B is for Barista (The ABCs of Love Book 2)

by Brenna Jacobs

  This skill made Bentley a good gift giver. He knew what people would choose for themselves. As opposed to Lexus, who knew what people ought to choose for themselves. He always gave Lex a gift she really wanted and loved. Lex always gave him something Lex already owned, loved, and was certain, in her bossy younger sister way, would make Bentley’s life happier.

  Bentley could guess—from the moment he met her—that Ivy didn’t drive. Ivy, obviously, had a bus pass. And a secondhand bike. It wasn’t a matter of spending money. Ivy simply carried herself like a person who chose public transit and bicycle power. There was a statement in the choice—a decision about consumption. When he’d picked her up at her apartment, he knew he’d been right. Her bike leaned against the outer door, chained to the metal stair railing, and an old paper bus schedule was tacked to the inside of her door. It looked like it’d been there for decades. He wondered if she still used it, if it was even close to accurate, or if it was somehow sentimental. Something he could ask her about another day. He was saving up things to ask her about.

  When his phone buzzed in his pocket, it startled him out of a fantasy of walking down this street, Ivy’s hand in his.

  He looked at the display and felt his heart plummet. Not that he didn’t want to talk to Gary, but he’d have much rather have taken a call from Ivy. “Hello?”

  “Bentley, Gary Northrup.”

  It was one small annoyance in a list of small annoyances. Instead of saying, “Yes, Gary, I know it’s you because your name magically appears on my phone when you call, and besides, how many Garys do you think I know?” he simply repeated, “Hello.”

  Gary always treated Bentley like a child, which was only fair, since he’d known Bentley since he was in diapers. But Bentley figured a business degree, a multi-million-dollar franchise, and the fact that he now signed Gary’s paychecks would have convinced him to talk to Bentley like an adult. When he’d complained to Lex about it, she told him that Gary wasn’t talking down to him. She said he talked that way to everyone.

  Somehow it didn’t help knowing that the guy was condescending to all the people he spoke to.

  Gary was talking, a steady stream of numbers he felt the need to report right now, over the phone, without checking if Bentley was in any state to listen.

  After a minute, Gary switched tactics. “I hear you’ve got a concern about the flagship property.”

  Dammit, Lex.

  It was the first time in the call that Gary paused enough to suggest Bentley should contribute to the conversation. “As a matter of fact, I do have a few concerns.”

  As if he’d not said a thing, Gary rattled off reasons Bentley should not worry about anything. Reasons Gary had checked, double-checked, and nailed down all Bentley’s apprehensions.

  Bentley wasn’t new to this. He recognized when he was being bulldozed. So he changed tactics. Without waiting for a break in Gary’s monologue, he spoke.

  “I want to tell people I’m Titus.”

  Well, if nothing else, that did make Gary Northrup stop talking.

  Bentley hadn’t known this was what he wanted until he said it. Gary’s stunned silence only served to underscore the rightness of the idea.

  “I’m ready to become public.”

  He could hear Gary breathing, so he knew the shock hadn’t actually killed him, but Gary had no comeback.

  “I know we agreed that I’d work in the shop sixty days before taking over solo control and making any public announcement, but I would like to reconsider that. I will continue to take shifts and do hours, but I am ready to tell people who I am.”

  He knew he was repeating himself, but Gary still wasn’t responding.

  “Let’s put this on the agenda for tomorrow’s meeting,” Bentley said, and then, knowing it wasn’t quite fair, but not caring too much about it, he said, “Thanks for the call and the updates. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Hanging up had never felt so good. Bentley felt empowered. Bold. He slid the phone into his pocket and turned around on the sidewalk. There was only one person he really wanted to tell. He made his way back to Ivy’s building. On his way up the stairs, he waved at Mr. Thompson on the second floor who put his head outside his apartment door. Bentley jogged up the steps and knocked on Ivy’s door.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “All right, all right. I’m coming,” Ivy muttered toward the banging on the door. She pulled it open to see Bentley Hollis, standing there looking red in the cheeks and slightly winded. It was, on balance, a big improvement from the slightly-green Bentley who had left her at her door half an hour ago.

  “Hi,” she said, opening the door wider for him to come in. He didn’t walk inside; he just stood at the door and stared at her, a hungry look in his eyes.

  “Bentley?” she said. “Want to come in?” She reached her hand out the door to touch his arm, and he covered her hand with his.

  As he followed her into the apartment, still holding onto her hand, she led him to the couch. He looked unstable, like he might tip over.

  “Are you okay?” She sat beside him on the couch and turned to face him, tucking her feet under her.

  He made a gesture that might have meant yes, or no, or that he didn’t understand her question. He still hadn’t said anything, and he hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

  He wasn’t looking at her like he looked at her at work. Not like he was trying to figure out what she was thinking, and not like he was watching to see how she made a drink or handled a difficult customer. He wasn’t watching her so he could learn something. He was watching like he needed to. Watching her like he was compelled to watch. Watching like he couldn’t look away.

  She couldn’t look away, either. She felt heat rising up her neck. Her body felt pulled toward him. There were definite sparks flying.

