Page 23 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“What about this guy?” The guard nudges me with his boot. “And why is there water all over the floor?”

“Molly spilled her water everywhere. She had a bit of a breakdown?” Nephrite doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Do you think I was born yesterday?” the guard demands.

If I don’t do something, and fast, we’ll be tossed out. Our battle with the receptionist will be for nothing, and Diva may never get to confront Milan.

Come on, come on, you’re strong and scary and have big teeth—I repeat the only words that have helped in the past, but it doesn’t work. Come on. Diva needs you.

My fingers twitch at the thought of the espresso machine.

“I’m going to have to ask you all to leave the premises,” the guard says.

No. No. No. No. No. You’re strong and scary… I start to repeat Ben’s words again on autopilot as the guard stares down at me, but it doesn’t work. Thinking about Diva earlier did—at least, it made my fingers move—but that wasn’t enough. Should I try to think about her some more?

“Sir, you’re going to need to get up, or we’ll be calling the police,” the guard snaps.

I don’t have much time. I need to think of someone, and I need to do it now. Diva or Ben? Diva or Ben?

I clench my jaw and fix my gaze on the shiny espresso machine. Do it for her.

Chapter 11

Fletcher

Diva sits helplessly on the receptionist’s desk, but I can practically feel her eyes on me. She needs me, and I need her.

I picture her on the floor next to me, caressing me with short puffs of steam as she tells me about her adventures. I want to learn everything about her—from her childhood, to why someone decided to throw a party at a pharmacy.

I start to smile and realize that my jaw muscles move. The rest of my body is nice and relaxed, and when I try to sit up, my muscles instantly comply.

The security guards take a startled step back. “I was starting to think you were dead,” he mutters.

“Wasn’t going to be the one to say it,” the second guard, who actually seems like a pretty chill guy, grins. “What were you doing on the floor, man?”

“I was just… ummm… looking for a loonie I dropped. Oh, there it is.” I pretend to pick up an invisible dollar coin and jam my empty hand into my pocket.

Nephrite gives me a weird look. I wonder if she thinks it’s a terrible excuse or if she just doesn’t know what a loonie is.

“I thought you might have slipped on the water the receptionist spilled,” the guard says. “But hold on to that loonie. There’s one bag of ketchup chips left in the vending machine, and it could be yours.”

The grumpier guard, who’s clearly in charge, groans. “Go back to your post, Donavan. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, sir.” Donavan grins. “Need a hand up, man?”

“Thanks, man.” I take his proffered hand and climb to my feet.

“No problemo.” He grins again and strolls off at a leisurely pace.

I turn to face the other guard. Nephrite’s clearly a terrible liar, but I have decades of experience. I’ve been deceiving authority figures for as long as I can remember: making up excuses to teachers about why I forgot to finish my homework; telling bosses why I was late for work; telling other bosses why I forgot about my shift; convincing my parents I had a good reason for not doing my chores, for getting bad grades, and for getting fired—again.

“Sorry about the mess. Molly spilled her water bottle as she ran outside. I think she’s not feeling well.” I drop my voice conspiratorially. “Stomach issues. She sounded embarrassed.”

“Oh… she shouldn’t have just left. There are protocols for these things,” he grumbles.

I shrug as though to say ‘it’s not my problem.’ “We’re here to deliver this espresso machine to Mr. Milan Del Ray. It’s a special custom-made Italian coffee machine designed specifically for his upscale needs.” I hate talking about Diva as though she’s an object, but I get the feeling that she appreciates the fact that I’ve called her upscale. That and it’s the only way to get the very human guard into letting her see Milan. “You know how these high-flying executives love their overpriced coffee.”

“True. What’s wrong with a simple double-double?” he complains.