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“Come on,” I say. “I can’t let a kid with no job buy me coffee. That would make me an ass.”
She raises those perfect brown eyebrows. “I’m not a kid, I’m 22. Also, how do you know I don’t already have a job and that I’m not being poached by another company?”
I pay for our coffee drinks, then turn to her as we step aside to wait. “Because you have that look in your eye.”
“What look is that?”
“Hungry,” I reply with no hesitation.
“Desperate, you mean? Great.” She rolls her eyes. “I’d better fix that before my interview.”
“No. Literally hungry. Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
She laughs louder. “Smooth.”
The barista hands us our coffees. The strong brew braces me for whatever she dishes out next, but I’m still not ready.
“Give me the dirt on Larry. You two used to date or something?” The woman winks one twinkling eye as she sips her iced oat milk brown sugar latte with whip and salted caramel swirl.
It takes me a minute to figure out what she’s talking about because I’m busy committing her coffee order to memory.
“The bus driver? Shit, no. He’s a notorious grump, and I’ve been taking his route for years.”
She nods and sips her coffee.
“Good to know. Well, I’ll buy a car if I get this job, so that will be my first and last encounter with the infamous Larry.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Must be a lucrative job. Where are you interviewing?”
She smiles slyly and gestures over her shoulder. “The Rushmore,” she says.
“In guest services, or…”
She shakes her head. “I’m interviewing for the sous chef at the restaurant there. The Rubicon?”
Interesting. Very interesting. I should have known by the earrings, which, upon closer inspection, look like tiny chef’s knives.
“You look like you’ve heard of it, and not in a good way. Spill it!”
Do I tell her she can’t work there because the chef is a complete tool who talks down to his female employees? I hate to burst her bubble and send her packing to Tulsa, or wherever that accent is from. A lot of chefs are jerks, unfortunately. She’s going to have to learn to deal with a lot of unpleasant people in this business. I vow to do the right thing before she accepts the job, and at least help coach her on how to deal with Chef Richard.
But man, I really hate that guy.
“No, I’m just impressed with you, that’s all,” I nod casually, seething at the idea of that guy working with her.
“I’m Journey, by the way.”
“I’m Jay.” I give her the name that only my college track coach called me. Why do I do this? I can’t really explain it. Maybe I don’t want her to guess who I am. The restaurant business is a small world, and I don’t want to rattle her.
I want her to stick around.
And as I stand here on the sidewalk drinking coffee with this woman, I know I’m about to do something that will guarantee she does just that.
I need to see her tonight. If she’s going to work for that tool at the Rubicon, I will make her wish she was working for me instead.
two
Journey
