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Zander snorted arrogantly. “Really? You don’t know what Silverpiece Corp is?”
I rolled my eyes and returned to an order that slid through on the machine, ignoring the fact that the men had congregated at a table near the counter. I had a good view of all three from there, but I wouldn’t let myself be distracted—even if Zander was still rambling in my ear.
“They’re a huge conglomerate,” he went on, despite the fact that I gave him no encouragement. He had never been very good at reading the room. “They own everything from hotels to fashion lines.”
“That’s nice,” I replied flatly. “Can you get me the almond milk?”
He grabbed the carton out of the fridge, his hazel eyes steadfast on the table as he thrust the carton toward me. His intense gaze irked me.
“Stop staring at them, Z,” I scolded him. “Don’t you have something to do?”
I knew he wasn’t scheduled on my station today.
He snorted, ignoring my work question but addressing my initial reprimand. “They don’t notice us, Mylee. We’re the gum on the bottom of their shoes. They’d probably pay more attention to gum—those loafers are worth like five grand a pop.”
He’s probably right.
But it had no bearing on my life.
“It’s weird to see all three of them out here together,” Zander went on, leaning over the counter to stare harder at the men. “I’ve seen one or two of them wander through, but all three?”
I turned on the espresso machine, sticking a cup underneath to catch the coffee. I wish I’d had occasion to use the frothing machine again, just to drown out Zander.
“Maybe they’re having a meeting,” I stupidly suggested, inadvertently encouraging the conversation.
Zander scoffed at my ignorance. “They have an enormous office in the financial district.”
“Maybe it’s a private meeting,” I said, glancing at the men again.
To my shock, they were all looking at me. My jaw slacked at their blatant gazes, a blend of green and blue, identical half-smiles on their faces. A hot blush tinged my cheeks, and I hastily returned to my job, swallowing the lump in my throat, wishing I hadn’t dared to glance in their direction.
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard of Silverpiece. I mean, anyone who’s anyone has heard of Silverpiece,” Zander went on.
“Well, I guess that’s how I’ve never heard of them,” I quipped. “I’m twenty-four years old and working as a barista.Forbesisn’t exactly knocking down my door.”
“Not with that attitude, they won’t be,” Zander scolded me, and I groaned, sensing what was coming before he started. “You need to manifest your success, Mylee. Do you think billionaires just sit around before they’re successful complaining about what they don’t have?”
Oh, my god. Does he really want me to answer that?
“You have to work hard and fixate on what you want, what you desire…”
Even though I had no use for it, I turned on the steamer, making as much noise as possible to shut him up.
I wished Zander would stop rambling about rich people without a hint of irony, like he wasn’t working for minimum wage, right beside me. I had poor people problems to wallow in, and with Zander going on about these disgustingly attractive executives, it was hard to focus on my own issues.
My co-worker finally got the hint and wandered off to bother Catrine on cash, leaving me to finish my drink orders, alone with my thoughts.
I finished the third drink on the order and laid it on the serving counter. “Lincoln?” I called out, reading from the order. “Your order is up.”
Immediately, the door-holder rose from his spot at the table, those even, perfect teeth appearing again as he reached for the drinks. Despite my determination to keep my cool, my heart fluttered as he approached, and sweat broke out over my hairline.
“Thank you,” he purred, verdant eyes scanning my figure to rest on the swell of my breasts against my shirt. “Mylee.”
My cheeks burned as I followed his gaze to my nametag, wracking my brain for something clever to say, but when I looked back up again, he had reclaimed his spot among his partners. All three grinned at me now, and I inadvertently stepped back from the counter, hating the sweeping embarrassment inside me.
Cocky pricks. They’re used to making women feel like this.
“They’re so fucking hot,” Catrine moaned, pretending to wipe the counter beside the espresso machine.
