Page 15 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

Nathalia is almost forty; there should be no giggling over mistakes at that age. At any age. But it was worse when she overboiled the milk because she was checking her phone and decided to argue with Leodie over what she did wrong.

She’s a horrible barista. I have to fire her but I hate firing people. It’s like my pet peeve and my worst nightmare all rolled into one.

But I don’t understand how Fenella can help with that.

“She made me the wrong drink,” she says in a loud voice that’s about two shades more pretentious than her usual tone.“And when I corrected her, she insisted I try it, that I could make it a popular drink. She’s trying to take advantage of my celebrity when all I wanted when I came here was peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask for?”

I watch as Nancy Tanker and Bernie Carols lower their phones with guilty expressions. Were they filming Fenella? Were they takingvideosof her? Who does that?

“Your coffee shop is suffering with her working here,” Fenella announces loud enough for everyone in said coffee shop to hear.

Leodie and Nathalia stop their argument.

Well, she’s not wrong. Still—what is she doing? One minute, she seemed fine with the wrong drink and now…

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “I’ll make you another one.”

“I don’t want another one. I want the one she was supposed to make. If you don’t have employees who treat theircustomers with the respect they deserve, I don’t think I want anything from here.” She gives me a wink.

Oh, is this… is she only pretending? “I am very sorry that she upset you,” I say, raising my voice.

“You should be upset. In fact, you should be so upset that you don’t want her to work here any longer.”

“What?” Nathalia screeches.

“Caramel is not vanilla,” Fenella tells her. “They don’t even smell remotely the same. And lavender should not be a part of that drink.”

“It’slavender.Maybe you should drink it and calm down. Stop the temper tantrums.”

The whole place goes silent. Fenella lifts one carefully groomed eyebrow and stares at Nathalia, who pales when she realizes what she said. “I mean, I couldn’t tell what I put in because of the overpowering stench of coffee,” she protests weakly.

“That’s because you dropped the bag of beans earlier and the whole place smells more than it usually does,” Leodie points out.

“Which I told you, is not my fault. I had butter on my hands from that croissant I warmed up and—”

“Nathalia,” I chide. “We don’t argue.”

I sound like I’m talking to my nephew. When he was five.

“We do when they’rewrong. She’s trying to get you to fire me because she’s famous, Silas—”

“She won’t have to try very hard,”Leodie mutters.

Fenella crosses her arms and gazesdown her nose at Nathalia. With her lips pressed tight together and her purple eyes looking almost black, I suspect Fenella resembles her father on a bad day rather than the model/influencer/partygirl that she is. “I’d be trying to fire you even if I was a nobody like you,” she says, her voice as icy as a January wind.

“Nathalia,” I begin, unsure of how exactly to do this. Fenella has given me the opening and now I have to take it and run.

“You arenottaking her side.” Nathalia looks incredulous and I half expect her to stomp her foot.

“That’s what we do when she’s right,” Leodie points out like she practiced this with Fenella.

“You’re trying to fire me!” By now, every eye in the place is watching and I notice Fenella drift back a foot to get out of range of anyone who may be videoing the exchange. Not that anyone would—

Okay, so Nancy Tanker has her phone trained on Nathalia with an expression of delight on her face. “Nathalia,” I try again.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not firing me—I quit!” She rips off her Coffee for the Sole apron with the little fish and thrusts it at me. “I don’t need a boss who won’t back me up. You’re no better than my husband. He refused to take my side over his mother’s and Iwill not have it.I won’t work for you again, Silas, even if you begged me to.” Nathalia grabs her phone that’s still on the counter, reaches down and hauls out her coat and purse, when I have explainedat least six times that we don’t keep personal property out here. “I’m never coming back to work here. Not even if you beg me to.”

She waits a beat, like she’s actually expecting me to ask her to stay. I don’t say a word and she storms out.

---