The situation was escalating. The people in line behind the woman shifted away. Lauren had seen that kind of body language before. They didn’t want to get involved. They didn’t want the drama.
Lauren, on the other hand, had already proved she was a total sucker for other people’s problems. Her faculty advisor had cautioned her about her tendency to get personally involved.Empathy is a good thing, Eleanor had said gently.No one questions your ability to connect with clients. But our emphasis here is research, not therapy. You don’t want to put your own future at risk by losing your professional focus.
Which was great advice until, say, somebody drew a gun.
The band around Lauren’s lungs tightened. Not a helpful thought.Breathe in, two, three, four...
“I’m Jane. The owner,” the blonde was saying. “If you’d like me to make you another drink—”
“What I’d like is a real Irish coffee,” the angry woman said. “It’s false advertising, that’s what it is.”
The blonde flushed scarlet.
Lauren’s face heated in sympathy.The hell with it. She abandoned her breathing and jumped up, grabbing her empty mug.
Hot Cop spoke. “This is a bakery, not a bar.” His deep voice raised all the little hairs along Lauren’s arms. “You want a drink at ten in the morning, you’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”
Okay, so his by-the-book attitude wasn’t going to win the bakery any patrons, Lauren acknowledged. But at least he was stepping in, defending the princess against attack.
The unhappy customer folded thin, tanned arms across her skinny bosom, and turned to give the interloper a piece of her mind. But faced with Hot Cop’s cool air of authority, she faltered. “But I’m on vacation,” she said almost plaintively.
He regarded her impassively from behind mirrored sunglasses. “Yes, ma’am. Have a nice stay.”
“Carolina sea salt caramel latte to go,” the owner, Jane, said, setting a drink with a clear-domed lid on the counter. “On the house.”
The customer pursed her lips. “Skim?”
It was important in negotiations, Lauren had learned, to give the hostage taker an opportunity to save face.
Jane nodded. “And whipped cream.”
The thin woman took the cup without thanks or payment. The door bells rattled in her wake.
Hot Cop looked at Jane. “You really want to start rewarding customers for bad behavior?”
Jane’s flush deepened.
Lauren dumped her dirty mug into the bus tray. “I’m pretty sure she just wanted to get her out of here before she made a scene.”
The sunglasses turned in her direction. “You don’t stop bullies by appeasing them.”
Memory tightened Lauren’s chest, constricted her throat. Lying flat on the bank floor, her face pressed to the cool tiles, the smell of fear rank in her nostrils...
She pushed the memory away. Pushed down her nausea.Helpful thoughts. She smiled.Focus on the positive. “Sometimes you do whatever it takes to survive.”
His dark brows flicked up. “Her survival isn’t in question.”
Right. Not every confrontation was a life-or-death moment. But... “It is if a customer decides to trash her bakery online,” Lauren pointed out.
“Thank you,” Jane said.
Hot Cop didn’t budge. “So, in your opinion, she should compromise her principles to avoid a customer lying in a bad review.”
“I think compromise is always a good idea. Especially if it gets you what you want.”
“Here’s your coffee,” Jane said, setting it on the counter. “Black. No sugar.”
“And two large to go, please.”
