Page 44 of The Barista's Beloved

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Maeve had no idea how she’d gotten to work this morning. She’d spent most of the night after Ben had left crying and scribbling furious, incoherent notes on how to save Youth Mentors herself. Not that she’d be able to once Ben rescinded all of the legal work he’d done before jetting off to Hawaii. Hartwell would steamroll them.

She glanced at the wad of notes she’d shoved into her bag on her way out the door, and then snorted and crushed them into a big ball of yellow paper. She threw the wad toward the wastebasket next to her office door and missed. Somehow, that made the tears flow all over again, and she buried her face in her hands.

How could she have been so stupid? Angelica and Naomi were right. She had terrible taste in men. For all of his pretty words, Ben had been happy to drop the case that meant so much to her as soon as he was offered a plum deal.

Despite her unhappiness, her conscience forced her to be fair and admit that he’d been fired. Again. And was probably worried about money. But surely there were other options he could have pursued instead? Coffee shop work was clearly out, but if he wanted to return to law, there had to be other firms. Ones that weren’t actively trying to destroy everything she knew and loved.

Her rational side pricked again, pointing out that little bit of hyperbole. Youth Mentors was a valuable part of the community, but her life would hardly fall into some sort of post-apocalyptic dystopia if the organization wasn’t around. Ugh. Her practical side sounded far too much like her father’s voice in her head.

Maybe she’d overreacted. Ben was an adult. He needed a job. Her mind traveled down the pathways of what had happened last night, arriving at logical destinations until it slammed sharply against the fact that his job offer was from Hartwell Properties. She could handle him getting fired—he really was a fairly terrible barista. Nor did she begrudge him wanting to be a lawyer again. He’d proven how good he was at it. She could even forgive him wanting to go back to corporate law, though the idea left a bad taste in her mouth. Maybe he could find a way to only work on projects that benefited the communities they were in?

Which brought her back around to him working for this specific developer. Ben knew first-hand what they did, the sorts of projects they took on. And he hadn’t said it outright, but she had a strong suspicion that the job offer was conditioned upon him withdrawing his support of Youth Mentors, dooming the organization and striking a terrible blow to the kids they worked with. She couldn’t understand how he could think she’d want him to work there. She couldn’t understand him wanting it, either. Not the Ben she’d fallen in love with.

Because damn it all, she was in love with him. Helplessly, hopelessly, head over heels in love. With the man who’d made her the worst cup of coffee she’d ever had. Who’d followed her out of The Oakwell Inn and laughed with her about her outrageous insistence that they’d be having sex. Who’d blown her bloody mind when they finally did have sex, over and over again. Who’d been proud of her success, and fascinated by her skills, and supportive and demonstrative and kind at every turn. She’d fallen in love with that Ben, and she didn’t know how to stop loving him when it turned out she didn’t really know him at all.

She raised her head, feeling the stretch of skin stained by salty tears. Grimacing, she dug in her bag for a tissue. She hadn’t bothered with much in the way of makeup this morning, but the bare swipe of mascara she’d managed was probably utterly wrecked by now.

“Maeve?” Iain stood in the doorway, and when she looked at him, his eyebrows rose swiftly and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

She sniffed. “I’m fine.” Her hand closed around the packet of tissues and she pulled one out to try to repair some of the damage.

“You look like a drowned raccoon,” he said bluntly.

What a delight it was to work with one’s brother. She glared at him and rubbed at her eyes with the tissue.

“You’re just spreading it around.” He crossed his arms and stared at her. “Now you look like a zombie. Possibly an improvement over the raccoon, but as far as I know it’s not Halloween, so why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He crossed over in front of her desk and pulled out the small chair she kept in the corner for visitors, slinging his body into it like he was utterly relaxed. His cheekbones stood out in tense contradiction of his body language, however, and his jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes glinted with something hard. He might be an easy-going sort of man, but when someone messed with his family or those he cared about, Maeve knew he could be as harsh as their father.

“It’s just man trouble.” She tried to sound dismissive. “You don’t want to hear about it.”

“Au contraire, ma soeur.” Iain’s French accent was terrible. “Naomi may have mentioned some concerns.”

“Well, you can congratulate her for being right yet again.” Maeve knew her voice sounded bitter. She couldn’t help it. Everyone else got to be happy, and here she was yet again feeling alone and stupid. “He has a job offer.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “Did you hear that he got fired from the coffee shop?”

Iain’s expression remained completely neutral, something she would never be able to manage. “I may have heard something to that effect.” He coughed. “It’s, uh, a small town.”

“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes.

“So he’s at loose ends?” Iain looked thoughtful, though she didn’t know why.

She laughed without any actual humor. “Hardly. He’s off to Hawaii, to go destroy lives in the sunshine and play on the beach afterwards.”

“What?” Now her brother looked genuinely confused.

“The damned developer offered him a job—the ones trying to get Youth Mentors’ building torn down.” She didn’t often swear out loud, but just thinking about Steve Smith and his horrible employer made her want to scream obscenities that would make a sailor blush.

Iain was silent for a moment. “Did he take it?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, staring at her brother. “I—”

Iain rolled his eyes. “Do you even know?”

“No, he didn’t actually—” She flushed. “I threw him out of the house.” Conflict-averse Maeve seemed to have vanished lately. She was starting to miss her old self. Little Miss Never Argue might have been a bit of a Mary Sue, but at least she hadn’t known what heartbreak felt like. Although she wouldn’t have recognized love if it bit her on the arse, either. She wasn’t sure which was better. Or worse.

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