Another hour goes by and the pace of work drops again. Some of the regulars have already left, but the woman sitting near the counter is still there. She has been sitting with the same cup of slow pour coffee for the past hour and a half. I walk around the counter, more nervous than I would have expected.
“Hi, um, do you need a refill or anything?”
She looks up from her screen and tilts her head.
“No, I’m ok. Thanks.”
She turns back to her work.
“I’ve seen you in here a lot. What are you working on? If you don’t mind me asking.” I rush that last part out. I don’t know why this is making me so anxious. I’m never awkward talking to people, especially customers at Anchor. I’ve gossiped and chatted with tons of regulars and randoms. Maybe it is the subject I’m trying to broach, maybe what is making my heart pound faster is the fact that I’m not just chatting, I’m trying to open an avenue into a totally new direction. As I wait what feels like minutes for her to answer, I decide that I am making too much of this. That likely nothing will come of it and I should just relax. It doesn’t work.
“Um, well, I am running my business. I’m in drop-shipping.”
She must see the blank, vapid expression on my face because she immediately clarifies.
“What I do, basically, is buy products from wholesalers and manufacturers and then sell them online. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was actually looking to start my own business, you know, try to get into something other than being a barista. I recently came into a bit of money.” I don’t know why I said that last bit. I can’t seem to control my mouth. I am so excited by the prospect of learning about a new opportunity that I am ready to burst. “Can you tell me a little more about it?”
“Sure,” she says, pulling out a chair with her foot. I take a seat next to her and she starts explaining the world of private labelling, drop-shipping, and online retail. I listen, rapt, for ten minutes or so as she shows me the programs she uses to identify products that would sell well, then sort them based on cost, weight, size, et cetera. She talks about how to negotiate with manufacturers in China and how to estimate how many units to buy at a time to balance shipping costs and warehousing fees. In no time at all, my head is spinning. I can tell she is trying to go slow, but there is such an odd vocabulary and so many concepts that I can’t keep up. Finally, I ask her the question I have been wanting to have answered, but felt uncomfortable asking.
“So, how much do you make doing this?”
“Oh, I have twelve products out right now…I’d say I do about twenty-five thousand in profit a month,” she answers nonchalantly.
My mouth drops to the floor. How could this woman, who walks to the coffee shop and sits here four or five hours a day, be making more than a quarter of a million dollars a year? I have seen her for months and you would never have guessed it. She gives a satisfied smile and pulls out a piece of paper. She writes a web address on it and slides it over to me.
“Here, check this out. They have a lot of free resources so you can learn more about it.”
I thank her and get up. I have neglected my current employment for long enough, even though there are few enough new patrons. I feel like I am buzzing. This could be it. I could totally do this. And with the cash, I wouldn’t have to worry about paying the bills while I get started and I have enough to order samples and finance all the start-up stuff myself. I am almost thankful that I received that unexpected student loan letter. I guess it pays to keep a positive attitude.
A broad smile creeps across my face. The night at the auction and Blake are behind me. I can just focus on the future. For the first time in a while, the future is looking bright.
The bell rings to announce the door opening. I look up to greet the new customer, but my voice catches in my throat. It is Blake.
Chapter 14 - Blake
When I walk into my office this morning, Clara is waiting for me with my new phone. I am always impressed by her ability to get things done far faster than should be possible. I didn’t even know stores would be open early enough, but she managed it.
“It still needs to restore your settings and data from the backup on the cloud, so it won’t be ready for another hour or so,” she cautions.
“No problem, there is nothing that can’t wait. I just can’t believe I was such an idiot. I know better than to keep my phone in a jacket pocket when I’m climbing around a boat.”
Clara gives me a sympathetic smile. She wasn’t here last night when I got called back to the marina, but she knows the story.
“Too bad you missed your date, were you able to reschedule?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure it will be fine. Trevor explained the situation to her and I sent flowers this morning, so I think I’m ok.”
Clara arches an eyebrow at me. She and I have never dated and never will. She is like a little sister to me. And she knows me too well. As my assistant, she has had the dubious honor of standing by my side through numerous messy break-ups and angry one-night stands that wanted something more. She is my shield, soothing hurt feelings or shutting down over-blown tantrums so that I don’t have to deal with it.
She knows that I had a date last night, but not how I met Emma. She doesn’t need to know about that. Hopefully, Trevor won’t go blabbering about it, either. I know he signed the non-disclosure agreement like everyone else, but he has made a habit of skating through life like there are no consequences and he can be frustratingly cavalier about the ramifications of his actions.
“Everything ok with the boat?” Clara asks.
“Yes, it is fine now. But I am going to need you to speak to the harbormaster and get video logs of everyone who was on board her in the last two days.”
