“AndI’mthe shark,” I mumble, pushing through the kitchen doors and wincing, the blister on my toe burning as I step to the register.
And as if the blisters these stupid tennis shoes give me aren’t enough, I see his stupid face waiting on the other side of the register.
My first customer of the day.
His stupid handsome face!
He shouldn’tbe here. Especially not in that ridiculously sexy suit that hugs all of his muscles. The white button up is tucked into his dark pants with a Gucci belt around his waist—hate that.
Hecan’tbe here. I don’t know what his mother will do if she finds out. I don’t know what she will do tomeand everything I have now.
“Hello,” I say, logging in no the iPad. “What can I get you today?”
He steps right up to the counter. “How’s your day going?”
“Fine. What can I get you?”
Christian smiles and I can’t hate it even if I try. “My day just got better.”
“Corny,” I say. “What can I get you?”
“Scone and a latte?—”
“Got it.”
“I didn’t finish?—”
“I’ve known your order since our first date, Christian,” I grumble. “That’ll be twenty five dollars.”
Christian smirks. “Since our first date?”
I roll my eyes, realizing my mistake. It was a slip up and it won’t happen again. “Thirty dollars now.”
He smiles and opens his wallet. He taps his card to the reader, paying the correct amount for the latte and scone. Then he takes out a hundred dollar bill from his leather YSL wallet, and drops it in the mason jar for tips.
I gape at him and take it out. “I refuse.”
“Lana—”
“Don’t be obnoxious,” I say and shove the bill at him. “I don’t need handouts.”
“It isn’t a handout, it’s a tip.”
“Don’t do that.” I walk away toward the pastry cafe and take a scone to warm up while I make the latte. He follows every step I take from the opposite side of the counter.
“What am I doing, Lana?”
I steam the milk, face and neck burning. “Pitying me.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“Then don’t leave a hundred dollars in my tip jar!”
“Fine! It isn’t for you, it’s for your staff!”
“Then leave the hundred dollars!”
“Fine!”
