Bittersweet: An Equilibrium Novella

by Christina C Jones

  Bittersweet

  An Equilibrium Novella

  Christina C. Jones

  Copyright © 2019 by Christina C. Jones

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Anika

  2. Anika

  3. Royal

  4. Anika

  5. Royal

  6. Anika

  7. Royal

  8. Anika

  About the Author

  Also by Christina C. Jones

  Man… Anika and Royal have been a long time coming. I’m glad to finally get to tell their cute story.

  This will probably be my last release of the year, and I love ending on the sweetest of notes.

  This is for everybody who’s ever sent positive vibes in my direction, sent up a prayer, offered their support, whatever.

  This is for you.

  Enjoy.

  One

  Anika

  Being bald-headed in the winter was not a vibe.

  In fact, in ranked pretty high in terrible ideas, though in my defense, it wasn’t planned. That, actually, was part of the problem though – when I’d chopped off all my lush, dense curls in search of change your hair, change your life peace, I hadn’t been thinking beyond the immediate, terrifying satisfaction of watching it all hit the ground. Then, later in the summer, when it was time to get it all touched up, I was only thinking about fashion, and the ease of merely rocking a flawless cut.

  Now though?

  I was friggin’ cold.

  I tried to pull my hat down lower over my ears only to discover that there was no more pulling to do – my hoop-laden lobes were simply out of luck. Abandoning my phone in the pocket of my coat, I wrapped my arms around myself a little tighter as I hurried down the street to the coffee house.

  This is what you get for being obsessed, I chastised myself.

  If my attention hadn’t been so focused on the Urban Grind Instagram account that morning, I wouldn’t have had to rush out to avoid being late. Sure, managing the social media was part of my job as one of the managers at the shop, but damn.

  A little less focus there could’ve made the difference between my scarf being around my neck vs. tossed across my couch.

  That scheduling needed to be done though.

  Getting that out of the way this morning before I even left home meant that I could take little moments here and there throughout the day to get the coffee house ready for the winter holidays. We shied away from focusing on any one, focusing on themes of family and friendship and coziness instead, in the interest of inclusivity. This year, I was going all out with a black, white, and gold color scheme that was elegant and chic, and didn’t clash with UG’s established earth tones.

  Which was why I was so surprised to find the door of the still-closed shop decorated with a garish red and green plastic Christmas wreath.

  Frowning, I pulled out my keys to unlock the door with shivering hands, anticipating the warmth on the other side. As soon as I opened the door, however, my ears were met with the grating sound of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” – as performed by the damn Chipmunks.

  “Did I wake up in Bizarro World?” I muttered to myself, realizing the music was connected to me opening the door.

  “Morning Nik!” Cade, one of the baristas, called to me from behind the front counter. I tossed up a hand in greeting at him and the other baristas, already busy preparing for the rush of customers that would be starting in about twenty minutes.

  “What’s up with the wreath?” I asked as I pulled off my hat to fluff out the little curls at the top of my tapered cut. “Did one of y’all do that?”

  Cade stopped with a canister of fresh grounds in his hands to turn and give me a yeah, right lifting of his eyebrows. “And risk the Wrath of Anika? Hell nah,” he chuckled, then went back to what he was doing as my face grew hot.

  I’d been working double-time to try to get away from that whole Wrath of Anika thing here among my peers at the coffee house, but apparently, the idea of it all insisted on hanging around.

  It wasn’t that I was a mean boss – in fact, Roman assured me he’d never received a complaint about me mistreating or abusing any of the people under my purview as manager. I fully believed in treating people well, in all areas of my life, work included.

  I just… needed things to be a certain way.

  And when they weren’t… people felt it.

  “It was here when I got here,” Cade added to the words he hadn’t intended as hurtful – they all used the little nickname to tease me. “And Royal was the one who let us in this morning, so…”

  As soon as that name touched my ears, they unthawed, quickly replacing my weather-borne chill with low-level rage. Reflexively, my fingers curled into fists, mauling the soft wool of my winter hat.

  It was Royal.

  Of course it was Royal.

  I swallowed, hard, taking a deep breath before I spoke, lest my disdain for the boss’s cousin creep into my tone. “And… where, exactly, might Royal be now?”

  Cade shrugged. “Last I saw him, he was headed to the office.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded, already moving. “And great job on the menu board.”

  Cade’s grin over my praise was the last non-red thing I saw as I stalked down the hall to the office. The door was partially open already, so I didn’t bother knocking – a courtesy I would’ve given my boss, Roman Taylor, who owned the shop.

  Royal Taylor?

  Was lucky I hadn’t gone upside his head yet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I asked as soon as I was inside, walking up to push his big ass feet off the desk where he had them propped up.

  “Good morning to you too, A-nik-a,” he trilled, stretching out the syllables of my name in the same annoying cadence he’d been using since I insisted he had no standing to use my nickname. He pulled himself to a stand, towering over me by a foot as he came in my direction, arms stretched for a hug.