Clara nods and walks back to her desk. I walk through the glass door into my office and lean back into my chair. Last night, as I was getting ready to go to the restaurant, I got a call that my new project, the boat I just completed for Ted Gordon, was taking on water. I raced over to the marina to check on her and fix the leak. But as I clambered aboard, my phone dropped out of my jacket and straight to the bottom of the marina, taking my only record of Emma’s phone number with it. By happenstance, I noticed that Trevor was partying on a nearby yacht and asked him to go to the restaurant to let Emma know I wasn’t going to make it and why.
After spending an hour elbow deep in cold, dirty water, I found the source of the leak. Someone, maybe one of the guests that Ted had brought aboard to show off his new prize, had fiddled with one of the seacocks in the head. No doubt they were unfamiliar with the working of a marine toilet, and maybe they were more than a little drunk. Thankfully, the leak was tiny. On a boat that size, with that much weight, a one-inch hole below the waterline can see salt water shooting in like a fire hose. If that had been the case, she would have been sitting on the marina bottom within minutes. But I was able to get her sealed up before any real damage could occur. I also learned a valuable lesson in ensuring that all my systems are even more idiot-proof than I had thought necessary.
When my phone finally finishes its cloud restore, I decide to send a text to Emma. Opening my recent messages as if my phone had never fallen into the water, I apologize again for last night and ask her if she liked the flowers. After a few minutes, I see that she has read the message, but she hasn’t written back. No matter. She is probably at work and doesn’t have time to text. I put my phone aside and start working on some sketches for a preventative solution to the leak I discovered last night. By the time I begin building the new system in my 3D modeling software, I notice that Emma still hasn’t written back.
I don’t understand. Could she be mad at me for missing dinner? I had a perfectly reasonable explanation and I sent flowers with an apology first thing in the morning. I know it is annoying to postpone a date and that it would have been a bit embarrassing for her at the restaurant, but I don’t know what more I could have done. I would hope that she would be a little more understanding o
f the situation I was in.
I start to type another text, but delete it.
“Clara, I’m going out for the day. Feel free to go home early.”
The lull between jobs is not the best time because it is boring, but it does allow for my assistant to have a better work/life balance. During crunch time in a design cycle, I can be a bit of a tyrant. If I work long hours, Clara does as well, so on days when I don’t have much going on, I don’t make her stay at the office for no reason.
“By the way, Blake, a guy called while you were working. Said he is interested in doing a full reno of an old J-class that he has, wants to turn it into a luxury cruiser.”
I smile with excitement. J-class are classic racing sailboats. Think of the old America’s Cup racers. They are extraordinary boats with a massively upswept bow and stern. The lines are pure grace. Most luxury cruisers these days are much wider aft with a swim step and tons of deck space at the back end of the boat. Whoever wants to cruise in the J-class is clearly a real sailor.
“Where is it?”
“Aegean, near Mykonos.”
Perfect, I could fly out to Greece and get a chance to sail my own, private boat.
“Ok, make the arrangements before you leave. I’d like to head out there Friday.”
Clara nods and I walk out of the office into the warm mid-afternoon sun. I am going to see Emma. I don’t want to start a conversation over text. There are too many aspects of communication that get lost, too much chance for misinterpretation. It is better to talk face-to-face. Besides, I missed seeing her last night. I want her in front of me again.
Chapter 15 - Emma
What is he doing here? I thought he would get the message when I didn’t answer his text. Or that he would at least just keep trying to text me. Who just shows up to talk to someone face-to-face anymore? I try to pay him no attention and go back to organizing the various supplies by the espresso machine, but he walks straight up to the counter, leaning against it like he owns the place.
Ugh. It was a lot easier to be dismissive of him, to put him in my rearview, when he wasn’t standing right in front of me. Damn, he is hot. He cracks a little smile as our eyes meet and my body immediately experiences a flashback to the night of the auction. I focus and shut that down. I don’t need to be wasting my time with this guy and I can’t be led into bad decisions by the not so subtle ache in between my thighs.
“Hello, Emma,” he says softly.
“Good afternoon. Can I get something started for you?” I am as formally friendly as I can be, masking myself in the near ritualized language of my work. Blake sniffs lightly, blowing a bit of air and a lot of amusement out of his bold, aquiline nose.
“Ok. I will have a macchiato and one of those,” he points at the pastry display, “the pain au chocolate.”
“Would you like that warmed?” I ask reflexively.
“Oh, definitely.” His broad smile indicates that he is trying to infuse innuendo into his pastry order, but I am having none of it. I refuse to get drawn in. Blake is far too good-looking and charming, and fucking hot, for me to risk giving him another chance. If I do, I am certain it will end in heartbreak for me. I don’t want to get into a situation where I am falling farther and faster than he is. I just have to be firm, strong for a few minutes and he will give up. Then I can move on and leave the whole situation behind me.
“Coming right up.” I turn away and begin pulling a shot of espresso. I ask my co-worker to ring up his order. I need to take a break from his intense gaze. I glance back and see him drop a twenty in the tip jar.
When I turn around to give Blake his drink, it seems like he hasn’t moved an inch or stopped looking at me for an instant.
“Here you are,” I say with a forced cheeriness.