  When he put his hand on her shoulder, she felt herself shudder under his touch, a wave of energy sailing through her body. His fingers moved up her neck and caressed her hair.

  She felt herself rising up on her knees to get closer to him as he cupped his hands around the back of her neck. One hand slid down to rest in the center of her back and she reached up to hold his shoulders. He gently pulled her closer. She locked into his gaze for a moment, or maybe for an eternity, before closing her eyes and closing the distance.

  Their mouths met in a silent communication. He asked and she answered; she suggested and he responded. Ivy let herself become lost in the moment, exploring this kiss. When Bentley finally broke away, she batted her eyes open to see that he was smiling.

  “Ivy,” he said, tracing his finger along her hairline. “Ivy.”

  She figured there was more, so she waited.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said. Then he shook his head. “I want to tell you something.” He took both of her hands in his and kissed her mouth again, softly, gently.

  “I want you to be the first to know,” he said. “Well, the first person I tell.”

  Her brain was flooding with ideas of what he might be heading toward. She tried to dismiss all the negative stories she was instantly telling herself. He looked so happy. It had to be something good. Something amazing, even.

  Maybe he was…

  “I’m Titus Cameron.”

  She felt her brain jerk to a stop, her mouth open in surprise; she closed it quickly. That was not what she thought he was going to say. Not even close.

  “That’s not funny,” she said, straightening up and angling away from him. She removed her hands from his without actually yanking them away.

  “No, it’s not supposed to be funny. But it’s true.”

  She shook her head. “No. You’re Bentley. The nice guy. The rich guy who doesn’t act rich. The guy who let me help him fit in and relax.” She was still shaking her head, sure that if she kept denying, he’d come around to her way of thinking.

  “Titus Cameron,” she said, as if explaining new information to him, “is the guy who invented Velvet Undergrounds. He’s the billionaire
brainchild of the shop. He’s some genius recluse who sees nobody, and he probably runs the corporation by remote control from the corner penthouse of some light-filled new high-rise building.” She heard her voice rising in pitch and intensity. “He’s the destroyer of small businesses. Nobody can open a mom-and-pop coffee shop around here ever again. He’s taking over the city, block by block.” She jumped off the couch. Her voice became shrill. “He’s the guy who’s going to tear down Centennial Glenn and put Lucille and all the others out on the street.”

  When she finally looked back at him, Ivy saw that Bentley had sunk back into the couch cushions, looking patient and ready to defend himself when she stopped talking. She didn’t want to stop talking. She wanted to keep hurtling denials. She didn’t want to hear him defend any of Titus Cameron’s heartless business decisions. And she couldn’t reconcile the anger and contempt she felt toward the very idea of Titus Cameron to the way she’d felt in Bentley’s arms just moments ago.

  It was too confusing. And she had run out of words. But it didn’t matter. Bentley couldn’t say anything that would convince her Titus was anything but a heartless, greedy capitalist. Nothing could justify his business behavior.

  Bentley spoke softly. “Velvet Undergrounds was my grad school project. I wanted to invent a store that felt exactly opposite of what it was. I wanted to give people a unique experience, but back it with the funding of a powerful corporation. All the charm of a one-off shop with the financial security of a franchise. The customer experiences one thing, and the company experiences something completely different.” He scratched his chin and looked at Ivy to see if she was still listening. “It was an experiment. And it worked.”

  She stood in the middle of the room with her arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn’t regained enough mental strength to throw him out yet, so she didn’t say anything. He kept talking. “Because I’m in a unique position to secure funding, I was able to open the business through a channel of my dad’s companies. And in order to gain majority control of my board, I need to work in the shop for a couple of months.”

  Ivy finally felt a switch flip. She stomped her foot and shouted, “A couple of months? You’re leaving us in a couple of months? Because you’ve done your time down in the trenches with the common people? And now you get to move forward, making all your business decisions by yourself? So you don’t have to be accountable to anyone when you throw a building full of old people out onto the street?” She held tight to her anger. It was the only thing keeping the tears away. “That is despicable. That is horrifying.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.” His calm voice suggested that he thought she’d be pleased about this.

  He was wrong. “Are you serious? You want to talk to me about throwing Lucille out of her home?” Her heartbeat thrummed in her head, drowning out any thought of polite dialog.

  He nodded. “I want you to tell me what to do.”

  He could not be serious.

  “Tell you what to do? Are you kidding? Anyone with a shred of humanity would know what to do. You are in a position of authority. You have control here. You HELP them.”

  His calm voice came again, adding to her fury by the second. “What does that look like, exactly? How could I help them?”

  Anger overcame her, and her next words came out as a near-whisper. “You have all the money in the world. You know business as well as anyone. And you need me to tell you how to help a struggling facility? Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “I am serious. Are you suggesting that I build another facility for them? Is that what you’re saying?”

  She stared at him. Was he being dense on purpose?

  “The care center industry isn’t really my specialty.” He didn’t sound apologetic.

  “Who cares? Is it that hard to see it’s the right thing to do?” She felt tears rising.

