Page 1 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

Chapter 1

Allie

The wail of the milk steamer is nearly as loud as the wail of my boss’s voice in my earbuds. “Allie, you’re not an investigative reporter. You are our food editor…one of our most coveted positions, might I add. And you are damn good at it.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh, looking down into the orchid design that’s fading away in my salted caramel oat milk latte. “If my current position is that coveted, then it will be easy to fill,” I reply.

I did not go into six-figures of debt attending one of the best journalism schools in the country only to spend my life giving fluff reviews of deconstructed cheesecakes and crab bisque.

“Youneeda new investigative journalist now that Dave moved to Orlando. I can do that. I wasmadeto do that. I’ll…I’ll even stay on as the food reviewer and copyeditor for the paper!” Because I only do one review a week, I supplement the rest of my income by copyediting for the paper, too. Not exactly what I had in mind with my vision board in undergrad…but nonetheless, it pays the bills.

In some ways, I think my copyediting skills are more valuable to them than my journalism skills.

“Please, Soleil,” I beg her. “There’s got to be an article idea I can pitch you that you’ll be excited to let me try to write. What about that piece I pitched about the health inspectors taking bribes for better ratings?” I add, lowering my voice to a whisper.

“No one cares about a rating being raised from a B to an A for an under-the-table payoff,” she scoffs. I can practically hear Soleil’s eyes rolling into the back of her head from here in this coffee shop.

“They’ll care when they realize the meat they’re getting served for sixty dollars a plate is a lower grade than dog food!”

Soleil sighs once more. “Allie,” she says, and in the background, I hear the soft click of her office door closing. “Half of the restaurants you review sponsor our newspaper. And the other half advertise within it. We can’t throw them under the bus because you want to make a name for yourself as a real journalist.”

I rub the corner of my eyes. This is exactly the problem with my current job. I write fluff. And I’m not even allowed to review honestly. If I’m giving a place anything less than three stars, theCharleston Sunmakes me go back for a second review, where my superiorsstrongly encourageme to rethink my rating. And I’m pretty sure they tip off the chefs that I’m coming.

“Okay,” I draw out the word as I think. “I’ll come up with something else, then…”

I tap my pen to the space between my eyes.Think, Allie. Think!

“I’ll tell you what,” Soleil says, her voice softening. “I’ll give you until Monday to come up with a killer pitch. If you can get me an idea that’s salacious and sexy, I’ll give you one shot at an investigative piece. From there, we’ll reevaluate. Deal?”

“Oh my God. Yes! Deal! It’s a deal! Thank you, Soleil!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grumbles before hanging up on me.

“Yes,” I whisper to myself. I have so many ideas in my tank; this is going to be a piece of cake.

Spoiler:This is not a piece of cake.

So far, my idea tank is total crap. I’m beginning to see why Soleil had never jumped on any of these article pitches.

Three hours and four lattes later, my little neighborhood coffee shop is officially switching shifts into their late-night bar menu. It’s the trendiest place in my neighborhood; during the daytime, it’s the best coffee shop. And at night, it transforms into a date spot. The perfect cozy bar for either happy hour specials or a delightful after-dinner nightcap.

But right now, I’m not in the mood to celebrate as Melanie comes up to take my empty mug away. “You want another?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “If I have another coffee, I’ll be up until four in the morning.”

She lifts her brows at me. “Our Pinot is half off right now for happy hour.”

“Sold,” I say with a nod. “You know I can’t resist a good glass of Pinot.”

“I know you can’t resist a good discount,” she teases. Iwould stick my tongue out at her, but before I can, she procures a glass and bottle from the counter beside her, giving me more than my fair share of a healthy pour.

Can’t bite the hand that feeds you, right?

I take a long sip and glance around the café. My fellow coffee shop workers have long since packed up their laptops and have been replaced with people in cute outfits and dangly earrings on dates. Men in suits on their way home from the office stop to have a pint with friends and scope out the girls here for a quick happy hour. A couple of people sit alone, reading, decompressing after a long day.

A few couples lean in across the small tables, clearly on a date night, stealing little brushes of their hands and glances over a glass of wine.

I’ve always loved people watching and this place is prime real estate for it.

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