“It was great,” I lie, handing over my card. “Although I’m paying for it now. I’m not used to partying it up on a school night.”
“Not like some of the guys in your place.” He grins, handing me my coffee. “I see them stumbling out of their Ubers in the morning, downing Red Bulls and popping Advil.”
I roll my eyes. “That sounds about right.”
He gives me my card back and leans over the counter, his hands dangling relaxed like he hasn’t a care in the world. “I hope you’re still going to your boxing class tonight. Don’t let a hangover keep you from taking care of yourself.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. Damn Jimmy’s elephant memory. I told himoncethat I started boxing classes, and now he asks me about it every week without fail.
“Yeah, probably,” I lie again, knowing full well that I’ll be lucky if I can squeeze in a bathroom break, let alone an hour of punching out my frustrations.
“How is Winnie feeling this week?” Jimmy asks, looking seriously concerned. Bless him. “I hope the vet figured out why she was off her food?”
“He thinks she has mild gastritis. She’s okay but she’s on some specially formulated digestive care food. Which she isnotimpressed with.” I take a sip of my coffee, remembering Winnie’s look of betrayal when I served her the new food.
“That smells absolutely delightful.” A posh voice pipes up behind me.
I turn to see an elderly guy with a bowler hat and the saddest gray eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m sure I’ve seen him around the area before, but I can’t quite place him and it’s too early in the morning.
“That’s because I gave Jimmy my special beans to use.” I smile, trying not to sound like I’m bragging about my coffee snobbery. “Heavenly when brewed just right, which Jimmy always does.”
Turning to Jimmy, I gesture toward Mr. Sad Eyes. “Jimmy, make the gentleman a cup with my beans. None of that usual bland stuffthey make you use.” I shudder at the thought of subjecting this poor soul to the horrors of the standard TLS brew.
Jimmy’s eyes widen, and he take a quick inhale of breath. “You better be going to work, or you’ll be late, kiddo.”
“You’ve changed your tune.” I laugh, slipping Jimmy a generous tip. “You’re forever telling me I work too hard. Now you’re shooing me off to work and it’s eight a.m. Go on, use my brand for the gentleman.” I turn to him. “It’ssomuch better.”
Mr. Sad Eyes raises an eyebrow at me, clearly shocked by my impromptu act of coffee kindness. He mumbles a quick thank you, his voice barely audible over the hiss of the espresso machine.
“I hope you like it.” I smile, trying to inject some warmth into his stormy gray eyes as Jimmy hands over the coffee.
“With that aroma, no doubt I will. Thank you,” he says awkwardly, then takes a sip and nods. “Very good indeed.”
As the old guy walks off Jimmy bursts into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I demand.
“You didn’t recognize him? That was Sir Whitmore, you know, the man who owns the company that funds these carts?”
I choke on my own coffee, the hot liquid searing my throat as I splutter. Yeah, I bloody well know who Sir Whitmore is. The real question is, how the hell did I not recognize him? He looks so much older and frailer in real life.
“You’re shitting me,” I rasp, feeling like I’ve just burnt my own house down.
He’s here for the big meeting with Liam and the lawyers this morning. And I just served him my personal stash of coffee and insulted his company’s brew to his face. If Liam finds out, he’ll murder me. Rip me apart with his bare hands.
Jimmy, oblivious to my internal meltdown, just keeps grinning. “He’s not usually around this area. He always visits the carts wherever he is, but his offices aren’t near here.”
My pulse quickens. I’ve never talked to Jimmy about what’s happening with TLS right now, about the takeover that’s looming on the horizon. The business is floundering hard, on the brink of administration. If it goes under, it could lead to the closure of all its stores and the loss of around 20,000 jobs. And that will surely be the death of the charity that runs these carts.
He grins. “Come for a chat later!”
I force a smile, the muscles in my face straining with the effort. “I’ll try,” I tell him, but we both know I won’t have time. I never do.
As I walk away, my stomach twists with guilt and dread. I really hope Jimmy doesn’t lose his job. The man was homeless for years for all of his twenties, and now here he is at thirty, grinding away at a cart, serving ungrateful suits day in and day out. And yet, he’s always got a smile on his face. If I ever need a dose of perspective, Jimmy is my go-to guy.
Meanwhile Brandon is up there crying because he didn’t get a new Lamborghini this year, even though I know for a fact he just bought himself a Porsche.
It’s almost like last night never happened. I smash the send button on what feels like my ten thousandth email of the day. I haven’t seen Liam all morning and it’s nearly lunchtime.
