“You could say that.”
Then we just stare at each other. Why does the most annoying man in Heaven have to be so cute? And why did we have to get off on the wrong foot? Not that he would ever date me, even if I wasn’t his employee, or I hadn’t crash-landed into his boutique on day one. I’m definitely not his type. Too many piercings, not enough cleavage, no manners to speak of, and addicted to both my clothes and coffee being black.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asks, taking a small step closer and blocking out the rest of the coffee shop.
My cheeks instantly heat. “Um, well. I’m interviewing. I think.” If the boss ever gets here.
“Ah, I see. You need a job?”
Is it just me or is his eye doing that twinkling thing again?
I clear my throat. “Yes. I’ve recently become unemployed.”
Silas grins and it makes my stupid insides leap for joy and then melt into a puddle. He slides into the chair across from me, his hands on top of the table, leaning into my space.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. I can’t have him here when the boss comes to interview me. He’ll ruin the interview, and I really need this job.
Silas rolls his lips inward and then lets them go. My gaze snags on the movement, realizing for the first time that he has very nice lips. Full, but not overly so. Soft. Surrounded by the barest of stubble. The kind that would leave my pale skin red and irritated if?—
“I’m interviewing you for the job, storm cloud.”
My startled gaze flies to his face, finally registering the smug smile and the name tag pinned to the left breast of his polo shirt.
Silas Winthrop, Owner
Well, fuck me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Silas
“Interesting turn of events, huh?”I can practically feel the smug smile dripping off my face. “Of all the coffee joints in all the world, she walks into mine.”
Betsy lives up to her nickname by crossing her arms over her chest and glowering at me. “You’re not hot enough to be Humphrey Bogart.”
The insult only has me grinning harder. “Do you know how bad you are at first impressions?”
I think back to her flying through the rack of clothing on her first day at Harp and Hemline, a scene I’m pretty sure she’s reliving based on the blush stealing across her face. Her lips twitch and I hold my breath, wondering if I just might see a smile from Betsy Mae Coldreign.
Sadly, she snuffs it out as quickly as it arrived, leaning her elbows on the table like a ten-pound pit bull who doesn’t know it’s tiny. “Seriously? You own Cloud Nine too?”
I tap my badge. “Sure do. First rule of business: diversify.”
“Second rule of business: dress for success.” Betsy gives me an up-and-down glance, then sniffs, clearly unimpressed with my polo.
I can’t help the laugh that sneaks out. God, this woman has some good comebacks. Most of the time, I can’t think of something scathing to say to someone until the next day. Not Betsy though. Her tongue is as sharp as those studs decorating her ears.
Honestly, I’ve been pretty angry at Betsy for quitting on me. Her research was impeccable, but she didn’t stay long enough to see it through. She left me hanging and then has the audacity to show up at my coffee shop begging for a job? Ridiculous.
But today is a new day, and I’m not one to hold a grudge. I spread my hands open, hoping for a truce of sorts. My pinkie brushes against a piece of paper and my gaze drops to it. It’s a résumé. Betsy’s résumé. I whip it around and glance over it, skimming through to the important parts.
“You have a marketing degree and another one in horticulture?”
Betsy sits up straight. “Yes. I thought opening a flower farm would be my part in saving the planet, but then I killed everything I touched, so I had to pivot.”
I’m biting back a laugh. “Ah, the storm cloud strikes again.”
She glares at me. “I got a marketing degree, but then no one was hiring more than minimum wage for that degree in California where I lived. As you can see, I have extensive barista training.”
