Page 31 of Tell Me When It's Over

“Get it together,” I tell myself.

The door to the room opens and my manager walks in. He’s mid-forties if I’d have to guess. Not very friendly. Quinn, the girl who’s been training me for the past two weeks, says it’s because he’s balding and going through another divorce. I try to avoid him because he always gives me a judgmental look like I shouldn’t be here, but it’s tough when there aren’t many places to hide in the small facility. “Lauren,” he greets in a gruff voice.

I don’t opt to correct him on the name. At least he got the first letter right this time. Last time he called me Ashley, which apparently was the last girl they hired before me. She left to pursue a career in modeling, but there’s been talk that she’ll be back by the end of the summer with her tail tucked between her legs. Not my words. In fact, I hope she proves everyone here wrong and makes a living from it.

“Mr. Warren,” I murmur. The clock tells me I still have six minutes left. If I walk onto the floor before my break is up, I’ll be reprimanded and sent right back here.

Mr. Warren turns to me, his slight rounded belly hanging over the waistband of his slacks that he’s got belted. He always dresses to impress, but nobody has the heart to tell him that his shirt is too small for his gut and leaves the buttons gaping. “How’s it going? I hear you haven’t screwed up the orders like the last one did.”

I try not frowning. I really do. But Mr. Warren always talks about his employees like we’re numbers. If I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t remember anybody’s name. Why would he? He’s only around a few days a week to snap at people and do whatever he does in his small office. So, while I know “the last one” is Ashley, it makes me twitchy that he doesn’t, nor does he seem to care.

“It’s going well.” Nobody has yelled at me yet. I made a coffee too strong the first day, but the customer didn’t even ask for a refund before glaring at me and storming out. Last week, I mixed up an order and gave a caramel macchiato to some guy in a suit instead of the girl beside him, but they just exchanged drinks—and numbers—and went their separate ways.

&nbs

p; Quinn is more talkative than some of the other baristas who’ve worked with me. I know that she’s envious of my natural dark hair, which is only slightly lightened with the new highlights, because she told me about her many failed attempts at getting hers the same shade of black, that white is her favorite color even if it’s “not really a color”, and that she hates California. When I ask why she stays then, the dubious look she gives me makes me feel ridiculous for asking.

It’s not the money. While Delmar’s pays us decently, the tips aren’t always that great, and we share them with whoever works the same shift. I doubt it’s the customers either, since a lot of them seem to ignore us or make condescending comments under their breath that makes her sneer when they turn their backs. As it turns out, people with money like to cheap out on tips and manners. Another reason why her staying makes no sense, but she never enlightens me on any real reason.

“I like it,” I add to Mr. Warren, painting a smile on my face. It’s not hard to do when I’m being truthful. I’ve had worse jobs in the past and don’t mind the steady workflow that the café brings. It passes the time and helps me save up. My bank account is looking a lot stronger than before, and it makes pride swell in my chest.

My boss’s eyes travel down me again, only going as far as he can see where I sit at the table. We all have to wear the same forest green t-shirt with the Delmar’s logo on the pocket and some sort of black bottoms. Today I’m in leggings, which I know his slimy gaze would pay too much attention to if they could. His attention when I wear them doesn’t give me the same flutters that Kyler’s does when I catch him looking, but I never let him know I do.

Mr. Warren conveniently didn’t have any other t-shirt sizes other than extra small, so the material clings to my body and boobs. He doesn’t make it subtle that the full C cups trying to poke their way out of the dipped collar have his interest.

Squirming, I cross my arms over my chest and clear my throat. “Quinn says I may be able to pick up extra hours in a few weeks. Something about peak time for tourist season?”

When he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine, they’re widened in surprise. “You want to work more? Usually the others are asking for less hours to go chase after some unreachable dream.”

Cringing over his crudeness, I nod. “I’m saving up for fall semester at UCLA, so I need the money.”

His dry laugh fills the room. Goosebumps rise on my arms as he dumps the rest of his drink in the sink and turns to me. “You need money? I know who you are, girl. Background check tells me that you’re not hurting like the rest of the people here you’re pretending to be like.”

Ice fills my veins as I process his words and tone, neither which are friendly or understanding.

Chuckling again, he walks toward the door like he isn’t being a complete dick. “If you need money so bad, ask the Bishops. I won’t allow you to pick up more hours that the others could actually use when you’ve got the resources at your fingertips.”

With that, he leaves. If everybody else is out chasing their “unreachable dreams” that should leave plenty of hours for me to pick up, shouldn’t it? The sour feeling I get when I’m stuck in a room with him intensifies, ruining the good high I’ve been riding since Quinn told me I could get more hours if I asked.

I’m gaping at the door until my time is up, silence suffocating me until I trudge back out to the serving station. Quinn sees me and instantly rambles on about some up-and-coming celebrity who she got a ten-dollar tip from after serving her a white chocolate frappe. I think I’m smiling, but I don’t know.

She keeps talking and serving and bustling, while I stare at the clock and hope my shift ends quickly so I can go home. My mood only worsens when Mr. Warren comes out and does his usual end of shift spiel that leaves Quinn rolling her eyes, Harmony muttering under her breath, and me avoiding all eye contact with him. Especially now.

Can he really refuse me hours based on prejudice? Between Kyler’s and Mia’s careers, people know them and the dollar sign that one simple Google search tacks onto their last names. So, I get it. He thinks because I lived with them once upon a time, I share their wealth. But if his background searches are that thorough, he’ll know that I have nothing to my name besides shame and embarrassment over my mother’s scandal. The most my bank account has seen at one time is $525, and that was after I sold a few items on eBay for bills. It didn’t take long for that number to drop, and eventually overdraft.

It’s almost time for us to close for the day when the front door opens. Quinn is on her break since she couldn’t take it during her scheduled time, so Harmony groans from where she’s cleaning the counter off. There are always a few people who wander in right before we shut down, usually making us stay later than necessary, especially when we have to service all the machines and clean them before the morning shift.

When she looks over her shoulder, her expression sobers, shifting from irritation to awe. I recognize it because it’s the same way I looked when I saw—

“Hey, Little Bishop.”

Harmony squeaks out an incoherent noise to the accented voice behind me. I’m holding a damp rag that I’ve been using to dry a few of the freshly washed coffee pots when I turn around to face Garrick. He’s leaning against the pickup counter with a smug smirk on his face, eyeing my coworker before trailing his focus back to me.

Maybe it’s the echo of my boss’s comment in my head, or the way he continued to ogle me like a prized horse throughout the rest of the afternoon, but my patience snaps. The frayed ends of the rope keeping it together gives out as I eye the Aussie flirt. “I’m not a Bishop.”

His brows lift and amusement takes over his blue eyes. I have the nerve to feel a little bad for my reaction even though he’s unfazed by it.

“Not from what I hear.” Once again, his attention turns to my coworker as she gapes at him like a floppy-mouthed fish out of water. “As much as I love to be looked at, I’d like a moment alone with Leighton.”

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