Page 17 of The Runaway Billionaire's Inconvenient Baby
“It’s the best.” Somehow, his smile brightens. “Trust me, I’ve worked here for years. It’s great. I sometimes get the leftovers when?—”
“Yes, that’s great,” I cut him off, not wanting to listen to his pointless yammering. “Strong coffee, plenty of sugar, big breakfast. You got that?”
“I’ve got that, sir.” He flashes his bright white teeth at me and offers a joking salute.
Is everyone on this stupid island so happy all the time? Is it the sea air? It can’t be. I’ve lived in LA all my life, and there areplenty of people in that city who go to the sea all the time but are still completely miserable.
He rings me up, and I pay, leaving a huge tip. It’s the least I can do for a small business. I don’t see any point in being stingy with my money when I have so much of it. His eyebrows raise when he sees the number, but he doesn’t say anything. A wise move. Why question a good thing?
I barely blink as he works the machine, watching as the beautiful drink comes together. A stool frees up at the counter and I stumble over to it, keeping my eyes on the huge mug that is being filled with caffeine. Perfect.
It’s hot and smells great when the worker slides it over to me. I thank him and breathe in the steam, letting my eyes close.
Suddenly, a door in the back room slams and a young woman’s voice calls out. “Lantigua, I’m back. You can…”
Her voice trails off as she walks through the doorway, looks up from rummaging in her bag and sees me.
Our eyes meet. The blood drains from my face. Her pale cheeks flush and her eyebrows furrow.
It’s the woman from the town hall.
The one who apparently hates me more than anyone else in the world. Miss Billie.
CHAPTER 9
BILLIE
I’m usually embarrassed at letting my mouth drop open in shock. I find it unbecoming.
But there’s nothing else I can do when I lay eyes on Jacob Ford in my cafe. It takes my brain a second to catch up, but when it does, I storm over to the front of the counter and say, through gritted teeth, “You’re barred.”
I don’t want to shout because I don’t want to make a scene, but I also don’t want this guy in my cafe for a second longer.
As if the universe has perfect comic timing, the chef wanders out of the kitchen and places a big breakfast in front of Jacob, oblivious to the seething battle we’re having,
“Don’t even start that,” I growl. “I want you to get out right now.”
“Can’t I finish my coffee?” he asks, pouting. “This is the greatest coffee I’ve had possibly in my whole life.”
“Don’t think you can flatter your way out of this,” I scoff. “I don’t like you. I will never like you. I don’t want you here.”
“You can stay, you know,” he says absently, taking another swig from the mug before picking up his knife and fork.
“What? Stay where?”
Jacob takes a bite of hash browns before looking up at me. “You could stay. This cafe. On the island. Once I move in. I like this place. It would be good to have somewhere to get coffee.”
“Oh, so I would be like a servant to you? No freaking way.”
His face falls in surprise at that. He is clearly so detached from the real human world that he can’t understand what it’s like to be a normal person with normal thoughts and feelings; that maybe some of us don’t want all his money or to sell ourselves out.
“Not aservant.” He frowns. “Just… I don’t know, someone who owns a store.”
“Great. Someone who owns a store. For you. It’s all of us or it’s nothing, okay? I’m not leaving this town, and neither is anyone else. You can’t make us.”
He shrugs. “Actually, if I buy it, I can. My land, my rules. Anyway, what’s so great about this town? There are a million other small towns like this, everywhere in the world. Just go somewhere else.”
“Easy for you to say.” I clench my fists, trying to stay calm. I don’t want to cause a scene.
