by C. M. Steele
“Well, it’s not my business, anyway. I have to get back to work, or I’ll be in a bigger mess than I’ve been.”
“You work so hard. I want to be like you when I grow up,” she says with a giggle.
“You’re older than me.”
“Well, I mean, I haven’t matured yet.” You could say that again. If I could find another employee, I’d fire her. She’s not good at her job and slacks off too much for my liking. It wasn’t even me that hired her; that was my stepfather who thought she’d be a good fit, big tits and tiny waist. It helps the business if she didn’t fucking call off at least once a week.
“Let life fuck you, and you age quickly,” I huff, taking my ass into the back to check on the muffins in the oven. The next time I come out, he’s gone. Damn it. It’s for the best that I keep my distance, because a man like him looks like he has himself put together and I’m a pretty damn hot mess.
When I finally close the café, I work on the day’s sales. The numbers look great. Another killer awesome day, and yet that doesn’t make a difference because we’re fighting back from massive crippling debt and late fees. I look at the bills, knowing damn well I’m still not sure where the bleeding is coming from. I have enough supplies for the next week, and I won’t be able to get more unless I pay the vendor. From the money I’ve stored, I’ll have it by tomorrow, which is so freaking good. We can’t make money if we have nothing to sell.
I close up and head home. Feeling someone’s eyes on me, I turn and don’t see anyone standing there. Damn, I’m officially losing it, but that’s when I collide with a large frame. “Ms. Ivy. It’s a pleasure running into you here.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m one of the people your father owes a pretty penny to, and if I don’t get my money, well, bad things are going to happen. Maybe not so bad for you,” he says, wagging his brows up at me with lecherous intentions. I’m freaking out because there’s no way I can outrun this guy.
“Why don’t you take it up with him?”
“You’re the one here. So you have a week to have my money, or your pussy will be working off that debt.” I move around the big brute and thankfully, he lets me. Rushing to the Blue Line Station and sprinting up the stairs, I breathe a sigh of relief as I see the train coming my way. Tears fill my eyes, knowing that my life just got a lot more fucked up.
When I reach the two-bedroom apartment I share with my stepfather, I feel a sense of dread because I have no idea if he’s in there and if anyone else is with him. Given the situation I just found myself in, there’s no guarantee he doesn’t have assholes waiting there for him.
Not hearing any voices inside, I unlock the door. No one’s in the apartment, and I couldn’t be happier. The rest of the night goes by in a blur as I eat the last bit of lunch meat on stale bread. Most days I don’t eat much at all because I’ve thrown all my money into the bills and I only have a couple of pennies to rub together.
I fall asleep with hopes for a change to fix this life of mine, but the only person that appears in my dreams is Mr. Handsome Suit. He can’t help me in any way except by leaving me those large tips. They can handle some small bills.
****
It’s three in the morning when my alarm goes off, so I get up. “What the fuck is that noise?” my stepfather shouts, coming into my bedroom like he’s the fucking police.
He looks like he’s been on a bender or something. “It’s my work alarm. You know, that place you forgot you have a stake in.”
“You do such a good job running it—why do I need to be there?”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get ready.” He leaves, tossing his hands up, conveniently leaving the door wide open. What a prick.
I shower and dress as quickly as possible, but when I go to ask him about the debts, he’s fucking passed out. There’s one thing I’ve learned over the years; you don’t wake up an angry drunk. My keys gingerly move into the lock as I close the front door.
I move around the shop, helping customer after customer while I dread and yet welcome a visit from a complete stranger. Well, I guess he’s not a complete stranger. He has come into the café every day for the past two days and at night, he stars in my fantasies.
It takes another twenty minutes, but he’s here and looking exceptionally gorgeous today as his eyes meet mine. I cater to all walks of life, but he’s dressed to kill in an expensive suit with his satchel that contains his laptop and some documents. He takes a seat in his usual spot that gives him a direct view of the counter and, more importantly, me, which makes me a bit nervous.
He watches me like a hawk, his light eyes darkening when they land on mine. It’s nuts the way I’m not upset at the way he focuses on me. If it were any other man, I’d inform him that I’m not only not interested, but that I’d call the cops if he harassed me again. Even though I’ve personally taken his order, never once has he introduced himself to me. I’ve tossed my name out twice, even though it’s on my name tag. It’s irking me to no end.
I don’t go to him. If he wants to be served, he can come up to the counter like most of the guests here do or wait for Ella to come out of the back. He didn’t mind her taking his order the other day, and somehow it infuriates me. It’s petty and ridiculous, but if there was ever a reason for it, I believe this jerk has given me proper justification.
Mr. Handsome-but-Rude can kiss my ass.
I walk around and take the orders of two men sitting at a table near to him. I feel his gaze as I speak to them. It’s almost as if he wants to claim me as his personal server, but I just ignore him and walk behind the counter to process their orders.
“Professor Suit is back for the third day. He’s waiting for you to serve him.”
“Well, he has no manners, so he’ll have to come up here to get his coffee.”
“Well, if you won’t serve him, I will. Damn, that man is fine as hell,” Ella says, smiling at him, and I change my mind.
