me up and down, and panic and embarrassment flow through me. Why did I not think about these stupid fucking pajamas before?
“I uh . . . I have cookies.”
“I see that.”
“There are uhm . . . flavors. A few?” Oh lord, what am Isaying?!“Chocolate chip. Oatmeal raisin . . . There’s a monster cookie in there. It’s chocolate chip and cookies and cream. That one’s a homemade Oreo,” I say, pointing to the sandwich cookie. “A black and white—”
“I don’t need your cookie menu.” I blink at him. His voice seems . . . annoyed.
Well, that snaps me out of it.
Why isheannoyed?
I’m the one who can’t freaking sleep because his music is shaking mybrain!
“I was going to bring them over. As a peace offering?” I gulp.New Lola, come back. Remember that this guy is a fucking asshole. Not only did hebreak into your businessthis morning, but he’s also doing the same thing he bitched about less than 24 hours ago.“And to see if you might possibly turn down the music a hair? It’s just, it’s really loud. Like shaking my brain loud, and I’m absolutely exhausted—”
“You would be, how early you were up.” I stop speaking. I blink at him. He’s not . . . is this . . .
“I’m sorry?”
“Woke me up early as can be and now you’re asking me to keep quiet?” Well, shit.
“I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to, and I’ll try and—”
“I’m not turning down my music.” That stops me. Tattooed arms cross the black tee stretched over his chest.
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m running a business. The music is for an event we’re having. Adds ambiance.”
“Well your ambiance is keeping me up.”
“Sucks to be you.” My head snaps back.
“What are you, five?” He raises a thick eyebrow. He has attractive eyebrows. I’ve never been attracted to eyebrows, but his are thick and dark and . . . expressive.
And then I have to remind myself that he’s anasshole.Like, a big one. Definitely not hotat all.And the fact that he’s a dick cancels any potential hotness out.“Is this retaliation for this morning? Because that is so fucking childish. I apologized. I planned on doing what I can in the mornings to be quiet. I just—
“Look, I told Brad that whoever moved in next door had to be cool with the music.” I blink. “We’re not always open late, but some nights we are. And also, I don’t do mornings. He told me I wouldn’t have to worry about you being loud in the mornings, waking me up.” Brad is our landlord, and I’m starting to think Brad is a moron.
“Okay, well, I told Brad that I’d have early mornings as abakery.”Ben looks at me, frustration clear in his eyes when he looks at the ceiling.
“Fuckin’ Brad,” he says, like it’s a curse in and of itself, and honestly, it might be. “Keep telling him to sell me the building. He doesn’t want to do the upkeep, doesn’t want to deal with me bitching him out about shit. But no. He’s a greedy asshole. No one wanted to move in next door because of it.” My guts drops.
Well, maybe I’m not a master negotiator like I thought.
“Nothing over there fucking works, and he can’t keep up on updating the security of the building. I don’t know how you’re running a business out of there.” I don’t tell him that I spend hours watching YouTube videos to fix the ovens in the bakery. My mind drifts to the front door lock that never catches.
My gut sinks.
Fuck, fuck,fuck.
“Brad doesn’t give a shit. He didn’t even want to put someone in there, too much work for him. Wanted to collect the write-off for it being unoccupied.”
I feel sick.
