I gasped. It was official. My best friend was a genius. A glance at the clock on my kitchen wall told me I still had plenty of time to make the trade.
I jerked the clock down and shoved it in the cabinet beneath the sink. Its peace sign and flower-power motif didn’t jive well with the books on investments and corporate America Jovie had lent me. “You are one smart capitalist, my friend,” I said. “Don’t let anyone tell you those years at college were a waste. Hold on while I hire him. We’ll be right up.”
I hung up with Jovie and slid my window open. “Hey, Cash.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and I swallowed hard. Our eyes met, and my cheeks heated.
Nerves.
It was only nerves. I had a lot riding on this. I needed Cash to accept the job so I could have my best shot at impressing a woman who’d never taken an interest in me beyond telling me to sit up straight the few times we went to visit her in New England.
“What’s up, Willow? Needhelpwith something?” His good-natured smirk sent an annoying wave of goosebumps across my arms.
“No, I don'tneed help. I'm hiring."
"Isn't that kind of the same thing?"
Crud. I hadn't thought of it that way. There was more to Cash than his pretty face. He had a brain—and it worked. I pretended I didn't hear him. "Do you want to make some money?”
His brows flicked up, and he took a couple steps toward my window. “A paying job? I’m listening.”
“Help me move my futon up to Jovie’s place and her couch down to my place.”
One side of his mouth melted into a genuine smile that was so perfect it belonged on the silver screen. He chuckled softly. “I’m not even going to ask.”
“Good.” I threw my shoulders back and pretended my job offer was perfectly normal. “Want the job or not?”
“When.”
“Now.”
“Like, now now, or a little later now? Because this furry guy is having a lot of fun, and I’d hate to cut it short.” He patted the barrel-chested beast panting beside him.
“I don’t even know what ‘later now’ means. Now means now, and that’s when I need the job done.I’m expecting company, and I—” Why was I explaining myself to him? Employers didn’t answer questions. They asked them. “So, are you available?”
"If I had a nickel for every time a beautiful woman asked me that—"
I crossed my arms and cocked a hip. "You'd have a nickel," I deadpanned.
He belted out a heartier laugh than I'd have expected for a guy who'd just been owned. “What’s the pay?”
I froze. Whatwasthe pay? Baristas, even cute ones like me, have never been known for receivingfatpaychecks.
Money was tight—tighter than high school jeans tried on ten years after graduation! But like one of the book covers Jovie had lent me said, you have to spend money to make money. And I had a pretty good hunch that no high-dollar negotiations had ever been successfully conducted on a squeaky, metal-framed futon.
“Twenty dollars.”
He puckered his lips and sucked in a sharp breath as if my offer had caused him physical pain. “Twenty bucks for a rush job? I don’t know if it’s worth it to me.”
“Twenty-five,” I blurted.
“Fifty and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Thirty dollars and you help us put the furniture back when we’re done. That’s my final offer.” It didn’t matter how badly I wanted Jovie’s couch for Grandmother’s impending visit. Thirty dollars had to be my final offer. It was my share of the tip jar over the past weekend, and it was all the cash I had.
“Double the work?” He crossed his arms and made a show of trying to decide what to do. “Call me crazy, but you’ve just hired yourself some muscle.” He did some sort of absurd Mr. Universe muscle man pose and flexed.
The man’s ego knew no bounds.
