Unfortunately, my timeline isn’t working the way I need it to. I put the cart before the horse on a few things. A colossal cart that won’t budge. I worked all morning and only four people came in.One didn’t even order a drink, but asked to use the restroom. I don’t doubt that Coffee Loft as a franchise has the tools it needs to help me turn this location around, but it could take time.
Time is expensive. I won’t have the money to pay Grandma this month, but I don’t want her to think I’m using her. I need to explain the situation now, so she isn’t upset with me.
I drop my forehead into my palms and rub at the tension that’s been there all week. No amount of peppermint mocha will help.
I’m out of options.
I press on my grandmother’s number and hold my breath, counting the rings. One. Two. This won’t take long. My grandmother sits next to her phone. If anything, she is probably playing Candy Crush on it. She has been a loyal addict of that game—and only that game—since it was first introduced. She must be on level one million by now. I count rings until it goes to voicemail. My insides freeze. She ignored my call. Then my internal organs add another layer of ice.
What am I going to do? She’s going to think I blew her off and took advantage of her if I don’t pay her.
I rake my fingers through my hair. I already paid an enormous amount of money to have mailers sent out to people in the neighborhood for free promo drinks next week. I’ve got commercials running, and radio ads booked. Short of begging on the street for people to come in, I don’t know what to do to drive up business. It takes time for word to get out that this isn’t the same old run-down coffee place it was.
How does this place have literally no customers?
For the first time, my denial wanes, and now anger bubbles in my gut.
Is the road blocked off?
Something is up.
I furrow my brow and stride to the door. Something must be going on in town to take all the people. A concert or a holidayparade. That must be it. I’m too new to town. I didn’t even think to look at the schedule of events.
I place my hands on the glass door, gazing down the street. Traffic. Pretty boisterous, if you ask me. Why is nobody stopping in? My sign says open. I even double-check it, flipping it to closed and back again.
I turn my head to check the other direction. What I see startles me so much that my eyes immediately swell and bug out of my head, while my brain sets off a countdown to an explosion.
My hands ball into fists, and I struggle not to slam my hand through the glass.I’m about to flip my froth,butI don’t need a repair bill.
Portia—my annoying ex-employee—is standing right outside my door. Her cheeks are rosy from the icy air, but she’s bundled up in a heavy winter coat with a red and white striped scarf around her neck. Aside from the fact that she looks more festively beautiful than any actress in a Christmas movie, I can’t stand to look at her. She is holding a French press by the handle, drinking coffee straight from it through a loopy straw!
Clearly, she is doing it to taunt me.
Was she serious about telling people I have mold?
She's running off all my customers!
This must be illegal.
It’s clearly not ethical.
It’s sabotage!
My brain flashes to her saying I wouldn’t last a week without her. Now I know her plan.
She’s unhinged! Like an oversized barn door flapping in the wind, teasing for the next giant windstorm where it goes flying out to kill someone. She’s dangerous!
She’s getting revenge on me for firing her.Oh.I rub my hands together, working up my own plan. Something to steal her—or rather MY—customers back.
It must be fast.
It has to be cheap.
I don’t have time to waste. I’m bleeding money, and she is lying to all my customers.
I rub my temples as I think of a way to stop it.
I’ve got it!
