Page 6 of King

I grip the rail, jaw tightening before I turn around to look the animal in his eyes. “It’s Jo.”

He lets out a low chuckle, “What? You think people here won’t find out your real name? It’s easy to find secrets in this town kid. Which reminds me, this thing you saw today?” He gestures down the hall. “That’s between us unless you want your ass out on the street.”

Better than in Eden. But for Willow, I won’t risk it. I'm not naive to think that a richer couple would be any better than any of the homes I’d been in since I was ten. But it makes me wonder.

He turns to walk away and it’s my turn to pull the brakes. “Why are we here Eric? You obviously don’t need the money and you clearly don’t give two flying fucks about us.”

Eric’s brows furrow and I give him a sly smile. That's right. I don't fall in line at the snap of a finger. His strained expression turns into another smug smirk. “Let's just say, you're great for my resume." He turns around walking back to the bedroom. "The interview’s at five. Don’t keep my driver waiting.”

“Thanks for coming Low.” I wrap an arm around my sister’s shoulders, staring at the black and white storefront.

There's no way I'm leaving Willow with that psycho. So if I have an interview, she's coming with me. Along with my copy of The Great Gatsby, Willow carries an almost decade-old tablet to keep her company. I’d bought it for her from a pawn shop in The Grove. That was when Zane and I were making decent cash with our operation.

“Believe me,” she says, staring at the front of the shop with me. “I’d rather be here with you.”

Henry, Eric’s driver, dropped us in front of a shop that looks like it's been copy and pasted from the streets of Paris. Not that I’d know. In pretty black calligraphy, the letters “M-O-C-H-A” sit above a clean pinstripe awning. At the entrance are large french doors with golden handles.

Tugging Willow closer, we make our way towards the doors. Reaching over her, I push the golden handle. “Woah.”

Classical music plays over the speakers, the smell of coffee beans in the air. The vibe of the cafe screams luxurious comfort. Velvet sofas and leather chairs sit in front of round wooden tables, fresh white flowers on top. Glittering chandeliers hang from the dark ceiling casting light on stone walls.

“Joelle?” A woman with a short black bob appears near the back of the cafe, next to the marble bar. Her posture is like a Barbie doll, long nose on her stern beige face.

“Jo.” I keep Willow close as I approach her, hand outstretched. “Is it okay if my sister hangs out during the interview? She’s quiet. Pretty nerdy. She won’t be any trouble.”

An elbow juts into my waist but Willow doesn’t waiver, speaking up on her own, “I’ll take a seat over there.” She points towards a brown leather stool at the edge of the counter.

Eyeing us both, the woman scrunches her nose as she waves Willow along. A fitting gesture for her pink suit and white nails. Her earrings and necklace sparkle, diamonds catching the dim lights. Brown eyes, heavy with mascara, blink at me like month-old trash.

I fight the urge to smell my pits as her eyes wander my outfit. I’ve added a pair of bike shorts under my band shirt and even put my head of curls in a bun, no time for detangling. I watch as her eyes move to the tattoo on the inside of my forearm before they dart over to the other. I raise an eyebrow before she turns around, heading for the narrow hallway. “I'm Cindy. Follow me.”

She leads me to her office, “Cindy Huang” in calligraphy on the big wooden door. It’s as classy as the main room, a large white and gold desk in front of her pink tufted chair.

Cindy sits while I take a seat in the pink velvet chairs in front of her. When I’m settled, she stares me down before speaking, “Three days a week to start. I’ll have to order a long sleeve shirt to cover up those hideous markings but Maria left behind a shirt and smock. So you can start right away." She leans in, a hand by the side of her mouth. "She got deported and god, I’m so done with Mexicans.”

I jerk my head back, shaking her last comment out of my head. “Wait, is this the interview?"

She looks around the room like I’d told her the sky was blue before leaning forward. “Eric Archibald sent you right?”

I nod and she settles in her seat. “Great. Napkins need folding and we’re almost out of vanilla syrup. Maria's shirt might be a little small but it’s better than…that.”

“You want me to start now?”

She gives me another look like I’m stupid. “Yes, Jo. Any more obvious questions?”

I sit up. “Well, what about my sister? And tomorrow’s my first day of school. I don't even have any training. I really don’t think I’m ready.”

“Jo, if you don’t start today I’ll assume you no longer want this position.”

Well, fuck. Cindy Huang is playing hardball.

She reaches into a wooden cabinet before tossing me the shirt and smock. I catch it, sighing, “What should I do first?”

Cindy shrugs. “Whatever it is baristas do, Jo. Take some orders. Make a coffee. I don’t know. I have things to do.” She waves me away without looking and I sit, stunned for a moment.

How the hell does Cindy Huang run a place like this with an attitude like that?

Leaving the office, I notice the sign for the bathroom in front of me. It’s as luxurious as the rest of this mini palace. Golden framed mirrors on more stone walls, dark floors glistening as if brand new. I take a breath and go into a stall that’s more like a small room, sink on the inside. Pulling off my shirt, I swap it for the off-white polo Cindy gave me, cafe name over the breast.

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