Page 20 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

I frown. “If he doesn’t exist, how did he inherit it? And aren’t we here to see him?”

“Mr. Del Ray definitely exists. He owns this entire building.” The receptionist curls her lip again. “I’m supposed to believe this working-class machine is the heiress to the Del Ray fortune? You’re a con artist, and a poor one, at that.”

“If I was a con artist, would I come here in an espresso machine? No! I’d come in a sexy hot body with designer clothes and a handbag that cost more than your house. Con artists have to look believable, like that super old lady who claimed to be Queen of England when she sold my friends and me LSD by the London Bridge.”

“Umm…” I say and trail off because I honestly don’t know how to react to that story.

I have about a hundred follow-up questions that I struggle to hold back. When were you in England? You tried LSD? Why was an old lady selling it? Why did she pretend to be the queen?

I know this isn’t the time, or the place… but I have a hell of a time holding them all back.

The receptionist’s nostrils flare. “Clean the floor or get out of the building before I call the cops.”

Diva trembles against my hand and my chest. I didn’t know an espresso machine could do that. “Put me down on the desk.” Her voice is cold as the lakeshore on a winter night.

“Maybe we should go,” Nephrite says. “I don’t want to get handcuffed again. No one should ever be handcuffed outside the bedroom.”

I nod in agreement. “And I can’t skip a job interview and get arrested in one day. My mom would have an aneurysm.”

Diva shakes even harder, and I worry I’ll drop her. “Milan stole my money. I’m not leaving until I get it back.”

Nephrite and I share a glance. Staying is important to Diva, but she can’t actually do it without our help. She can’t go anywhere unless we carry her.

But if we stay, we’d probably get arrested, and I’m not sure what the police do with possessed espresso machines who break the law. Unplug her? Seal her in a box like they did at the airport? Throw her in a dumpster?

“Put me on the desk,” she repeats in that cold voice.

I glance between the desk and the door.

Chapter 10

Fletcher

The receptionist glares at us from her desk. “I’m going to count to five, and then I’m calling the police.”

“Please, help me,” Diva’s voice cracks. She sounds like she’s going to cry.

“One,” the receptionist says.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Two.” The nasally threat echoes through the lobby.

I know that staying is a terrible idea, but I can’t stand the idea of letting Diva down.

“Three.”

I tune out the annoying sound as the ache in my chest grows. I can’t be the monster who carries Diva out of the building steaming and screaming. Even if it means getting arrested and dropping my mom’s already low opinion of me another notch.

“Four.”

I glance at Nephrite, then down at the espresso machine who can make my chest tighten with a single please. “Let’s do this?”

“Five.”

Nephrite’s shoulders droop in resignation. “I really hope my guys don’t have to fly to Toronto—”

“I said five!”