“That’s good you're keeping perspective. Do you think it’ll help to give up on school?”
She emits a disgruntled sigh, but it doesn’t shut down the conversation. “It seems like I quit school because ofhim, but it’s really two separate things.”
I’m still not sure whathimshe’s talking about, but I don’t interrupt. She continues, “If school had been right for me, I wouldn’t have willingly ditched it so much. I don’t see what the point of the expense is. At least for right now, I’d be happy working with you. If you need help at the Coffee Loft.” She draws one side of her lips into an unconvincing smile.
A knot scratches at the back of my throat while I mentally inventory my bank account. It’s easy to do because it’s etched into my brain. A big fat zero balance. I’m starting to consider this Coffee Loft endeavor to be a mistake. I don’t bother her with my concern. I reverse the focus back to her. “I finished college before I started this business. No matter what happens with my Coffee Loft, I can always fall back on my MBA. You need to have something to fall back on.”
“See, that’s where we're different.” She holds up an index finger, injecting a point. “Unlike you, I have my good looks to fall back on.”
Her dead-serious expression pins on her face, but I instantly crack into laughter. “You may have a point. Beauty over brains.” I shake my head at this conversation. “I’m glad you learned the most important stuff while you were at school.”
“It’s important to explore all of your options, which is why I think you need to try this app—”
I clear my throat, and a sequence of tiny explosions ripples out. “Are you trying to upset me?”
“No, I’m trying to get you to lighten up, but apparently you hate fun.”
“I don’t hate fun. I don’t have time for it.” Sneering, I avoid looking at her. “I have responsibilities I can’t run away from.”
"I see." Her lips purse out while she quietly nods. “Now, we are passive-aggressively insulting.”
“Was that passive aggressive?” I cocked my head toward her. “I’m sorry. I meant it to be direct.”
“Woah!” She flashes her palm in my face in a stop motion. “Where is this coming from? All this built-up rage. Clearly, you need to do some sugar detoxing. Too much mocha in the mornings.”
Determined not to let this conversation turn into a full-fledged argument, I raise my gaze to the heavens and release it. “I’m not arguing about this, El. We are two different people. I don’t pressure you to live your life the way I think you should. I would appreciate the same respect.”
“I get it,” her voice treads softly. “You don’t want to be told what to do.”
“No, I don’t,” I affirm as strongly as I can, while we pass through the hotel lobby together. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Okay, so what if instead of telling you what to do, Isuggestsomething?” There’s a distrustful hint of strange blue in her eyes, which I’d only ever seen when she was trying to frame me to get in trouble for something she did.
I narrow my gaze, proceeding with caution. “And what is it that you want tosuggestI do?”
“For starters, I think you need to offer Portia her job back.”
“What?” My eyebrow spikes, and my tone crescendos in annoyance.
“Don’t make that face at me,” El rushes. “You know I’m right.”
“First, I’m not responsible for what my face does when I speak.” I steel my face, trying to control it even though I know it’s pointless. “And second, no. Why would I do that?”
“Well, to put it bluntly, you were a jerk to fire her at all, let alone at Christmas time, and you’re barely managing to walk on two feet. You’re really struggling. I don’t mind helping, but she’s a pro.”
“El, it wasn’t about me being nice, or a jerk, or whatever. You said it yourself: the Coffee Loft is dead quiet. Even if she was a lovely peach of a person, I don’t have the business to keep her there. It was a business decision.”
She points a finger gun at me. “Still a jerk, and didn’t you notice your customers were her customers first. They will gladly line up to get coffee from her if they knew she's back.”
“Who’s to say she’d even come back?”
“She’ll come back because you’re going to beg her to.”
I cough out a series of O’s, tacking on at the end, “Oh, no, I won’t.”
“Look.” She flicks her hand out in a gesture toward me as we walk into the elevator. “The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”
“I fired her to get rid of her—”
