In the Billionaire's Lair

Chapter Three

ANNA

Toni’s whisper teased me now as we waited for the carafe. “Oh... if I were in your place, love, I would have gotten a date by now. A god like him, coming to the shop every day just for me—”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“... staring at me constantly,” he pointedly continued like I did not interrupt and answered my question at the same time. “Hell, not just a date. He would already know how big my bed is. Or I his bed.”

“Right, and the next morning you will be found in some gutter with your throat cut like a country chicken and parts of your skull eaten. He could be a Ted Bundy.”

“Well, that’s harsh. He is famous but he stalks you in public. If something happens to you, everyone’s fingers would be pointing at him. He didn’t get to be a billionaire by being so stupid.”

“That’s not romantic. It’s morbid. He’s too rich. No one would dare point a finger at him,” I said in a low voice as I put the cup in the saucer on a tray. “I’m just a waitress who couldn’t even afford to buy a lipstick.”

“You’re saving up for something good. Which reminds me. We’ve all agreed here that you can keep his tip to yourself. Get that laptop so you can do some work online.”

I winced. “We all need it.”

“You need it the most. He’s here because of you.”

“He’s just bored.”

“Oh, how can someone as pretty as you are be so boring?” he mocked.

I smiled and used his mocking to prove my point. “Boring is safe.”

He frowned at me. “Sometimes, I worry about you.”

“He’s rich and gorgeous, Toni. What could he possibly want with a waitress from a coffee shop located at the edge of the city? “

Toni looked me up and down. And there’s the dawn of his usual lecture. Oh, yeah. He hadn’t started yet. “Honey... how many times have I told you? You are a piece of candy with that red hair of yours and that angelic, beautiful face. But you sabotage it. That’s a dreadful ponytail you have right now. And not even a hint of makeup!” Toni was a gay mother hen. Since Alanzo Dumas started frequenting the shop and I got more and more unappealing as I could possibly manage, my friend was scandalized. I was lucky the others were busy with their tables or I would get the flak from them, too. The man was rated 1000% husband material.

“It’s called self-preservation, thank you very much,” I said.

“You are hopeless.”

“I am honest. I know what men like him want. I don’t have what that is.”

“Oh, dear. I don’t know about men like him. He’s pretty much a man of his own, as I can tell. Pretty neat that someone like him is showering you moon eyes.”

I left a stern-looking Toni to bring the carafe of hot coffee to my customer of the hour. I tried not to look at his face nor his hair as I put everything down on his table. His hair this close, made me want to reach so no to that trap. I murmured the usual ‘Enjoy your coffee’ before I went off to attend to a middle-aged woman who just walked through the door as he was saying his sexy-sounding ‘thank you.’ Like if he started a conversation, I’d have been on the other side of the shop.

And I ignored him as much as I could.

But there were the usual blunders whenever he’s here.

I took orders from customers twice, only to realize that I couldn’t understand what I had written down. This irritated me. And when it happened twice, I got more irritated at him.

How long was an hour, goddammit?

To make matters worse, the shop manager came in just as a customer was teasing me about my forgetfulness that day.

Fuck.

Now what?

I didn’t know if Mr. Peping was aware of my daily encounters with Alanzo, but it was the first time he came this early, and the first time he’d spied Mr. Dumas at a table. He became critical of everyone’s actions, and loudly, after that. I couldn’t afford mistakes with him fidgeting about. He wasn’t above docking my already meager pay for any provocation. We barely get around to hiding the tips from his greedy hands.

I couldn’t afford to walk off the job with no prospects awaiting me elsewhere. If I lose this job, how much time would I spend scanning the classifieds for openings? How many interviews would I attend only to receive the cold, polite silence of people who didn’t want to hire me? And the thought of leaving friends I have here saddened me.

I didn’t even know how it happened.

A tray with four coffee carafes slipped through my fingers, cracked on the tiled floor, and scattered scalding brown liquid about my feet. The noise was deafening though it really wasn’t that loud. The murmur of conversation instantly ceased and all eyes focused on me.

I felt like a doe caught in headlights.

My back ached. My head pounded as though my brain was bloating and wanting to burst my skull open.

I knew I fetched a broom, a dustpan, and a mop. I was sweeping up the broken pieces of glass. I blinked back frustrated tears when Mr. Peping finally approached. I knew what he would say. The words were etched on his scowling, pock-marked face.

“The cost for that mess will be deducted from your salary, my dear,” he stage-whispered.

I caught myself from asking how much it would be. I knew the deductions wouldn’t reflect the cost of replacing the carafes in their condition before they cracked. I would be paying for them like they were new. He would calculate how many fluid ounces had been in four full carafes of coffee, too, or how many cups of coffee he would have sold if four carafes had not been broken until the time they were replaced. I might see a loss of about a hundred dollars from my pay. I already had a stretched budget for that month. I needed a new pair of work shoes and jackets. I gave away mine before I moved to the new neighborhood, figuring I would be able to buy some before the cold season sets in.

Angry tears flooded my eyes.

It was his fault.

He had to know it was his fault. He had to stop coming here. He must stop making me nervous and distracting me.