  “It’s not good business,” he said, his hands out, palms up, as if that was all there was left to say.

  She shook her head. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  She pointed to the door, feeling supported by a wave of righteous indignation. Bentley got up off the couch and walked toward her.

  “Ivy,” he said, his voice quiet and humble. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

  She shook her head and held her hands up in front of her like a wall. “Clearly you’re not, or you would have already done it.”

  He looked like he wanted to say something else. He took a step closer.

  She kept her hands up and shook her head. “No. Get out. Don’t talk to me.” She tried not to see her lipstick marks on the corner of his mouth. This was no time to get distracted by any particularly delicious memories. No.

  “Ivy, please,” he tried again.

  She closed her eyes and pointed to the door.

  When he walked away, she felt a combination of relief that he was gone and sadness that she was certain he’d never, never come back.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Bentley sat in a chair at the middle of the conference table, purposely not choosing a seat at the head. That would come later, when he’d earned it. The boardroom felt cold, the air conditioning turned up too high. Bentley felt himself press deeper into his leather chair. Lex was making a presentation about the plan to roll out the new block: advertising for local businesses to rent office space, tours of the model apartments, and an outdoor festival to celebrate the flagship store’s completion. She was great at her job. She made every idea sound brilliant and shiny. Every suggestion came out sounding familiar. She knew how to push when pushing was necessary, but even then, she managed to make the pushing seem like exactly the right idea. He knew he was lucky to have her.

  Lex placed a laser light over a corner of a schematic, explaining how the traffic flow would suit the store, the surrounding high-rise buildings, and the park. She listed a few more events on her horizon and then clicked to the last slide, an architect’s rendering of the flagship storefront. Every time Bentley saw it, he got a shiver of excitement. It was such a great idea. Such a great project. “Clearly, this is all far enough in the future that we don’t need to put small appointments firmly into the calendars,” Lex said, “But let’s keep the big things on the radar, because we’re going to want to have all board members present for these high-profile appearances.”

  She pushed the power button on her tablet to turn it off. “And this leads me to the next big PR decision that you are all involved with,” she said to the board. “When do we unveil Titus? When do we show the world his face?” She took an expansive glance around the conference table. “I suggest sooner than later; that we run a few more strategic interviews in prominent publications, really whet the public’s appetite for a genius billionaire playboy.”

  If she hadn’t said that with such an obvious attempt not to grin, Bentley might have been flattered.

  Kevin Fordham, the marketing director, started talking about the plan to unveil Titus, like he was some kind of sculpture. Bentley was only half listening. Kevin mentioned a date six months in the future. When Lexus came back with a conflict, Kevin made a show of giving her the floor, even though it was clear that Kevin thought both of the Hollis children, as he no doubt still thought of them, needed a firm guiding hand. All of these board members, friends of his father’s, had competing agendas, and Bentley once again felt eager to take majority control of his company. He wished he could simply promise Kevin Fordham that his substantial investment in Velvet Undergrounds would be tripled within another year and be finished with him. He pictured a day when he sat here at this table with one or two specially chosen advisors, friends, colleagues who would listen and discuss, instead of this game of nodding and pretending to concede, only to bring things back to the table at the next meeting.

  Bentley shook himself, realizing that his mind was wandering far from the conversation happening at the table.

  He sat up straighter in his chair. At a break in the “discussion,” he leaned in toward
the center of the table, making a visual line between Lexus and Kevin.

  “Can I have a minute?” he asked, not expecting any resistance. This is your company, he reminded himself. You are in charge, and you can take control. “This talk about unveiling Titus may be unnecessary.” He felt the energy crackle around the table. “I’ve already told people.”

  The silence that fell on the boardroom felt physically heavy, a palpable change in the atmosphere. Before the room could erupt in angry discussion, Bentley went on. “Not many people,” he said, but the clarification didn’t seem to comfort anyone.

  “Who?” Lex’s simple question wasn’t so simple to answer. She’d tear him apart when she found out.

  “Some people from the shop. Friends I’ve been making.” He refused to be any more straightforward.

  He looked at his dad. “I doubt anyone would talk,” he said. But he had to make the full confession. “However, I can’t deny that there is a possibility that someone might share the information.”

  Lex practically exploded. “Of course someone would share the information. Are you kidding me? Every publication in the area, not to even mention online news outlets, would pay handsomely for an exclusive.”

  A small part of Bentley hated that he knew exactly what Lex was talking about. And what she was hinting. He could see the faces of the board, a mixture of consternation and annoyance. As if this was what they should have expected.

  “I doubt anyone’s selling the story,” Bentley said, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt foolish for doubting the possibility. Lex was right. Anyone would jump at the chance to pay Ivy for her story. And it wouldn’t be difficult at all for her to find a buyer.

  “In any case,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to less volatile ground, “maybe we consider making the announcement about Titus sooner.”

  “You think we’re going to scoop a supermarket tabloid? Nobody moves faster than they do.” Lex was grumbling, her perfect forehead collapsing into unflattering lines, which he wasn’t about to mention. She already looked prepared to tear his heart out of his chest with her perfectly manicured hands.