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We wander out to the service counter and I spot the woman in question. Her crisp white top stained with maybe five drops of coffee, smaller than the size of a peanut shell. A stain that will come out easily with a little TLC.
But she won’t make it easy. She is one ofthosepeople. The kind who loves to stir up drama.
Lip curled up in disgust, she stands in the center of the café, pointing to her top and speaking in an unnecessarily high volume given the situation.
Someone save me.
“Ma’am?” She glances my direction and narrows her eyes. “If you’d step up to the counter, I’d be happy to assist you.”
She puckers her lips and plants a fist on her hip. “Why? So you can spill more coffee on me? Ruin my clothes and burn my skin?” Her voice escalates to fifteen on a scale of ten.
“Ma’am, please.”
I refuse to be confrontational. Refuse to raise my voice or get into a debate. She will not get the best of me or tarnish my business.
The woman stomps up to the counter, steering away from Mandi and maintaining a five-foot berth from the counter. She looks me up and down, silently appraising my appearance.
“And how will you help me?” she bites out.
I wish I could just slap her. Match her stomp, march around this counter, and slap her. Hard. But that would definitely be bad for business.
“I apologize for the accident. Unfortunately, they happen. I am more than happy to pay for the cleaning bill to have the stain removed.”
She huffs and glances past me to Mandi and points a manicured finger. “And what about her? You going to fire her?”
Is this woman serious? She wants me to fire one of my best employees over a spilled cup of coffee? A spill that barely made contact with her precious white shirt. An accident. This woman is clearly off her rocker.
“Ma’am, I will have a discussion with my employee. Quite frankly, how I handle the situation is my call. Not yours.”
Well, this pisses her off in point five seconds.
Her face goes from pale to pink to red in a blink. Others may concede and give in to this woman’s demands when she behaves with such mightiness. But I am not other people. I don’t bend to bullies or their hostile tendencies. Instead, I picture steam spitting from her ears with a loud whistle. Picture her cheeks and face swelling like a red balloon.
I bite the inside of my cheek at the comical mental picture and do my best to not laugh in her face.
Then she steps up to the counter and points her finger in my face, an inch from my nose. “If you don’t fire her, I’ll never return.”
And just like that, I am done. No one threatens anyone in here. No one tells me how to run my business. I sure as shit don’t give in to ultimatums that hurt good people.
Plastering on my bestfuck-yousmile, I say, “Sorry to hear that. It was nice having you as a customer. Sad to hear we won’t see you in the future.”
She lunges forward, her hands near the counter, prepared to hoist herself over. But she never makes it. A hand wraps around her biceps, tugs back, and halts her.
“Best you don’t do that,” a deep baritone advises.
And although I can’t see his face, I know who the voice belongs to. Well, at least what he looks like. Never got his name.
The viper of a woman spins on her heel and hisses. “Get your filthy paws off me.” He lets go of her as she glances over her shoulder to me, adjusting her purse higher. “You’ll be sorry for this.”
She storms past several customers who cannot help but stare. Like a whiny child, she causes a raucous to create a scene. To have all eyes on her.
“Ridiculous,” I mutter.
The second she exits, I take a deep breath and let it relax my tense frame. Then I peer up and look into a pair of fiery amber eyes I never thought I would see again. A pair of eyes loaded with sincerity and a gentleness I don’t see often in others. Eyes I got lost in for hours.
He opens his mouth to speak and I hold up a finger to stop him. “Give me a moment.” I spin to face Mandi. “If she comes in again, let me know. You did nothing wrong. Just let it go and be yourself.”
“Thanks, Lessa.”
