“Oh God, yes. She’s a gem. And HR already checked her out. She helped serve at some Beaufort events in LA before she and her boyfriend moved to the city.”
Not as good as a full security check Denver could do, but it’ll suffice for now. And she’ll have had extra vetting if she’s a teacher.
“I see. Thank you.”
I sit and fire off some strongly worded emails to legal, informing them to be ready for an imminent conference call, while Molly finishes her drink and colors in a picture of a bunny eating a carrot.
“You ready, Sweetheart?” I ask after she proudly holds it up for my inspection and I take my time to study it, telling her it’s the best colored-in rabbit I’ve ever seen.
“I want Den-va.” She pouts as she takes my hand and slides off her chair.
“Denver’s busy today. You’ll have fun with Clare. Daddy won’t be long, and then you can play in my office.”
She stops walking and I ready myself for negotiations. Last time Molly dug her heels in, it cost me a day at the zoo and a custom-made princess carriage bed just to get her onboard. And she still won’t sleep in it every night.
“Molly,” I say as I turn.
But she’s not stopped to be stubborn. She’s stopped to beam at the redhead behind the counter who’s fixing another drink.
Molly thrusts her picture up in the airproudly.
“That’s beautiful. Did you do that yourself, or did your daddy help you?”
The redhead’s light blue eyes flick from the purple scribble that’s spilling over the lines of the drawing, to mine, then back to Molly as she gives her a bright smile.
“Me.” Molly grins.
“Good job.”
My daughter glows under her praise, and images flash into my head of all the redhead’s kindergarten pupils looking at her like this. She has something about her that kids must pick up on. Some people are born naturally good with kids. The rest of us have to learn when we become parents.
“For you,” Molly declares, brandishing the paper higher.
“Molly, the lady’s busy,” I say.
“Not too busy to admire this masterpiece,” the redhead says, looking at Molly and ignoring me, as she wipes her hands on her apron, leaving brown smudges behind.
She steps closer and takes the picture from Molly, holding it between both hands as she studies it. The same guy who slipped his number in the tip jar earlier hovers at the counter even though he’s already got a drink in his hand. His eyes drop to the redhead’s cleavage as she leans over to talk to Molly. He sees me watching and raises his brows like we’re bros sharing some harmless eye candy.
I glower at him until he looks away, clearing his throat and pulling on his collar.
“Are you sure I can keep this? It’s very good.”
Molly nods at her.
“Thank you. I’ll hang it right up over here where people can see how pretty it is.” She comes out from behind the counter and walks to a small noticeboard on the wall where there are posters about a book club, a charity of the month the coffee house is donating to, and some thank you cards that have small essays written inside. “There,” she announces,pinning the picture in the center, then standing back with her hands on her hips to admire it.
The douche at the counter takes the opportunity to check out her ass.
“You waiting on something?” I snap in his direction, unable to help myself.
“Did I fix you the wrong thing? Americano with a shot of caramel syrup, wasn’t it?” The redhead’s eyes widen, and she looks like she’s actually worried about disappointing the jerk.
“No, it tastes perfect, Tate. Yours always do.” He flashes an overly toothy smile at her. “I was actually…” He glances at me, looking me up and down—a microsecond scan trying to decipher the level of competition I pose. His eyes flick to Molly and his shoulders relax like he’s got nothing to worry about.
My teeth grind, and I rub my thumb over Molly’s tiny hand inside mine.
“… I was thinking we could grab a coffee together when you finish your shift. There’s a place I know a block from here that makes a great cup.”
