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“You haven’t been here for days. I feel like you’ve been avoiding me, and you didn’t even look at me when I walked through the door.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how you can be so cold after…” I don’t want to remind him of his tenderness because he might have an entirely different memory of standing outside the bathroom.
“After I stayed the night on your sofa?” I grit my teeth, folding my arms across my chest. His words make me feel like a kid who had a sleepover. “I made it very clear what that evening was.”
“And what was it?” I hiss. I’ve convinced myself the alarm and threat of a repeat attempt were all an excuse, but there’s a desperation on my part for this to be the truth.
“To make sure you were safe,” he murmurs. “I have a shop to run and business to attend to, and if this will be a problem, then…” he sucks his breath in weighing up the idea. “Will it be a problem, Chloe?”
Yes, it is a huge problem for me, but I need this job.
“No, no problem.” I shake my head, averting my eyes from my lie.
“Good, because I need your help.” I sense the change in his tone. His business head is back on, but there’s also a little something else nestled within his words.
“Go on.” I fold my arms.
“Piero has had a lot on his mind of late, and as a result, there are some things he has overlooked, things I can’t account for.” Why the hell is he telling me this? He should talk to Lewis. He is the general manager. Surely, it is his job to manage things. Then I realize he has already spoken to Lewis, and that’s why Lewis is in such a bad mood. So, what does this have to do with me? Unless, of course, this is a repeat performance of last time. A little witch hunt thanks to Lewis, who has again thrown me to the wolf to save his own skin. I lick my lips and make a mental note not to roll my eyes at him.
“I don’t really see how I can help you. Lewis oversees running the shop, not me.”
“I don’t trust him.” He blurts it out, not wanting to have to repeat it. I let my arms drop as I realize what he’s saying. “I don’t really trust any of them out there.” He signals to the closed door with a nod, his face becoming anguished.
“But you trust me?” My eyelids flicker. He stares at me, and at that moment, the Gianni who stood outside my bathroom door is back. I nearly buckle.
“I trust you.” There’s a moment when nothing is said, but the air is thick with unspoken words. Things I want to say, things I don’t dare say, things I don’t want to admit to myself, and for a second, I think he hears them. There’s a calmness in his eyes, and a light glimmers in the corners as he holds my gaze.
He takes a step closer, his hand still resting on the door handle like he’s a human lock.
“I need your help.” I bow my head. Of course, he knows I’ll do what he asks. But this isn’t an order. He’s asking me for help.
“How?”
His manner changes at this question. His small show of kindness is packed away and replaced with a business suit and bowler hat.
“I need you to be vigilant about what’s happening in the shop.”
“Specifically?”
“I’m not sure how it’s being done, but something is going on. There are too many discrepancies in the stock levels for them to be attributed to mistakes or miscalculations.”
“You think someone is stealing the stock?”
“No, I think I put a stop to that when I questioned Lewis about the missing stock the week after we opened. This is something different, something clever. It’s theft, but without directly stealing from the till.” He rubs his chin. The noise of his hand against his stubble grates in the quiet of the office, the conundrum clawing at his brain. “I’m not sure how it’s being done, and I can’t accuse anyone without proof.”
“So, you want me to spy on everyone?”
“You don’t have to put it like that, but yes. I need someone to be my eyes and ears when I am not here.”
“All right.”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal. He trusts me. Me and me alone. I think about why he wants to place his trust in me when he’s the sort of person who trusts no one, not even his own brother. Is it because he has seen my parents’ house and suspects I have no cause to steal money? Or does he think my dyslexia renders me unable to calculate something as crafty as theft? Or is it the reason I hope it is, the little ray of light swimming inside me, he might actually have feelings for me? I dispel this thought as quickly as it arrives, telling myself it isn’t possible. Gianni isn’t that kind of man. But what kind of man is he? Severe, cold? Before the night we’d spent together, I would have ticked all the above. But I can’t. I’ve seen more, felt more than the commanding control freak he is in the shop. He’s generous, sensitive, and gentle, something I’ve never come across in any of my previous relationships.
“Thank you…” He holds my gaze, the heaviness of it pressing down on me, making me want to throw myself on the floor and grovel at his feet. “For everything,” he adds. I smile, wondering what exactly he’s thanking me for and how quickly he can turn from his business-as-usual attitude to someone who actually gives a shit.
The rattle of the door makes me jump. Gianni steps away, letting Lewis enter the office. He thrusts open the door, the redness still glowing in his cheeks, the air of irritation still simmering across his brow.
“I’m opening up,” Lewis says quietly as if he needs to justify his presence.
Gianni checks his watch, and Lewis notes that Gianni is checking his timekeeping. I duck and head out into the shop, hoping to level my head enough to function. Not only do I have my sordid thoughts about Gianni, but now I have his plea for help. This begs the question of what’s going on in the coffee shop?
