Page 7 of The Billionaire Boss and the Barista

Kyle tried to defend him, of course. “Looking out the window could be meditation,” he suggested. “I’m sure it’s like really calming. He must be centering himself.”

Emma didn’t care if she was in the presence of a Zen master. Today was going to be the last she served that rich weirdo.

She glanced at her watch and quickened her pace. If she managed to get to the café in the next five minutes, she’d have just enough time to throw on her apron and grab the coffee her boss had been personally pouring all week.

Hector was so proud that his grandmother’s recipe was so popular. Flavored withpiloncillo, cinnamon, anise, and a hint of cloves, thecaféde ollawas brewed in clay pots, giving it a distinctive flavor.

However, that flavor came at the expense of time. Brewing it the old-fashioned way took much longer than making a latte with the espresso machine. But in her opinion, the flavors didn’t compare.

And it seemed Mr. Chapman agreed, she thought with a sigh.

Emma was taking a shortcut through the parking garage when she heard it. The meow. One too high-pitched and tiny to belong toa mature cat.

Forgetting all about the time and the task awaiting her, Emma crouched, checking under car after car.

She was only a few yards down from the main bank of elevators and the side door that led to the café. This was where the bigwigs had reserved parking spaces. It was a line of high-end sports cars, Mercedes, BMWs, interspersed with the occasional shiny Range Rover—the sporty kind meant to be driven in the mud but never were. Not by any of the suits in this building.

She had almost made it to the fire-engine red Ferrari next to the door when it swung open.

“Emma,” Bethany called out, her mouth turning up at the sight of her least favorite coworker on her hands and knees. “Did you lose something?”

“I heard a meow. I think there’s a kitten hiding somewhere here.”

Bethany wrinkled her nose. “In the garage?”

“I heard it,” she insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now. You’ve kept the future father of my children waiting a whole—” Bethany glanced at her watch. “Seven minutes for his coffee.”

“Really?” She straightened, dusting off her hands. “He didn’t have someone else do it?”

“I told him it was better to send me, but he didn’t go for it. Hassan took it up yesterday because it was your day off and Mr. Chapman complained.”

“He did?”

Emma couldn’t believe it. Was Kyle right? Was Mr. Chapman giving her space to complain about those douchebags from that accounting firm?

Or was everyone’s equal rights hero the worst of the lot?

“I bet he wouldn’t mind if you took it up,” she murmured. Emma wanted to see if it was just her he was weird about or all women.

Bethany threw up her hands. “That’s what I keep saying.”

“What if I tell Hector I have a headache coming on and need to sit on my bucket?”

There were no seats in the café’s small dishwashing room, just twoupturned buckets they used as seats when they needed a break and the café had too many patrons for them to sit at one of the tables.

Bethany’s eyes widened. “You would do that for me?”

Emma shrugged. “Of course.”

Bethany threw her arms open and hugged her tight enough for Emma to feel the outlines of her nipple rings pressing into her chest.

But Emma hugged her back despite knowing the other woman’s goodwill would only last until she got a real headache and needed to take an unscheduled break.

“Mr. Moneybags can’t complain if I’m incapacitated,” she reasoned, letting the other woman go.

“No, he can’t.” Bethany practically skipped to the door.

---