Page 3 of Designed for Disaster

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “You’re also the worst waitress ever. Like is this not the bare minimum of your job description? Keep the coffee in the cups?”

I could tell I’d hit a nerve with the dad comment. He’d gone from coffezilla to table tyrant in a matter of three seconds. “Once the coffee is in your hand, it’s your problem.Ididn’t spill it on you. You spilled it on yourself by being too high-and-mighty to read theclearly posted sign.Maybe if you weren’t so busy auditioning for Angry Rich Guy of the Year, you’d pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“I don’t even know how this coffee shop stays open with you working here.”

“With charm and a whole lotta coffee spills, apparently.” I glanced up at him and that douchey scowl, distracted for a second by those all-consuming dark eyes. Why were the hot ones always mega assholes? I turned away from him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Back to work,” I said. “What? Did you expect me to just stand here and listen to you have a tantrum?”

“A tantrum?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what this is. Actually wait, no. It’s more of an mantrum.”

“A mantrum?”

“A temper tantrum thrown by a man.”

“I understood what you meant,” he growled through his teeth.

“Good. And frankly, I don’t know why you’re complaining when you brought this on yourself. You ignored the sign. And you ignoredmewhen I tried to warn you. Those were the adult decisions you made. You should just be glad you spent so much time arguing on the phone that your coffee had cooled down enough that you didn’t burn yourself.”

“Would I receive more sympathy if Ihadactually injured myself?”

“From me? No. You can take your pretty-boy self and try down the street, though. The preschool might take pity on you. Put your drink in a sippy cup.”

“Natasha!” I whirled around. Craig stood there, his eyes so wide they might bug out of his head. “What are you doing?”

“I’m…” I looked over my shoulder. “Cleaning up the trash.”

“You’re making a scene. And being rude to The Blend’s customers.”

One customer, I wanted to point out—along with the fact that he was being just as rude. But none of that would matter to Craig.

“Go get your things. I think it’s time for you to clock out.”

I froze, my stomach dropping. I’d figured I might get yelled at for not treating our oh-so-sacred customers with the respect Craig thought they deserved. But this? Was he punishing me by making me clock out early and lose half a day’s pay, or was he…No, he couldn’t be…

“Craig?”

“Don’t make this a bigger scene than it already is,” he said under his breath.

I felt like he’d punched me right in the gut. My heart slammed against my ribs. Had he just fired me?

“You’ll receive your last paycheck at the end of the week,” Craig said, answering any lingering doubts I might have had.

Fuck!

I could practically feel the table tyrant smirking behind me. But the only thing I could think about was how the hell I was going to pay my rent at the end of the month.

2

TRENT

As CEO of Saunders Furniture, I usually had people to do the hiring and firing for me. Not because I couldn’t handle it—it just saved me from wasting time on people who weren’t worth the effort. Still, I wasn’t completely ignorant of the process, and I knew that a person had a certain look about them when they could tell the axe was about to fall. Judging by the way this bossy barista’s eyes widened, she clearly hadn’t seen the death blow coming. The shock was so clear on her face I thought it might have frozen that way.

Looking at her now, I almost felt bad.

---