I straighten my spine as he bypasses the line and walks straight to the counter where I’m taking payment from a customer.
“Tate. We need to talk.”
His cool blue eyes fix on my face, but I don’t give him any more than a brief glance before I smile at the man and take the card machine back.
“Your drink will be at the end in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” the man replies, giving me a quick glance up and down before he throws a generous tip into the jar.
“Tate.” Sullivan tries again, but I keep my gaze forward.
“Who’s next, please?”
The couple’s eyes are fixed on the menu board, still deciding.
“Tate,” Sullivan says, his voice lowering. “I’ve been calling you. I couldn’t get through. Did you block me?”
I snort. He’s so full of himself if he thinks I would go to the trouble of blocking him in case he called me again.
“Why were you calling?” I keep facing forward but lower my voice, aware of the waiting line. “What are you going to accuse me of stealing this time? It’s obviously not your human decency, seeing as you already lost that.”
I finally look at him and his eyes are waiting to pin me in place with an intensity that scorches the back of my neck.
“I’m…” A vein pulses in his temple like he’s finding it hard to get his words out. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t take it.”
“I told you that a week ago,” I reply, turning my attention back to the couple who are ready to order.
Who does he think he is? Barging in here like this. Does he expect me to accept his apology just like that? Like I haven’t spent days feeling like crap and not sleeping because of what he did.
“Tate?” Sullivan leans over the counter in front of the customers and I glare at him.
“There’s a line,” I hiss.
His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “Fine,” he forces out. He turns and walks to the back of the line, then stands there in his navy suit, arms folded, and legs spread in an arrogant asshole stance.
I keep serving, listening to Ashley’s grumbles and derisions as she fixes the drinks. Sullivan seems unaffected by the death glares she’s sending his way. His eyes remain fixed on me until only one person remains in the line ahead of him.
Taking my time serving the woman, I engage in extra chat about what her plans are for the day, drawing out my interaction with her for as long as possible. Sullivan’s brow is creased so deeply when she finally moves along that I’m surprised I can’t see his skull.
“Tate—”
“What will it be?” I fake a smile.
A muscle in his jaw twitches and he reaches for his wallet and pulls out his card. “The usual.”
“I’m sorry, what’s that?”
Ashley snorts behind me and Sullivan purses his lips like he’s just sucked a lemon. To think I used to feel intimidated by him. I was so quiet in his presence. Not myself at all. I found him imposing and difficult to talk to. Rude, frankly. I felt so out of place in his company. But I no longer give a shit what he thinks of me, seeing as he’s already shown me his opinion of me couldn’t get any lower by calling me a thief.
The only thing I want to steal is the mistaken idea his over-inflated ego has that I’ll forgive him easily.
“Latte, double shot, please,” he says through gritted teeth.
I hold out the card machine and he pays.
“It’ll be ready down at the end,” I tell him.
Ashley clears her throat pointedly and he arches a brow before he pulls a wad of notes out of his wallet without counting them and tosses them into the tip jar.
