Page 3 of Just So You Know, I Don't Work Friday

“Three hundred dollars, please?” I said and watched as he pulled his credit card out of his black leather wallet and placed it on the countertop. I grabbed it, feeling well and truly miffed.

“Spare change, spare change, can you give me any spare change?” I drawled to see if I could get a reaction. It was then that his head came up, and I was staring into the most dazzling Caribbean Sea-blue eyes I’d ever seen in my life.

“What did you just say?” I had his attention now, and he didn’t look pleased I’d distracted him from his phone. He stepped closer to the counter, and I could see his eyes finally observing me and weighing me up. He leaned forward slightly, and I got a whiff of some gorgeous cologne. I tried not to breathe him in too deeply. I’d never smelled a musk so tantalizing before.

“I was just wondering if you had any spare change for the local orphans in town,” I responded quickly, grateful that I’d been on the debate team in high school and was able to think quickly on my feet.

“I don’t carry cash.” He shook his head, but his eyes were still intent on my face. He was making me feel a little bit uncomfortable. He was younger and better-looking than I’d thought when he’d first walked in, and now it felt like he was gazing into my soul and reading my mind. His gaze felt invasive and nice, all at the same time.Shame on you, ego, I chastised myself internally for enjoying the way he was staring at me. It felt like he was really seeing me, and if I were one hundred percent honest with myself, if I’d met him on a night out, I’d make out with him or even have a one-night stand. Well, not if he was wearing a suit or glued to his phone. But if he had on a nice white shirt and flirted with me with those blue eyes, I knew my panties would be on the floor before even one of us could count to ten. I really needed to get laid. I was pathetic for even thinking that, seeing as the guy standing in front of me was a class A jerk and not even deserving of a hello from me.

“Would you like a doughnut or bagel or anything?” I continued, wanting to hurry this transaction on quickly. I couldn’t wait to call my sister, who was also my best friend, and tell her about this douche. I knew she’d commiserate with me.

“Did I ask for one?” His tone was supercilious, a word I’d recently learned in a game of Scrabble. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. I was twenty-two, not twelve.

“No, but it’s my job to ask.” I smiled sweetly at him. “And I have to do my job to my best ability. I’m sure you understand that,Scrooge.” I lowered my voice for the last part, but I had a feeling it hadn’t been low enough because he narrowed his eyes and took another step forward. I had a feeling he was starting to feel hot in his totally inappropriate for a Florida beach town suit, as he was now undoing his tie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. I tried not to look at the small expanse of chest that he was showing, but I couldn’t stop myself. His skin was a glowing olive tan, and I could see a smattering of silky black hair. So he really was sex on legs. Pity about his attitude.

“Did you just call me…” He paused, and I quickly jumped in.

“No, I didn’t call you. I don’t have your phone number, sir. And it would be highly inappropriate for me to ask you, seeing as you’re the customer and I’m the mere cashier. Also, you’re a bit old for someone like me.”

“Old?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.” I gave him my sunniest smile and then went in for the kill. “And I know it happens in Hollywood, but it’s so sketch when twenty-two-year-old women date men in their fifties.”

“Fifties?” His jaw dropped, and his eyes met mine again.

“Oh, oops, don’t tell me you’re in your sixties,” I said, smiling widely. “You do look good for your age.”

“I am not in my sixties, Miss…” His eyes went down to my name badge, and I saw them hover over my breasts for far longer than was polite. Creep. Even though I kind of liked it.Curse you, big boobs, for always calling attention to yourself.

“Can I help you with anything else,sir?” I almost did a curtsey but didn’t want to demean myself. This man was getting on my nerves.

“That is why I’m in the store.” He grimaced and then stared at his watch as if chastising me for keeping him waiting when he was the one that had taken forever. The man was a total douchebag. No matter how good-looking he was.Stay cool, Harriet.

“Anything else?”

“Is this a coffee shop or a car dealership?” He looked around. “Am I able to order a new Mercedes Maybach S-Class?”

I just stared at him, even though I wanted to laugh. His comment was funny, and it surprised me because he didn’t look like he had a sense of humor. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me smile.

He looked over at the Barbies and recoiled in horror. He’d been so preoccupied with his phone that he hadn’t noticed our interior design setup. “What the hell is this store?”

“A Mercedes dealership, apparently,” I quipped back, and his eyes met mine. He smirked as his lips twitched. He was far too good-looking for his crappy personality. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled slightly. And boy, what amazing eyes he had—I could swim in those gorgeous blue babies.

“Where are your coffee beans from?” he asked me in a gruff tone, and I stared at him, having totally spaced out.

“Sorry. What?”

I was trying very hard to make sure that my tone was still polite, but he was annoying the shit out of me.

“I said, where are your coffee beans from?”

“I don’t know. Costco, Publix.” I shrugged. Like, did it matter?

“What?” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, what country of origin were they grown in?”

“I don’t know. USA.” Was he one of thoseI only buy if it was made in the USApeople? Granted, I only bought dog food and treats made in the USA and homemade furniture from American carpenters, but that was because I liked to support local people. Just like I hoped people would support me.

He just stood there, staring at me for a few moments. “How long have you worked in this coffee shop, ma’am?”

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