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She could also go from having a hot L.A. guy as her boyfriend to being terminally friend-zoned by the drummer of a legendary rock band.
But as I finished my second week at The Corner, I wasn’t mad about it.
I didn’t plan to serve coffee forever, though—I wasn’t making enough to get my own place anytime in the next thousand years. But there was no denying that the last two weeks had been good ones. Not always easy, because I’d had to get out of bed and see people for the first time since the end of my last career. But I’d taken it one step at a time, and I’d done it.
The Corner was a fun place to work. The clientele was relaxed and chill, and so were the employees. We got very few angry moms, uptight business guys, or douchey would-be entrepreneurs. The music on rotation was always top notch. There was a learning curve for me, picking up the drink orders and the cash register program, but no one ever yelled at me or treated me like I was stupid. There were morning and lunchtime rushes, but those were punctuated with slower hours when I could take breaks.
Most strikingly, the place didn’t seem to tolerate customer rudeness. I’d seen more than one customer get told to either change their tone of voice or leave the shop. Just knowing that was possible made my anxiety go down.
At first, I’d attributed the relaxed feel at The Corner to the location or to Grant. Both were part of it. It took a while, though, before I understood the real reason The Corner was a magnet for all things truly cool. It was all because of Axel de Vries.
It wasn’t immediately obvious, because Axel didn’t work behind the counter and there were no pictures of him on the walls. His name wasn’t on the sign. But after working at The Corner, I saw that Axel permeated every part of this place without even trying. The employees—even the ones too young to have been to a Road Kings concert—all knew who he was. A number of them were aspiring musicians. The best baristas in town wanted to work for Axel, and quitting was rare, so there were no flakes on staff. Because it was relatively relaxed and not too corporate, we all got along.
The customers knew who Axel was, too. The Corner attracted true artsy types—graphic artists, musicians, aspiring fashion designers. There was at least one real, published novelist who came in to get her word count in and soak up the vibe. A few were posers, but most were true weirdos, the kids who once had no friends in school because they spent all of their off hours making and editing their own films. Into their thirties now, those same former kids came to The Corner when they were in town to work on their next indie film.
Whenever Axel came into the shop—which was often, because for some reason he felt the need to check on me—this artsy crowd would go hushed, their gazes tracking him as he sauntered across the room and they tried to keep their cool. If Axel noticed, he didn’t let on. He’d just stroll into the back room with that sexy walk of his. He’d call out a friendly greeting and disappear.
“Wow,” I said to the girl working behind the counter with me after the first time it happened. “People really know who he is, huh?”
The look she gave me was honestly shocked. “He’sAxel de Vries,” she said reverently. “Of course we know who he is.”
The women here wanted to sleep with him. Some of the guys, too. There were women who came in and hung out conspicuously, drinking their drink slowly, hoping to catch him when he showed up, hoping he’d notice. Others talked about how incredible the Road Kings’ live shows had been, speculated about whether Axel would ever play live again, and gossiped about his love life, about which no one knew anything. In other words, we were working for a freaking rock star.
I’d seen celebrity up close in L.A. It was a weird phenomenon that didn’t impress me. But this was different. For one, the worship of Axel was based on over a decade of incredible music, not a stupid Instagram feed. It revolved around something real, something that had nothing to do with social media or press junkets or phony relationships with pop stars. For another, Axel didn’t cultivate it. He didn’t network, take selfies, shoot the shit, or chat up any of the women at The Corner. He just went about his business, and people loved him anyway.
Like I say, a freaking rock star.
Tonight, the night before Christmas Eve, I was working with Kaden, who was twenty-three and had been trying to flirt with me all shift. He had dark hair, a nose ring, and terrible game. Instead of being annoyed or horrified by him, like I should have been, I found myself tolerating his flirting without taking it seriously. Since working here, I’d started to get more glimpses of my old, pre-Pierre self, the woman who didn’t constantly think about what might make her boyfriend angry. My inner Bitch was usually quiet while I was here, though she still showed up plenty while I was home, especially in the middle of the night.
“Seriously, you’ve never heard of Unctuous Jones?” Kaden asked as he made his final peppermint hot chocolate of the evening. “They’re playing the Bunk Bar the day after Christmas. You should definitely go.”
“Not happening,” I said. I waved at our last customer as she walked out. “Nice try, but I’m practically old enough to be your mother.”
“You’re only a few years older than me!”
True. Why did twenty-three seem so young after you passed thirty? “Your big sister, then. Also, you played me some Unctuous Jones and they sound like they just learned their instruments last week.”
“They recorded that a while ago. They’re way better now. Trust me, Brit. I know music.”
I gave him a pitying sigh. “No, I don’t think you do.”
Kaden was going to argue some more, but I heard the door swing open behind me, and he froze like a deer in headlights. This meant that Axel must have walked in. Kaden was an aspiring drummer and thought Axel was God.
“Hey,” Axel said. I turned to see him doing his usual saunter across the shop. “It’s eight o’clock, closing time. All good?”
“All good,” I said, lightly kicking Kaden’s shin to prompt him to answer.
“All good,” Kaden said, finding his voice.
Axel narrowed his eyes at us. Then he seemed to make a decision. “Brit, we’ll close up.” He pointed at Kaden. “You, you’re off duty. Get lost.”
“Yeah, sure, Axel, okay.” Kaden took off his apron and nearly genuflected as he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
When he was gone, Axel locked the door behind him and turned back to me. “What are you laughing at?”
“I think you gave him a complex,” I said, taking off my apron.
“That guy? He was standing too close to you. Was he bothering you? If he was, I’ll can his ass.”
