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As I stare into his eyes, I falter slightly, the abrupt manner of his greeting giving me little time to react. However, this only adds to his impatience, the deep expulsion of breath loud and clear.
“I think he’s down in the stockroom,” I tell him. He scrutinizes my answer. I have no idea what he is thinking, and I’m light-headed, hanging on this stepladder as if I were a window cleaner on the top floor of a high-rise building.
“I’ll have a cappuccino over here,” he barks out. He stalks toward the table nearest the window. He puts down a laptop he’s been clutching under his arm and pulls back a chair. The scrape of the legs against the tiled floor makes me flinch.
Panic knocks on my insides. I breathe out slowly. I know how to make a cappuccino. Over the last few days, I’ve made several easily, but this is different. This is a test. If he is determined to be rid of me, he’ll set me up to fail at any opportunity.
I make my way over to the machine, which may as well be something from NASA, and my previous training vanishes from my brain. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore his presence in the corner. Grinding coffee beans drowns out the tapping of the keyboard. I lock the group handle in place—the entire process is ingrained in my brain through rigorous practice—but it feels ten times more difficult with Gianni only a few feet away. I place the cup on the machine as the dark espresso trickles through the handle. The sultry aroma sticking in the back of my throat reminds me of my father’s cigars. So far, I’ve survived. All I need to do now is to steam the milk. The annoying minor tremor is back in my hand as I place the steam wand in the jug. This is where it could all go wrong. Like an omen, the screech of the machine fills my ears as Gianni stops typing. I feel heat rise in my cheeks as I try to keep my head low.
“That would be the milk burning.” His words fire across the room, dropping into the milk as it turns brown in the jug.
Keeping my head down, the smell of rancid cheese already in the back of my throat, I try to swallow while holding my breath. I grasp the metal handle, steadying my balance. I wish I could vanish. He rises from his chair, the scrape of the legs across the floor seeming twice as loud as when he’d sat down. For a split second, I think he might come over to help me, give me a little mentoring on where I went wrong, but this is pure fantasy. I sneak a glance at him. He stands by the counter, gray impatience on his face at my incompetence. I place the defunct milk on the side, grab a new jug, and empty fresh milk into it quickly without trying to appear rushed. I must show him I am not fazed by this. That if this happens tomorrow, I can rectify it. He hovers, his shadow looming over me, drenching me in a cold, hostile climate. Like a siren, I’m drawn to him, my head lifting from the new, white, creamy milk.
“Don’t bother.” He grimaces. He turns and walks away from the counter into the back of the shop.
My jaw clenches as I wait for him to go, probably on his way to tell Lewis I can’t even make a simple cappuccino.Way to go, Chloe.I have just handed him my downfall in a coffee cup. As soon as he’s gone, I pick up the jug. I want to launch it at the wall and watch the milk run down the newly painted plaster, but this would only push me further toward losing my job, and I will not give Gianni the satisfaction.
I pour the burned milk down the sink, and the sour smell makes me retch. I’m not sure what annoys me more, that he hates me enough to want to be rid of me or that I care in the first place.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear Gianni’s raised voice from the back, closely followed by Lewis, who sounds like he’s trying to appease Gianni’s mood. I hold the empty jug, my body motionless as the voices grow louder. I swing around as Gianni bursts through the door and into the shop. His voice never misses a beat as he strides back to his abandoned laptop.
“You’re spending too much time organizing the one part of the shop the customer will not see when you have staff here who can’t even make a cappuccino.” My cheeks burn, rage brewing at his callousness. Lewis speaks, tottering behind him like a small dog struggling to keep up with the large strides of its owner.
“Everyone has been practicing all week, and there were no problems making coffee at the family opening.”
“Even so, I don’t want burned milk to be served tomorrow.” Gianni moves into my line of sight and, like a boy racer at a red light, I can’t help myself. My fiery temper finally gets the better of me.
“I am here, you know.”
Gianni and Lewis swing their heads in my direction, their faces freezing in astonishment.
“I’m well aware of your presence, Miss Daniels,” Gianni replies, his initial shock quickly subsiding. I remind myself to breathe, taking my time over my next comment. I need to tread carefully. Although I’m not the little woman who will stand idly by while the commanding male brings her down a peg or two, I also know Gianni is looking for any reason to sack me.
“I don’t appreciate you talking about me as if I’m not in the room. If you have something to say, then at least have the courtesy to address me directly,” I proclaim.
Gianni sighs. Lewis flutters his eyelids quickly as he stands with his mouth ajar.
“Okay, Miss Daniels,” Gianni begins. His head tips slightly to one side as if he is sizing me up.Shit,I scold myself,me and my big mouth.“I’m a little concerned because we’re open to the public tomorrow, and you seem unable to make a simple cappuccino.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t come across so hostile, I wouldn’t be so nervous. I made a minor mistake. One I could have easily rectified if you’d given me a chance,” I retort.Not bad,I think. I glance at Lewis, who also seems impressed with my response. Gianni doesn’t.
“You’ll have to deal with many rude and insolent customers, Miss Daniels. It doesn’t bode well if you’re inclined tolose your headwhen someone doesn’t behave like a true English gentleman.”
I half expect him to add a fuck-you smile to his comment, and the fact he doesn’t riles me even more.I am trembling with anger. His face lights up briefly with something almost close to a triumphant grin.
I could slap myself for my stupidity. I admitted to Gianni that he makes me nervous, and now he will use it against me. I have a weakness, and my weakness is him. He’s also made me look like a complete idiot in front of Lewis.
We stand in silence, Lewis the referee, his eyes darting from me back to Gianni, waiting for one of us to throw the next punch. But a bell has rung inside my head, signaling I’m down and out, the referee having reached a count of ten, and I still have no comeback. Gianni strides confidently over to the table, pulls his laptop toward him, and makes a few adjustments to whatever he is looking at before shutting it down and closing the lid.
“I want you to run through the machine again with all the staff. Miss Daniels, in particular. Then I want the merchandise on the back shelf rearranged.” He pulls a piece of paper from a bag he’d stowed under the table and places the paper on the front counter. He sketches something.
I am livid. Why does he keep referring to me as Miss Daniels? It’s patronizing and driving me mad. Who speaks like that to their staff in this day and age? I wonder if it is something he read in a book on how to be a highly-effective manager. If this is the case, the book must have been written last century.
He is doing these things to antagonize me, and right now, I’m playing right into his hands. I continue to clear away the discarded cappuccino, hoping this will calm me, and as I do, I draw my eyes to the scratch of the pencil. My love for drawing overshadows most things in life. Lewis isn’t paying any attention to what Gianni is drawing. He’s too busy looking at the back shelf, the squint in his eye suggesting he sees nothing wrong with the haphazard display of cups and travel mugs.
After several agonizing seconds, Lewis pipes up, “Piero was in yesterday, and he was happy with the display.” Gianni suddenly freezes, his pencil poised in midair. It is as if Lewis has spat on him.
“I am not my brother,” Gianni snaps with a fury I thought he saved only for me. He continues to draw, the pencil working twice as fast as before. “Here.” When he’s finished, he pushes the paper over the counter toward Lewis, who drags it across the work surface, screwing his eyes up as he tries to make sense of the image.