  “Don’t you dare,” I hissed, putting a hand up between us, even though his ass knew full well I wasn’t hugging him.

  He grinned at me, all perfect white teeth and velvety lips and family-legacy dimples.

  God he makes me sick.

  “Why’re you always treating me like this, huh?” he asked, tossing his hands up. “What’d I ever do to you?”

  “Exist,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “What’s with the tacky-ass wreath on the door? We had a whole meeting item about it – Roman approved my black, white, and gold palette. Where does that gaudy mess fit?”

  Royal shrugged, his broad shoulders filling out the wine-colored knit a little too nicely for my liking. “Why does it have to fit? It’s fun.”

  “It’s corny,” I countered. “We do Donnie Hathaway, Mariah, Whitney, Destiny’s Child, maybe a little Ariana Grande around here for the holidays. The friggin’ Chipmunks, bruh? I don’t think so.”

  He sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Let me guess – Santa didn’t hook you up like you wanted when you were a kid, and that song was playing in the background, so now you’ve got some traum—”

  “Could you not?” I interrupted, prompting him to bust out laughing. “It’s all fun and games to you, I know, but it’s serious to me. I’ve put a lot of time, energy, and work into helping establish a brand aesthetic, and your goddamn Chipmunk wreath has to go. Before the shop opens.”

  Royal’s thick eyebrows lifted.
“You asking or telling?”

  “Telling,” I answered, without hesitation. “I’m the manager, you’re the… manager trainee,” I gritted between my teeth, loathe to give him even that much, when all he’d done for the past year or however long was play around. “It’s not up for debate.”

  He raised a hand to his forehead, offering a stiff salute before he headed toward the door. “Aiight, General A-Nik-A. I’ll take the wreath down. Wouldn’t wanna… bring your wrathful side out.”

  There was fire in my eyes as I turned in his direction, but he was already out, closing the door behind him with a definitive click.

  “Uggggh!” I grunted. I knew I shouldn’t let him get on my nerves so bad, but…uggggh!

  Royal Taylor had taken up residence “under my skin” and didn’t appear to be moving out any time soon.

  He would, however, be moving that damn wreath.

  “Damn he fine.”

  “Wow. Is he on the menu? Cause I’ll take him. RING ME UP.”

  “I’m supposed to be off caffeine, but goddamn, I’ll have a cup of THAT coffee.”

  Putting down the end of the matte black garland I’d been untangling in the office, I stared at the screen of my phone, wondering what the hell those notifications were about. I rarely posted on my personal account anymore, so I didn’t even have to check to know something had to be going on with the Urban Grind account, which I took great pride in curating.

  I may or may not have been a little obsessed, but again… brand aesthetic.

  My obsession with the UG social media had led to more than a little great publicity for the coffeehouse. People from all over the world followed, and there was a growing contingent of people who traveled to the Heights just to experience the flagship store.

  It may or may not have been my idea to start calling it that.

  Needless to say, Roman was immensely satisfied with my performance as head manager of his firstborn coffeehouse, and I took it very seriously.

  Which was why those errant comments were a cause for concern.

  I unlocked my phone to open the Instagram app, navigating to the post where the most recent comments were coming from. My eyes went big as I realized it was a photo I had neither taken nor posted, and therefore did not belong on our feed.

  It was a goddamn selfie.

  Of friggin’ Royal Taylor, with one too many buttons undone, wearing a black and white twist on the classic red Santa hat, sipping from an Urban Grind mug.

  A thirst trap.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep, deep breath as I gave myself a little internal talk.

  Anika…. He is Roman’s blood. For unknown reasons, one of his favorite cousins. You can’t kill him. You can’t kill him. You can’t kill him.

  “Ahhh, I see you’ve already spotted my latest contribution to the Urban Grind brand aesthetic,” I heard from way too close behind me, in a voice so impossibly rich that it irked my fucking nerves. “You see how many likes it already has? The numbers on that Sweet Potato Pow latte are gonna be through the roof, watch.”

  I’m going to kill him.

  “As usual, you are out of line,” I responded, turning to face Royal, which was annoyingly hard to do. The action itself was fine – it was the psychological toll of looking him in the face that I found a reason to complain about.

  Royal Taylor was a damn terrorist.

  With his skin and his face and his shoulders and hands and… ugh.

  “What did I do this time?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

  I crossed my arms. “This time? So you recognize that you are always out of line.”

  “More like you are never satisfied,” he argued. “You wanted the wreath down cause the colors were wrong – cool, I took it down. You’re all about the brand aesthetic, so I made a post that matches the brand aesthetic… but you still have a problem.”

  “You’re damn right I have a problem with you posting on the Urban Grind social media account. This is a business, Royal, not your personal hoe trap.”

