Page 9 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
I can’t say for sure it’s Ranbir. I mean, the man has a job that takes his nights away. But his friends? They look like the type to be able to slip into the shadows while keeping tabs on me.
I don’t even know how or why I’ve set him off. Thinking I’m a thief doesn’t mean the man has to be on my ass like he is, unless he thinks I stole from him. And I didn’t back then! I was ten when my family fell apart! So why is he so sure I have anything to do with anything that might be connected to him?
“I wish I still vaped during times like this,” I bemoan my situation, my mind switching to my real enemy, the puppet master behind this bullshit.
One day, I’ll bring them down and clear my name once and for all, but I just have to survive for now. If it means serving coffee with a smile to assholes, I’ll do just that—even an asshole with a forked tongue and a hell of a lot of time on his hands.
I move to slam my head against the steering wheel, only to change my mind seconds before impact. My forehead bumps against it softly as I scream my rage. I don’t need another medical bill to pile up along with the other debt collectors after me. I’m seriously considering changing my number between my ex-family and those guys calling me nonstop.
“Let’s get this over with, drama queen,” I say as I frown at my clean-shaven chin in the rearview mirror. “Shit ain’t gonna change sitting here sulking. Let’s get going.”
With that half-assed pep talk, I join the throngs of people who always seem to congregate around the hotel and cafe. I’m rounding the fountain, my visual marker, separating the properties when I bump into a shredded, tanned-skinned, handsome man.
“Oh, my bad!” I say, and he just smiles softly, directing his gaze back to the cafe window as he cleans the fountain. He seems blissfully unaware of my presence.
As I walk away, I shake my head and grin. I just bumped into the pool boy, Sayo? Siya? Oh yeah,Seero!Daryl’s always making heart eyes at him through the window. And now, I’m starting to see that the feeling is mutual between them. I lift an eyebrow when another man comes up beside him, stopping in my tracks. The cascading water blocks him, but Seero’s eyes glow, nodding enthusiastically as the stranger and he exchange words like a secret code.
Shit, is that Mr. Pool Boy’s boyfriend? If so, Daryl’s about to be crushed,I wonder silently as I turn around, and the shadow of the new guy disappears from view.
I’m almost to the front door when I stop to dig my keys out of my pocket, causing someone to slam into my backside. I nearly fall to the ground, but he grabs me by my waist and spins me around. I don’t know a barista strong enough to do all that, but whoever it is, I’m grateful. Who else would be this early to the opening shift?
“Oh shit man, I’m sorry! Didn’t think to step out of the… Oh,” I stare into the broad chest of a muscular brown-skinned man, who I have to assume is handsome, too.
What is this, be clumsy as hell day? I’m usually not such a klutz, nor do I routinely bump into…
Of fuck! Not a hottie. A hot-headedjerk.That apparently can teleport, seeing as I can tell he was the man behind the fountain, a thin layer of mist coating a button-down white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his jacked arms.
It’s hell on Earth to be physically attracted to my stalker,I think, before I scowl up at Ranbir. He scowls down at me just as intensely.
“You, again,” I mutter under my breath as I pull away from Ranbir, unlock the door, and step into the cafe. “Wait outside. I’ll open up first, and then you can come in.”
In reality, Ranbir allowed me to pull away from him, seeing as he’s big and strong enough to throw my ass across the room if he wanted to. The only reason I could beat him last time was because I had the element of surprise on my side. That sets me off again, just thinking about the fact that I’m so damn weak compared to a man I slugged not too long ago. But every time he’s close, I can feel Ranbir’s power radiating off him like a physical aura, like that of a predator; I’m forced to move arounditandhim.
I grab my apron and get to work opening the shop with Daryl and Cy. I still don’t know how Ranbir manages the night shift working security and coming here relatively early for days on end, but it isn’t like I’m about to ask. Ranbir’s strange eyes never leave mine through the window as I move about my tasks, and unlike his city watch, I don’t feel uncomfortable under his gaze here. Probably because I’m in my territory, with plenty of eye witnesses, so I automatically feel a sense of safety, albeit a false sense of safety.
When I settle behind the counter, patrons stream in, including Mr. Stalker. Ranbir decides to order his usual, waving me over with his hand. I glance at my co-workers, my supposed friends, who whistle and walk away. They know the drill by now, so Ihand over the cash register to Cy and move towards the front of the cafe.
Ranbir doesn’t throw a fit when someone else approaches the table, but he does glower enough at the baristas that it has the same chilling effect. So here I am, once again, stuck being his personal servant.
I whip out my notepad with a scowl, but it’s harder to keep every day. Something about this routine we’ve settled into is beginning to feel strangely normal. As normal as a naga with a bad attitude looming over you can feel normal. And I know that’s what he is, because after some research online, I found out that forked tongues, slit eyes, and hissing usually belong to those types of paranormal beings.
Swallowing, my mind wanders to what else I learned about their anatomy below the belt, and now I want to get this over with as fast as I possibly can.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Cafe Magnifique! Today, we have–” I launch into our seasonal menu list only to be cut off, as per usual.
And Ranbir orders his usual—coffee, black as his soul, no milk, cream, or sugar.
I almost want to joke, ‘Same time next week?’ But I know he won’t appreciate my sense of humor. Still, this routine is becoming a bit of a comedy act.
Why are you coming in for our coffee? Why bother me at all?I want to ask, but I never will.
Ranbir usually takes it straight to the head, as if he’s downing something else. It always makes me wonder if his long, slick, split tongue can even feel pain. And it also amuses me that I’ll usually serve his black brew, right before Julio waltzes in to order his milk, with a shot of espresso.
“Anything else?” I ask, knowing what he’ll say, only to be surprised when he looks up at me, the slits of his pupils exploding until they’re large, round, almost innocent-looking.
“A breakfast pastry of your choice,” he says calmly, his rugged voice rumbling through my chest, as if this is our routine, giving me whiplash as I stop turning and turn back to face him.
I’m thrown off, trying to think of something witty to say back. We converse in silent humor, on my part, sarcasm, on his part, and outright hostility, on both sides.
