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Prologue
Dear Diary,
Remind me to always wear pajamas to bed. I have never been more mortified in my life than I was today. I was sleeping naked. For the first time ever. But I’ve never slept on thousand-dollar sheets before. Anyway, I digress. There I was, sleeping in my bed, all warm and comfy, when the door to my bedroom swung open, and he came striding in. “He” being my new boss: Finn Joseph. And he stood there in just his boxers. Black, silky boxers that totally didn’t make him look sexy as hell. And he totally didn’t have a six-pack or muscular arms and tousled hair.
“Where’s my breakfast?” he demanded as he towered over me, his blue eyes shooting darts at me as I yawned.
“What?”
“My breakfast?”
“In the kitchen?” I shrugged, annoyed. And okay, maybe it was my first official day on the job, but who bursts into your room at six-thirty a.m.?
“You’re meant to make my breakfast. It’s one of your chores.” His voice was annoyed, and I just stared up at him.
“Can’t you just do it?” And yes, I had a slight attitude, but I was tired and annoyed. And I wasn’t a morning person.
“I’m paying you to do it.”
“Well, technically, you haven’t paid me yet.” I was starting to think it had been a mistake to take this job. I mean, I was the last person that should have become a housekeeper.
“What?” His voice rose, and there may have been a bit of smoke that came out of his nostrils. He looked pissed, and I was sure he was regretting the fact that he’d hired me.
“I said…” But I didn’t get to finish my sentence because he ripped the white linen sheets off my body and threw them to the ground. I wasn’t sure who was more shocked at the fact that he was now staring at my naked body. His eyes widened, and my eyes widened, and then I screamed.
I wish this were part of a dream. But this story is very true. And it got worse than that. Way worse. Scandalous even. And it all began because of a stupid, expensive espresso machine.
?? Harriet
ChapterOne
Checking Account Balance: $245.98
Savings Account Balance: $10.00
Boyfriend Count: 0
“What else can go wrong today?” I mumbled as I cleaned up the sugar I’d spilled all over the countertop. I felt like I was living the week from hell. Just the evening before, my parents had alerted my sisters and me to the fact that they were getting a divorce. Then this morning, I’d received a thirty-day notice to vacate my room in the house I was renting, which was pretty much the only place I could afford on my mediocre salary.
“Welcome to Charlotte’s Coffee Shop, where the coffee is dark, the cookies are sweet, and you’ll remember that you’re not meat.” Delilah, my older and crazy coworker, beamed at the latest confused customer to enter the store.
“Sorry, what?” The blond guy in the Quiksilver board shorts was obviously a tourist in Port Sunshine and wasn’t used to the eclectic ways of pretty much all the locals. Charlotte’s Coffee Shop was the only local coffee shop in the area. The city had banned all big, name-branded companies, so everything in our quaint beach town was local.
The tourists loved our store because it made them feel like they’d entered another world. As soon as you entered the store, you were greeted with the sight of five different-colored surfboards covered with signatures. One might think the signatures were from famous surfers who had passed through town, but they were from the owner, who wanted to find a new cool signature to sign our paychecks with.
The walls were painted turquoise and white, and huge rattan lampshades hung from the ceiling. Then everything got weird. On the far side of the coffee shop stood an almost life-size dollhouse with at least thirty Barbies in different positions in the house and on the makeshift beach next to the house.
“I said, ‘Welcome to Charlotte’s Coffee Shop, where the coffee is dark, the—’” Delilah started up again, but this time in a deep Southern accent. The doorbell rang, and Delilah let out a low whistle as she stared at our new customer: a tall, attractive guy in a navy suit staring at his phone like he’d just been emailed the secrets of the universe.
“Morning.” I stepped forward quickly before Delilah could repeat her nonsensical welcome. Every day she had a new slogan that made no sense. She said it made her life worth living to see the confused expressions on the faces of the elite tourists that came to our store. “How can I help you today?”
“Um…” Surfer Dude looked at me, then back at Delilah and then back at me. Delilah was no longer looking at him. All her attention was on the Wall Street Mogul-looking man. He looked up briefly, his turquoise blue eyes gazing at me for a few seconds before he wrinkled his nose and looked away dismissively.Jerk! He’s the one out of place.
“So, I just wanted…” Surfer Dude continued. He was cute in thatmy hair only gets washed by the salty waves of the oceanway. He blinked at me a few times and ran his fingers through his slightly too long, bleach-blond, tousled locks. “I just wanted a coffee.” He smiled a lazy, easy smile, and I smiled back at him. I was grateful to have a nice customer, not a rude, obnoxious one like Delilah.
“Black?”
He nodded and then stepped forward. “There’s no meat in it, right?”