“No. I got it.”
“What is going on with you? You’re getting eye-fucked from the hot, smart-looking guy in an expensive suit, and you don’t get his number or anything.”
“He hasn’t even said his name and I’ve said mine several times, so anyway. Being professional is all that is going to happen.”
By the time he finally takes his leave, I can breathe again. The man is a fucking menace, and I wish that he would just leave me alone instead of dominating my soul even at a distance.
I call my stepfather, who should have been here by now, but he’s probably off on another binge. The man has a gambling and drinking problem that’s becoming too much of a burden for me to handle. Day in and day out, I feel more like the parent than the child. I should just say fuck it all and leave, but I can’t do that to my mother’s dream. She loved the café the way she loved me.
At the end of the day, I close up the shop with my father nowhere in sight. When I finally get inside my apartment, I find him sitting there, strung out as usual. I tiptoe around him so he doesn’t wake up when I really should be wringing his damn neck. He doesn’t care an ounce about what all of this is doing to me or how fed up I am. There has to be a way out.
I hate to say it, but selling the business might just be an option I’ll have to consider in the near future, although I probably should hire a lawyer since I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Then again, I can’t actually afford one. Then I’m reminded of the guy who threatened me.
I’ve been so busy dealing with the business, and my stepdad’s been ducking my calls and partying that I haven’t been able to get a word in about the threat. I have five more days before the guy comes for payment, if I’m lucky. He didn’t even say how much he was owed.
Thirsty, I sneak into the fridge and pull out the orange juice bottle. When I open it, it reeks as if he’s poured alcohol inside it. It dawns on me that the fridge light isn’t on, and a foul odor is coming from somewhere inside. I could kill the man.
I don’t eat or drink any
of the potential profits at work, only to come home and find the few groceries I buy to be completely ruined. Did he unplug the fridge? No. The clock on the microwave is completely black. It’s already gotten cooler today after work, but I notice that it’s still hot in the apartment.
Near tears, I decide to forgo anything and head into my bedroom without bothering to flick on the light; what’s the point? I know our power has been cut off. Sleep takes me as the weight of everything on my shoulders is too heavy to deal with.
****
I wake up at three the next morning thanks to my phone’s alarm and remember it’s not a simple power outage like I dreamed. Needing to get ready for work, I turn on the hot water, which thankfully works because it’s run from the principal source on the floor and managed by the apartment building company. I wash up as well as possible. Luckily, I paid the rent with my last check so we can’t get evicted just yet, but I know it’s coming soon if things don’t change.
I see my father sleeping on the sofa with the orange juice bottle tipped over in his drunken hand.
I move to take it from him so the rest doesn’t seep into the carpet and he snaps awake, grabbing my arm forcefully, hurting me.
“Let go, you asshole,” I scream at him. Finally he releases me.
I rub my wrist as he barks out, “What are you doing—sneaking around and stealing my shit?”
“How dare you! First of all, I bought that orange juice that you ruined with booze. Second, I was saving it from falling onto the carpet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to work to save the business you don’t give a damn about.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, you little bitch?” He stands up attempting to get in my face, but he’s too drunk to stand straight and falls back on the sofa. I hear it give, the wood splintering. Too bad it doesn’t land up his ass.
“I know I’m talking to a loser who has worn out my patience and love.”
“I never loved you. Your mother should have given you up when she got sick instead of leaving you with me.” The words should hurt, but I’m numb to his asshole ways. He knows throwing out my mom in a conversation will upset me.
She’d gotten the flu and couldn’t fight it and it turned into pneumonia. My mother had always been a frail person from years of physical and emotional abuse from my birth father who died in jail when I was a little girl. She really knew how to pick them. Still she was always a loving mother to me who tried and succeeded in life until she met Vincent.
“Whatever. Why don’t you polish that off and piss it away?” I storm out the door, noticing as I make it down the stairs that my wrist is bruising. What a prick. I head to work, hoping that it’s not too noticeable to everyone.
By the time I arrive at the café, I know it’s more than visible, so I head into the back and into the first aid kit, using an ACE wrap to hide the damage.
Chapter Three
Niccolò
I pop into Ivy’s Café for the fourth day in a row. Initially, I’d come in for an extra boost and to check the business because the owner owes Dom money, but I stay to see Ivy. She’s the first thing on my mind in the morning, and the last thing on my mind when my head hits the pillow.
She’s caused me to be so frazzled that I missed a very important mistake. Prior to Dom showing up in my office the other day, I’d been working on proving the fraudulent bills from another client, but Ivy makes me forget my priorities. Luckily, Domani and my cousin, Nero, weren’t too bothered and were able to deal with the situation.
I take my spot at my favorite table and begin my observations. Every day the place is swamped, and yet they are bleeding money. Still, my mind isn’t on the dollars and cents, but on the pretty barista in the pale green apron. She’s here every single day, and like a glutton I watch her move around the café with the grace of a ballerina.
Taking a seat at the table, I wait for her to come over and take my order. I’d love to take her as my favorite drink; still, I patiently sit in the seat that gives me the best vantage point of her beauty. I pull out my laptop, making enough noise to be noticed by her.
