Page 36 of Rhet

I would offer her some breakfast, but the nerve of her, bringing me that burnt sludge. Fuck no.

“No, no. I swam through hell to get here.” She stomps her feet, her hands clenched at her sides.

“The fuck. You’re ten minutes late with a cup of no-frills coffee. I won’t accept this negativity this early in my day.” I swipe left on the retouch screen of my Espresso Machine. Swiping to the left, I chose a black Americano.

“Wait a minute? You have a top-of-the-line coffee machine and you sent for coffee?” she hissed.

I turn around in disbelief. “What I have in my house is none of your business. I wouldn’t be standing here trying to make coffee if you brought me a cup.” My voice thunders through the kitchen. She swallows and clasps her fingers together.

“I can explain, my car broke down and needed to be towed. Then rain started and—”

“And I don’t give a fuck about excuses. That’s a loser habit.” I open the drawer, take a spoon out and place it counter.

“I’m not a loser.” She trembles as her stare locks on to me.

I press my palms down hard on the white marble counter. “From where I’m standing, you look a hot mess, your dress code is offensive, and you make excuses. I’m not seeing any winning qualities.”

“People don’t like you much, do they?” Her eyes become squinty.

“Do I look like I give a shit about people?”

The coffeemaker makes a choking noise, announcing my coffee is coming.

Her shoulders drops and she bows her head, “I apologize, please give me another chance.Screamin’ Beanshould be open now.”

I shake my head squeeze the bridge of my nose. “You’re still not getting it. I don’t fucking care. I asked for something, you failed to deliver. I want you out. You’re fired.”

“No!” she screams.

“Excuse me?” Men with more money and power have withered under my hands because they said no. Now I have this half pint woman telling meno.

“I’m taking my second chance. Everything was against me. I was wrong but I will do better starting from now.” She passes her hand over her wet hair as if that’s the first problem she gets fix.

“Where are your clothes? I told you pack a bag,” I ask. She shifts around like she’s about to explain some more.

I rub my forehead. She’s going to stress me out, she doesn’t listen. She has no structure. I’m going to die from high blood pressure with this one.

“They’re in my car,” she mumbles, she looks down at her hands.

“The car that got towed?” I inhale.

While I make my coffee, we both remain silent. I reach for my back pocket and throw a card on the counter. “Fine.”

“What’s that for?” She looks down at the black card.

“Clearly the stipend didn’t hit your account. I don’t need you today.”

Her dark eyes rises up to me. “What is that for?”

“Your clothes.” I take a sip of the coffee and I spit it in the sink. It’s awful. I gag and pour it down the sink. I move to the kitchen phone to call a staff member to get it done.

“Ew the sink though. My clothes are fine.” She frowns and brushes her hand down her jacket.

“Do you have an allergic reaction to class or are you just tacky? Your clothes are not fine.” I don’t bother to make the call.

Are those shoulder pads in her jacket? Who wears shoulder pads these days? I need coffee.

“I’ll wear what I have.”

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