He arched his brow, and my stomach betrayed me with low and unwelcome fluttering.
“I’m assuming you’re someone who’s never been told no in your life, but guess what?”
“What?” His eyes flicked to my lips, then slowly back up.
“At Sweet Seasons, no one is above anyone else, and no one cuts in line—not even me, someone who is actually at the top of the food chain.”
“So you’re a shift supervisor here?” He looked amused. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m telling you to use the damn app or wait your turn for a bulk order instead of trying to skip the people who are just here for a regular cup or two.”
“It’s way too early in the morning for you to be wound up like this.” He was too damn attractive. “Is this how you normally are?”
“Tell the barista you’ll wait, and then get comfortable at the back of the line.” I refused to let his looks distract me.
“I have a remedy for your problem,” he said, his gaze dropping just long enough to make my skin tingle. “But you probably wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a few days…”
I swallowed hard.
For half a second, I imagined just how his lips would feel against mine, or how he would—Wake the hell up, Andrea!
“What did you just say?” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
“We both know you heard every word.”
“Cutting the line and serving some sexual harassment on the side?” I crossed my arms. “What a turn-on, sir.”
“You’re blushing, so it must be.” He let out a low laugh and pulled a black card from his wallet.
Then he held it up for the barista.
“I’ll pay for everyone’s coffee and also give them a five-hundred-dollar gift card for this inconvenience.” He looked down at me. “If that’s alright with Miss Tightly Wound Up, that is.”
“No, it is not,” I said. “You’re still skipping and being rude.”
“Shut the hell up, lady!” “Yeah, pipe down!” “We’ll wait for him to get done!”
Every customer in line turned on me at once, and just like that, he wasn’t the asshole anymore—I was.
Their stares burned in my direction—but his felt deliberate, like he owned the outcome.
I didn’t dare risk saying another word.
“Sounds like the people have spoken,” the suit said. “Can you move out of my way now?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped aside.
Helpless, I watched as the baristas made over thirty coffees, stealing glances at the impatient, sexy suit every chance they could.
Between every set of completed cups, his eyes found mine and lingered, like he was daring me to look away.
When the final latte was mixed, he purchased a batch of five-hundred-dollar gift cards as promised. Then he handed them out one by one while a fresh group of younger suits came in and retrieved all the coffees for him.
Of course, he’s too good to carry them out of the store himself.
He held out the final gift card to me, and my hand must not have received the “slap that shit away” memo from my brain, because I was slipping it into my pocket within seconds.
“You’re welcome, Miss,” he said, lowering his voice. “I hope you find someone who can unwind you sooner rather than later.”
