Page 38 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

“Really?” Fenella’s expression is one of surprise, but I see the flash of vulnerability like no one had ever given her a chance before. “You made the right choice,” she adds, smoothing her surprise into a satisfied smile.

“I said we’ll give it a try,” I remind her. “You might be another Nathalia.”

“Even if I was, you wouldn’t fire me.” Fenella laughs.

“Don’t be so sure.” But as she continues to smile at me, and the happiness in her face leaks over to mine, I shrug my shoulders. “Probably not.”

Chapter thirteen

Fenella

Me: I got a job!

Lavinia: Why?

Coral: Doing what?

Rupe: Did Daddy C finally agree to hire you?

Me: Not yet, but now I have experience as a barista, how can he say no?

Milo: What has small-town life done to our Fen?

Ashton: Is this to pay for the car?

None of my friends have ever held a job. Nor have they ever wanted to.

I feel like an explorer, setting forth fora new world.

In my yellow Dodge Charger.

Silas invites me behind the counter like he’s welcoming me to a party. Or inside a secret club. Or to join a team…

He hired me—sort of.

It doesn’t matter. I want this job. I’m excited about something. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Silas Bell has snapped me out of what might have ended up being a pity party, had I let it go on, and given me something to look forward to.

And it’s a job.

I got a job.

When I was nineteen, I had a fling with a barista who worked at the local Starbucks. My mother was appalled, which is why I did it. Dirk had no idea who my parents were, and I liked it that way. The anonymity I had every time I went to see him was a heady feeling. It made me giddy.

It made me fall for a guy who, even if I had been a regular girl, would have been nothing special.

I feel that way with Silas. Not that he isn’t anything special—I’m beginning to think he’s the opposite, which is another problem—but the way he treats me like everyone else? Like I’m a regular girl?

It’s been a long time since I felt anything close to regular.

Dirk of Starbucks also taught me to love coffee in ways that I have refined in the years since. Being behind the counter at Coffee for the Sole might be like peeking behind the wizard’scurtain, but it also feels familiar, like I’m not totally out of place.

The counter that separates those who work the magic and those who drink it is a long slab of dark, fake wood, covered in all sorts of things: cups and lids and sleeves, gift cards and—

“Colouring pages?” I hold up a sheet of paper covered with outlines of fish. “Do you have a lot of customers who come in to colour?”

“No, but we get mothers with little kids who need to be distracted so they can have a moment to enjoy their coffee,” Silas tells me. “Why don’t we give it a test run? Make me your favourite coffee—not pumpkin spice,” he adds quickly.

“Why not pumpkin spice?”

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