She meets my gaze and ducks her head, giving me just a hint of the blush that covers her face. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I’m floored by what I see. Her arm has a bandage around it. I wonder if it’s a major injury or burn. She doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, so perhaps it’s just unsightly around guests. I need to ask about it when she comes over here.
I’ve stared at Ivy every second I can, even though I’m supposed to be examining the expenses and decide if we’re going to have to make the café ours and kill her father. One thing is for sure: I will own Ivy. I’ve never indulged in anything, and now I’ve found a craving that will never be sated.
Ivy deals with a table full of suits, smiling prettily at them while she takes their breakfast orders. I’m livid, breaking the pencil in my hand. “Fuck,” I snarl, tossing it inside my bag to dispose of later. Honestly, I want to pull out my gun and pop them in the head for the flirty way they’re talking to her. She returns their banter with a cute little laugh that pisses me off. It belongs to me… everything Ivy owns belongs to me.
Even after taking their orders, she ignores my presence, setting my teeth on edge. I’m not going anywhere until she comes over here. Her employee comes out of the back several times with more supplies to fill their station at the front. Finally they start talking, which I’m sure is about me from the way her employee looks at me and then back to her. If the other girl comes over here, I’ll send her back because I only want coffee from Ivy.
After a quick conversation with another male customer, Ivy decides to grace me with her presence and comes over to my table. All civilized thought leaves my head, and I grunt out, “About damn time. Too busy flirting with the customers to realize I was here.” I barely use my words to order my coffee so this is the most I’ve said to her, and it’s going to backfire on me—of that, I’m certain.
I’d been so damn tongue-tied until I saw her talking to those assholes. Hell, I ended up drinking coffee with sugar for the past couple of days because she remembered my order, but I had no idea what I was saying. I usually drink my coffee black.
“Hello. The usual?”
“No. Um… yes, actually.” I stare at her with thoughts of stripping her bare and spreading her on the counter, licking her split like my favorite ice cream so that everyone would know she was mine.
Her top is too fucking tight, and I’m sure every man in here notices that she’s got a killer rack and is dreaming of rubbing their fucking faces between those gorgeous tits. Her long black hair is pinned up today in a messy bun with two pencils in her hair. It’s cute and sexy. I want to pull them out and tug her hair free from that damn bun so I can feel it between my fingers as I bring her body close to me.
“Fine. I’m Ivy, by the way. Manners go a long way, mister, so that’s why they get special treatment.” She walks away, and I watch the way her ass moves in that tight fucking pair of pants. They’re glued to her slender curves so that you can see every inch of her build. My rolling jealousy boils in my chest. Still, I can’t act on it like I want. With her father’s debt an issue, we can’t be together, especially if Dom wants him strung up by the balls. Fuck me.
Two minutes later, she comes back with my sugar-filled coffee. I hand her a twenty and tell her to keep the change, which she snatches from me. It’s a waste of tips because soon I’m going to give her everything. Normally, she adds her money back into the drawer because she wants to help the business. It kills me to see her working so hard, but she comes back to the table with my change and sets it down without a word. I want to say something, but my phone rings as soon as she walks away. I forgot to ask her about the damned wrap.
It’s my brother, who I’m supposed to be meeting with on the latest problems with another fucking thief, even though this one was a lot more skilled than Vincent. I send him to voicemail, which will piss him off, but I prefer to spend my hour watchin
g her, uninterrupted. He calls again, so it must be important. Inwardly cursing him out, I answer. “Hello, Dom.”
“You’re lucky you’re my brother,” he snarls into the phone. Yes, we’re all supposed to answer his calls and do his bidding without giving a shit about everything else, but I’m on edge and he can’t even fathom it.
I snarl while stealing another look at my woman. “Right now, I don’t feel so damn lucky to be related to you. What’s going on?”
“Well, you’re fucking mooning over the damn owner of the café.”
“Did Aria tell you that?”
“I can see you.” I turn to the window, and Dom’s standing outside. Shit. “Come talk to me.”
I pack up my shit and walk out, dropping my change into the tip cup on the front counter without looking at my infatuation. I’m sure she’s probably shooting daggers into my back, but I don’t care.
As soon as I step outside, Luigi opens the back door for us to enter Dom’s SUV. “You and I need to talk.”
“What about?” If he wasn’t my brother, I’d be a little unnerved at the moment because while we may look alike, he exudes the power that was bred into his DNA.
I know it’s about the problems for this place and the incident with the runner I gave him the day before. “After yesterday’s manic behavior, my wife informed me you were here watching the chick that works behind the register instead of doing what I sent you here to do.”
“I wasn’t watching her.”
“Bullshit. I fucking saw you. My wife actually told me last night because she thought you were planning on kidnapping her, and we have that problem already with Nero and his future wife.”
“What? Are you serious?” Nero’s pretty fucking crazy, so I suppose it’s not too far-fetched to see my cousin go to those extremes, but I wouldn’t have expected him to fall too. We’re all going down that slippery hill and there’s no returning.
“Very.”
“So is that why you’re here?”