[Sera]
I freeze behind the counter, my hand hovering over the espresso machine like it's suddenly forgotten how to function. But I force my voice to stay flat, professional. "I'm sorry, miss. We don't provide private conversation services."
Victoria's smile doesn't falter. If anything, it deepens, like she's indulging a child throwing a tantrum.
"Oh, sweetheart," she says, voice like warm silk, "there's really no need to be so defensive. I'm sure you're very good at what you do... here."
A tiny tilt of her head. "But rules," she adds gently, almost sharing a secret, "are for other people, aren't they?"
She turns slightly, giving a subtle nod to the woman behind her—her secretary, I assume, all crisp suit and clipboard efficiency.
The secretary glides over to the customers, murmurs so
