Page 38 of Coffee Shop Girl
“You’re the owner.”
“But what if I showed you how? It’s not my fault if you mess up.”
“Do you have documentation that you showed me?” He leaned a little closer. I stopped breathing so I didn’t get distracted by his smell. “Can you prove your training process? Do you have something written down in case I need to troubleshoot, or in the event of an emergency?”
The blood drained from my cheeks, leaving me cold. I had never considered this. Why couldn’t people just ...work?
“I see,” I murmured.
“It may seem boring, but it’s absolutely essential that you have an operations manual and a training program dictating every aspect of running your shop. It’s the only way you’ll ever be able to leave it, turn this into an investment, and do whatever else it is you want to do.”
Like sell houses.
His words stung in all the wrong places, because how could I even deny he was right? When he presented the facts like that, they seemed indisputable. Even if it wasn’t really that easy. I fidgeted. What business was it of his, anyway?
Oh, yeah. Definitely his business now. He wasn’t saving the Frolicking Moose or the girls. He was saving me from myself. I’d promised to work harder than he expected, so I forced down the bitter pill of pride that had lodged deep in my throat.
“Okay.” I blew out a long breath. “You’re right. I need to figure this out. How do I start an operations manual? I’m ready to get started, but I don’t ... I don’t know how to do that.”
He grinned, and his deep voice rolled like thunder. “That is easier than you think, and takes longer than you think. But if you have help, it can be efficient.”
Lizbeth straightened, shoving her romance novel into the space between the cushion and the chair. “Are you writing a book?” she asked.
Maverick sized her up. “Yes, but it’s no romance.”
“That’s fine.”
He turned, half-facing her. She tilted her head back, accepting his study. “Do you have nonfiction experience?” he asked.
Lizbeth thrilled to the attention. “I read everything.”
“Can you type fast?”
“Seventy-five words per minute.”
“You interested in helping?”
She shot me a look, then nodded. “Yes, I am.”
Maverick looked at me but pointed at her. “You have an assistant. While I get this spreadsheet figured out and your financial situation put into real numbers, the two of you will get started.”
Dread, maybe anticipation, built inside me. I’d never had a team. Going into this with people felt ... freeing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. How hard could it be to write down the things I did every day? A breeze. Maverick looked toward the hallway, but Ellie had disappeared.
He slipped into business mode now, all hints of devilish testing fading. Even his serious face made my heart flutter.
“You’re going to teach Lizbeth everything about this company as if she were a new employee. I meaneverything. How to run the credit card machine step-by-step, complete with all the ways it can go wrong. How to make a cappuccino. How to write on the chalkboard.”
I scoffed. “She knows how to write on a chalkboard.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “But does she know howyouwant her to do it? This is your store. Your rules. You tell her where to find the chalk, how to plan out what the menu will say, and how to use colors. You can be general if you want, but it still has to be stated.”
My lips rounded into anO.
Why did I have a feeling we were about to start something so big I’d never recover?
“If you do it, Lizbeth will write it down. Lizbeth, grab Bethany’s computer. Open up a document, and get ready to type as fast as you can. First thing, Bethany, is to make a list of all the things you do in a given day, from the time you open to the time you close. Then we’re going to make an operations manual.”
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