“We’re ready, Taylor!” he called to my pilot. “Thank you.”
“You know, I’m starting to wonder who is the CEO of this company,” I said. “Last I checked, it was me, correct?”
“It’s you whenever you’re thinking with your brain and not your dick.” He rolled his eyes. “On the occasion that happens, I step in and prevent you from unraveling.”
“You’ve never needed to do that.”
“Until now.” He kept his voice low. “We could’ve gotten any other executive for this mission of yours, and you know it.”
“Miss Stone is not an executive.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t,” I said. “No other high-profile executive has ever worked on the barista level except her, and all her comments and predictions on what our employees want were one hundred percent correct.”
He blinked.
“She did a two-year study on what guests like and don’t like, and when they implemented her changes, in-store profits went up by seven percent.”
“Also—” I refused to give him the chance to interrupt, “it’s not like I can walk into twenty Starbucks in a row without arousing suspicion. It’s better if it’s split between you, Ciara, and the top person at Sweet Seasons, correct?”
“Fine.” He threw up his hands in surrender as the plane rose into the sky. “I might’ve read part of this wrong, but she still only has thirty days of employment left.”
ELEVEN (B)
ANDREA
Five Hours Later
My butt was seconds away from going numb in this hard wooden chair. Worse, the music blaring through the speakers was loud enough to rupture my eardrums.
“An order for Andrea?” The barista called my name as she placed my latte on the counter.
I finished penning a few final notes before retrieving it and walked out to the town car.
When I opened the door, I noticed that Ciara and Aaron were gone. Only Harrison was sitting in the backseat.
“Do you plan on getting in and giving me the coffee, Miss Stone?” he asked. “Or do I need to assist you?”
“I’d rather wait so we won’t be alone.”
“I’m not going to bite you, Miss Stone,” he said. “Even though you strike me as the type who likes that.”
I started to slam the door shut, but he grabbed my wrist before it closed.
“Get in the damn car.” His tone made it clear not to resist. “Now.”
Obliging, I moved into the seat across from him and handed over the latte. I watched him take a long sip and shake his head in disappointment.
“Their customers should sue,” he said. “This isn’t coffee.”
“It never really has been.” I decided to be cordial. “Their customers are conditioned to like them because of their branding and their daily routines.”
“Hmmm.” He rolled down his window and poured the rest of the drink outside. “What about the ambiance in this one? Anything new?”
“Same as the others.” I hit send on my text message with the notes. “Not as inviting as ours by a long shot, and their employees look as miserable as I feel.”
“That last part of your comment was unnecessary.”