  Royal’s eyes went big. “Hoe trap? Come on, A-nik-a.”

  I shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

  “You just don’t understand my marketing style,” he tried to explain, but I shook my head.

  “First of all, you do not have a marketing style when it comes to this coffeehouse. You’re an observer here, that’s all. You shouldn’t even be logged in!”

  He sucked his teeth. “Damn, my bad for trying to assist. I saw that nothing had been posted today, so I called myself helping.”

  “The post is scheduled for this afternoon, which you would’ve known if you’d simply asked. And, for future reference, I don’t consider that post “helping.” All the comments are thirsty ass women, and they aren’t talking about the coffee.”

  “So I gotta apologize now for being handsome?” he asked, purposely playing obtuse. “That’s not my fault, it runs in the family!”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God,” I muttered, pressing my fingers to my temples. His arrogance was just… “It’s not about you being attractive, it’s about you making the business page about you. You literally posted a picture of your face, Royal!”

  “Sipping from an Urban Grind mug,” he argued. “It’s product placement. And I even got a black Santa hat to fit your lil color scheme. And did you not see the caption?!”

  Oh God, there’s a caption?!

  Narrowing my eyes, I picked up my phone and went back to the picture to seek out this caption he apparently thought would offer some sort of redemption. I read it once, then reread it, sucking in a deep breath as my nostrils flared with… something more than anger, but not quite rage, with a little twist of disbelief.

  “Nothing like a big mouthful of warm pie. Come fight the cold weather with our seasonal Sweet Potato Pow latte. #UrbanGrind.”

  “Warm… pie… really!?”

  “I know, that shit is good, right?!” he grinned. “Attention-grabbing. I’ve got some other ideas too, we can plan out a bunch of these. Like the s’mores latte – you’re close to the color of graham crackers, so how do you feel about having melted chocolate and marshmallows on you?” he held his hands up in front of him like he was framing me in a shot. “In the nude.”

  My nostrils flared. “I feel like I’m going to murder you.”

  “Hola, young people!”

  Royal’s ass was saved by Roman’s sudden arrival – an arrival I’d been preparing for, before being sidetracked by these social media antics. In the midst of decorating between the waves of customers, I had numbers prepared, proposals for the next quarter, employee evaluations, all manner of important things to discuss with my boss.

  …After he finished dapping up his cousin.

  As much as Royal got underneath every last piece of my nerves, seeing him next to his older cousin highlighted just how damn fine he was.

  When I first started here as a barista, years ago, I had a little crush on Roman, with his smooth chocolate skin, tall frame, lush facial hair, and dimples. Finding out about his wife and kids had been a great cure for the crush, but hadn’t made him any less easy on the eyes.

  I was content to excel at my job and be in the presence of a great-looking man who wasn’t trying to screw me – which was pretty crucial at this point in my life – but then here came Royal.

  He was right.

  Handsome did run in their family.

  In all the ways Roman was attractive, Royal was that times ten, with the added dangers of being closer to my age, charismatic, and completely willing to get on my nerves. He openly flirted, he thirst-trapped on social media, and all signs pointed to him being a womanizer.

  A fuckboy.

  So… pretty much exactly my type.

  Good thing I was off men.

  Cold turkey.

  “Royal, I saw your post on the UG account – it’s generating a lot of conversation and visibility, I like that,” Roman said, tapping his fist against his cousin’s as my stomach tw
isted into a knot.

  Of course he likes it. Of course he does.

  “Actually,” Roman continued, taking a seat behind the desk. “I’m glad both of you are here – I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  My eyes widened. “So… this isn’t about the quarterly numbers?”

  “Not today, Nik,” he said warmly, gesturing for me to sit down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Royal took the other. “Today, I want to let you know that we’re officially bringing Royal in as co-manager. I know he’s been here observing for months, training. But before we put him in his own location, I think he needs some hands-on experience. And largely thanks to you, Anika, this store does enough volume that we could use an additional manager anyway, so it works out for everybody.”

  THE HELL IT DOES.

  “You’re serious?” Royal asked – a question I wanted an answer to myself. Of course, his inflection was entirely different than the one I wanted to put on it. He may have been excited, but I was mortified.

  Roman nodded, grinning across the desk. “Absolutely. Anika has taught you well over the time you’ve been here, and I think you’re ready to take the next step. Ready to push it further. Before you know it, another year will have passed since you first approached me about this, and I think that’s a nice solid amount to put in. How do you feel about it, Nik?”

  My mouth opened, but for a second, nothing came out. I cleared my throat, holding my head high as I spoke. “You’re the boss, Roman. I’ll follow your lead.”

  That response made him give me a look – he knew something was up. “Royal, why don’t you head out front, make sure everything is running smoothly? I need to holla at Nik.”

  “Absolutely,” he nodded. “There’s probably a few fans out there looking for me anyway,” he said, winking at me as he passed.