Page 51 of Heat & Deceit
Randal shakes his head. “No, it was me. I should have slowed down.”
“I’ll get a mop.” I shake my head. “But first, I have to get the muffins.”
He huffs. “Amara was late, and there wasn’t enough time to restock.”
“It’ll be okay. Let me get the muffins, and she can clean up the milk when she comes back. Otherwise, we’ll be really behind.”
“Okay, I’ll drop some paper towels on the mess for now,” Randal mutters.
We break apart, and I grab the muffins before carefully power walking back to the front. The woman is still waiting patiently when I hand over the muffin and take her payment. A few people behind her are fidgeting with impatience.
“Thank you so much for grabbing me the muffin.”
“You’re welcome. Your order will be ready at the end of the bar.” I give her a real smile before returning to my customer-service self. “So sorry about the wait. What can I get started for you?”
“Well, I’d like a cappuccino, but now I don’t know if I have time to make it to work.”
I blink and keep the patient look in place. “Would you like to order one?”
“Yes,” he says like I’m an idiot.
“Okay.” The forced cheer in my voice goes unnoticed. Asshole. “Is a medium okay?”
“It’s fine.”
Sometimes, the worst thing about this job isn’t the work; it’s the people. Customer service is no joke.
“That’ll be five ninety-five.”
He balks but doesn’t complain. I ring him up in no time and move on to the next customer. Randal is frantic behind the machine, doing his best to multitask, because he’s six tickets deep.
I finish the order I’m taking and say, “If you’ll give me just one moment,” before going to help Randal get things situated. I fill up the next two steamer cups with milk and prep a portafilter.
“You’re an angel, thank you.” Randal pops on a lid and hands off the drink he just made, and I go back to the register.
“I’m so sorry for your wait. We’re a little behind today, but we should have your coffee ready in no time.” I crane my neck to meet the tall alpha’s gaze. “What can I get started for you?”
His suit is obnoxiously starched, in that old money sort of way, and the severe line between his nose only gouges deeper when his lip curls. “I’ve been in line for five minutes.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry about the wait. There was an accident with the milk—”
“Explanations are only convenient ways to excuse laziness.”
Oh, hell no.
I drop the customer-service smile. “Would you like to order?”
Scowling, he leans over the counter, looming over me. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”
A douche. There’s only one type of alpha who would feel the need to point out who they are. Royal alphas—pure-blooded alphas—are notorious for being self-conceited and prone to throwing their status around like it still means something. A few years ago, him being a royal alpha would mean something. Now, though, with the Council making changes, he’s only an alpha. A rich, douche of an alpha.
“I’m sorry. I don’t recognize you.” Though I’m not really sorry, it’s the only polite thing to say.
“Where’s Javier?” he snaps.
My back stiffens. “I think he’s in the back.”
“Call him out here.”
