Page 18 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. One
“ButIdidn’t tell on—” Oliver stops abruptly at a harsh voice filling the shop.
“I asked for butter toffee,” a middle-aged man at the counter snaps. He’s holding a to-go cup in his hand, and he’s glaring at Wren like she just murdered someone. “This is vanilla.”
“Oh, shoot.” Wren reaches for a new cup. “I’m so sorry. I can make you a new one, shouldn’t take more than a minute or two.”
“Why couldn’t you just get it right the first damn time?” he demands.
Wren falters. “I—um. It was an accident. The vanilla and butter toffee syrups are right next to each other, and they’re a similar color, so I must’ve mixed them—”
“Seriously?” he spits out, causing Ava to glance over from where she’s working through a long line of cars in the drive-thru.
“Accidents happen,” Wren says gently as she works on his new drink. “But I’m putting together—”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You’ve got one of the easiest jobs on the fucking planet. How hard can it be to make a coffee right?”
“This guy is a piece of work,” Oliver mutters. He’s watching the man carefully, his hands clenched into fists. No doubt, he wants to go up there and deck this guy.
I know I do.
Wren sets the half-finished drink on the counter and crosses her arms. “You wanna try that again?”
The man jerks his head back. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not making you another drink if this is how you’re going to treat me. You can either calm down, apologize, and accept the fact that I’m human and make mistakes, or I can give you a refund, and you can leave.”
Oliver and I exchange a quick glance, and his expression reflects exactly what I’m feeling: pride. We’ve seen Wren handle her fair share of rude customers over the past few months, but she normally takes it instead of standing up for herself. I get it—it’s easier to just do what the customer wants and get them out of your hair. But this isn’t the first customer I’ve wanted to throw out.
The man scoffs. “Uh-uh, you don’t call the shots around here.”
Wren smiles brightly—toobrightly—her eyes flashing with annoyance. “Refund it is.”
“Excuseme?” He stands straighter, taking a step toward the counter, and it sets off a million alarms in my head.
“Hey.” I’m standing before I can stop myself. “Back off, man. It’s just a coffee.”
Wren’s eyes widen, and I hope I’m not making this worse for her. This guy has made a whole scene out of a wrong drink, and now everyone in the shop is watching.
“Why don’t you mind your fucking business?” he spits out at me. “This is none of your concern.”
“Don’t care. Say one more rude thing to her, and I’m throwing you out of here.”
Wren ducks her head as she taps away at the register, probably issuing the guy’s refund.
“You don’t have any authority here,” he tells me smugly as he turns back to Wren. “And, quite frankly, you don’t even deserve the minimum wage you’re making. I mean what are you, stu—”
“That’s enough.” I take his arm and yank him toward the front.
“Have your shitty drink back,” the guy snarls, and before I realize what he’s doing, he flings the to-go cup at Wren.
Shit.
Wren jumps back with a yelp. The lid pops off, and some of the coffee lands on her torso and arms, but most of it falls onto the floor.
In the corner of my eye, I see Rhett and Oliver jump to their feet. In a flash, Rhett is in front of me, meeting us halfway to the door. He grabs the guy by the back of his neck and hauls him toward the front.
“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man shouts. “This is assault! I have an excellent lawyer. I’ll press charges against you if you don’t—”
Rhett throws him out the door before he can finish the sentence. The guy stumbles and almost falls, but he catches himself and straightens. He whips around, and it looks like he’s about to barrel right past Rhett to get back inside, but then he freezes. Rhett’s frame is taking up most of the doorway, and I can only imagine the glare on his face.
