Page 9 of Soulless Saint

A crease formed between her brows. She hadn’t been expecting that.

“Is he expecting you?”

“No. I, uh, I just saw the job posting outside. I want to apply.”

Her brow lifted, but she turned, hollering toward the back of the cafe, her name tag catching the overhead light. Kate.

“Logan!”

“He’ll be right out,” she said, her blue eyes finding the person behind me, hinting that I should move out of the way.

I didn’t. “Sorry, could I also get a latte? Large, three shots of espresso?”

She nodded, keying it into the register.

Were lattes always seven fucking dollars? Jesus.

I handed over a few bills with a cringe, forcing myself to drop another dollar and change into the tip jar because first impressions and all.

“Thanks,” I said, strained, as a man pushed through a swinging door from a back room and came down the serving line to the front.

“Thought we talked about the shouting thing, Kate. What is it?”

Kate indicated where I stood and I lifted to my full height, holding out a hand to the man with the messy brown hair and six o’clock shadow that gave him an I’ll escort you to the fires of Mordor quality that was really working for him.

“Becca Hart,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

He narrowed his eyes. “Logan,” he replied, giving me a once over as he took my hand, giving it a firm yet short shake. “How can I help you?”

“Your latte,” the guy with the white hair said, pushing a tall cup across the counter to me. I didn’t miss the look he gave me or the fact that he’d put my latte in a to-go cup even though I never specified whether I was staying or not.

This wasn’t going well.

Stop overthinking it, Becks.

I cleared my throat, taking the cup with a smile. “I’m here for an interview.”

The manager’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have any interviews today.”

A good sign. The position wasn’t filled yet, then.

“Have you submitted a resume?”

The better question was whether I’d even written one. Answer: no.

No fucking idea where to start.

I scoured my brain for a sharp reply, but came up empty.

Shit.

“No,” I answered, deciding the truth was probably the best place to start if I was going to have any chance at working here. “But if you have five minutes, I promise I’ll make it worth your time. I know my way around an espresso machine and I’m a people person.”

At least the first part was true.

He scrutinized me in a new light.

“Do you have a resume with you?”

---