“Can we talk for a few minutes?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“No, I am working.” I hear how harsh I sound. It isn’t like me. I have always been friendly, even with ex-boyfriends. I have no real reason to be so short with Blake. I mean, he stood me up, but it isn’t like we have some serious relationship. My pride is hurt, of course, but normally I wouldn’t get so upset unless there is something deeper going on.
Blake leaves the counter, but he doesn’t leave the café. In fact, he takes his drink and his pastry and sits down at a table facing the counter. And he just sits there, eating his pain au chocolate and drinking his macchiato. It is infuriating. I couldn’t have been clearer without telling him to buzz off directly. I don’t know why he is being so deliberately thick-headed.
I do my best to ignore him, but every time I look up, he is sitting there, looking back at me. He is just waiting there. Waiting for me. Ugh. He doesn’t look like he is planning on leaving any time soon.
I’ve used up both of my breaks already and I still have another forty-five minutes left in my shift. If he sticks around that long, then I guess the least I can do is hear him out. But I promise myself that I will not be persuaded to give him another chance.
Half an hour comes and goes and he is still sitting there. Now he is reading something on his phone. It reminds me that he didn’t text or call when I was sitting alone in the restaurant. And all he has offered are vague apologies.
When my shift ends, I grab my purse out of the back and walk over to his table. He looks up at me and I feel my resolve immediately weaken. I have the urge to drown myself in his deep, warm brown eyes. Breaking the ocular connection, I pull back a chair with a scrape and sit lightly on the edge. I want to give the impression that I am not staying long. He is leaning back, relaxed, and open. If he feels nervous or contrite, he isn’t showing it in his posture.
“Emma, I would like you to give me a chance to make up for last night.”
I sniff in response.
“Look, I understand that you are upset, but I can make it up to you. I promise.”
I do my best to look at something on the table. He is staring at me with such intensity that I can feel his eyes on me like a physical force.
“Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“Please, Emma, you are being unreasonable.”
My head snaps up. If there is one thing that annoys me more than anything it is men claiming a woman, me in particular, is being unreasonable or irrational or some other distinctly feminine mental defect. As if reason is something that requires a penis to exercise.
“I am not interested, Blake. We had a very nice evening together and then a very unpleasant evening apart and now I think it is time we part ways.” I decide to twist the knife a bit. “Unless you think you didn’t get your money’s worth?”
The look in his eyes tells me everything. Oh my god. He actually likes me. I sit back in the chair. I see a genuine flash of pain in his eyes, more than if I simply wounded his pride or something, he really wants me. I am so thrown off that I can’t form any words, so my last statement, the one I didn’t really mean, the one I said just to create a distance, a safe space between us, is hanging there. I can’t form a word as he swiftly stands up, pushing the chair back with his legs. I can’t make my mouth move as he crosses to the door in a few long strides. I get up to follow him, but he is already out the door.
He is at the curb by the time I exit the café. He is ready to cross the street when my mouth begins to work again.
“Blake, wait!” I call out.
He turns his head as he steps out into the street. He doesn’t see the car.
Tires screech and the acrid smell of molten rubber assaults my nose.
The car can’t stop in time. Blake slams into the windshield, shattering the glass.
My voice is working again. I scream.
Chapter 16 - Emma
The ride to the hospital was nerve-wracking, and sitting here in the ER, waiting for an update, is even worse. I can’t help but feel responsible. Obviously, I know that Blake should have looked before stepping out from between two cars and that the driver should have been going slower and paying better attention, but I still feel like I caus
ed it all. Thankfully, the paramedics arrived almost immediately and got Blake on his way to the hospital. He was bleeding from his head, but apart from that, I didn’t have any idea how severe his injuries were.
So, here I sit, waiting for news. I cross my legs to stop them from bouncing up and down with nervousness. Unable to sit still, I stand up and pace about the waiting area. I look around at the other faces there, the loved ones of other patients. Their faces show worry, exhaustion, anxiety. I wonder what my face looks like. I’m not a loved one. We aren’t a couple. And yet, I am overcome with concern. I tell myself it is because I feel responsible for what happened to him. But that isn’t the entirety of it.
The vending machine in the waiting room has an assortment of salty or sweet options and the drink machine next to it a selection of sodas. Why do hospitals always have such unhealthy food around? I decide I don’t need to bother myself answering that and punch in the code for a bag of pretzels. I crunch on a handful. The mundane act of snacking provides a kind of relaxation, a way to be mindless for a few minutes at least.
When the nurse comes out and calls my name, I have to raise my hand. My mouth is stuffed with dry pretzel. I walk over to her, chewing furiously to get the mouthful down so that I can talk.
“How is he?” I manage.
“He is going to be fine. His shoulder was dislocated, and he has a concussion, but otherwise he is not seriously injured. Just some bruising and a few cuts and scrapes. He is very lucky that the car was able to slow down as much as it did.”
Acquired: A Billionaire Auction Romance Page 6