by Gracie Leigh
It was hard to grasp the concept of anything with Sam leaning over her. In her mind, she’d convinced herself that he likely smelled of stale sweat and cigarettes, and so she was sorely unprepared for the dizzying cloud of clean cotton and gently spiced musk that hit her senses.
Beautiful.
Damn.
The sentiment laid root before she could catch it, and for a brief, humiliating moment, it was all she could do to stop herself pressing her face into Sam’s neck and breathing deep, greedily absorbing as much of his arresting scent as she could before he inevitably pulled away.
Unless he didn’t pull away, and—
“You catching flies in that open gob?”
Eddie jumped. “What?”
Sam dropped the mushroom he’d been holding and straightened up. “For a posh girl, you ain’t half fucking gormless. Cut those mushrooms, and then I’ll show you the tomatoes. Try not to lop a finger off, eh?”
He returned to his side of the kitchen, leaving Eddie equal parts furious and slightly stunned by the effect he’d had on her. Arsehole. She was just tired—half addled with sleep deprivation. And nervous, too. She’d play him at his own game once she got in the swing of things, right?
Wrong. As the morning progressed and the café opened for business, Eddie found herself increasingly out of her depth. Cooking was, apparently, Sam’s domain, and at first she was glad of it. Carrying plates to tables was a cinch, right?
Wrong again. With Sam tied to the grill and the huge pots of baked beans and stewed tomatoes, Eddie was responsible for taking orders, money, and preparing hot drinks, on top of keeping the café clean and presentable—a tall ask, when every customer seemed intent on opening as many packets of sugar as possible and emptying them over the tables.
“Why do they do that?” She complained when she caught a rare free moment. “It’s disgusting.”
Sam kept his eyes trained on the grill. “There are worse things to clear up than a little bit of sugar. You should be here on a weekend when people bring their kids in. Now that’s mess.”
“Will you need me at the weekends?” Eddie’s heart sank a little. She’d been hoping to keep her weekends free, allowing her to catch up on all the late night practice she’d miss. “Your grandfather hasn’t given me a contract yet.”
“A contract?” Sam laughed and flipped a dozen rashers of sizzling bacon. “What do you think this is? A bloody bank, or something? PAYE is as official as we get around here. You’re lucky you get a payslip.”
“A what?”
“A payslip—oh, never mind. You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, have you? Is this the first job you’ve ever had?”
Eddie pursed her lips, unwilling to give an inch. So what if she’d never had a Saturday job like some of the other kids at school? Had never pulled pints in the student union either? That didn’t make her less valid than anyone else. “I’m just asking if you need me on Saturdays. It’s not a problem, I’d just like to know.”
“Saturday morning is our busiest shift. If we need you anytime, it’s then, so consider yourself told.”
“Fine.” Eddie turned on her heel and stalked back out into the café. A scene of devastation greeted her. While she’d been talking to Sam, every table in the café had emptied, leaving piles of dirty plates and mugs that all needed clearing. Brilliant. She’d already dripped grease on her Diesel jeans. They were her oldest pair, but still—fuck my life.
The café door opened. Three construction workers appeared, and then two more, and then a group of five, all wanting breakfast and a hundred mugs of tea. Eddie took the first group’s orders, and Sam appeared at her shoulder
“Clear the tables first,” he barked. “Can’t feed them if they’ve got nowhere to sit, can we?”
“So what should I have them do in the meantime?” Eddie hissed through clenched teeth. “Congregate at the till?”
“They’ll have to. Maybe next time you’ll stay on top of bussing instead of standing around giving me earache.”
“What?” Eddie seethed, but Sam was already gone, pushing past her to clear the tables. And of course he did it at lightning speed, coming back with a tray so full that his leanly coiled muscles practically waved at her.
I hate him.
And as the day wore on, the more certain of that fact Eddie became. Sam Nowak was conceited, arrogant, and annoying, and the facts that he was gorgeous and awesome at his job were irrelevant…mostly, because even though she wanted to stab him with a fork, Eddie couldn’t help admiring the way he singlehandedly cooked breakfast for half of London, all the while supervising her every mistake, of which there were many.
“Can’t you count?” he asked exasperatedly around midmorning. “Why on earth did you write four full English on the ticket when there’s clearly only three of them sitting there?”
“I’m a little frazzled,” Eddie snapped. “I’ve been working for five hours without a break. Isn’t that illegal?”
“Take a break if you need one, luv. Just stop fucking up. You’re costing me money.”
“You? Or your grandfather?”
“In our family, it’s all the same. There’s no rich banker daddy in my lot.”
“I don’t have a rich father either.”
“Right.” Sam turned away with a smirk that boiled Eddie’s blood.
Enraged, she looked for something to throw, but a customer called her away before she could launch a teapot at the back of Sam Nowak’s head. Smug git. What the hell does he know about my life?
Everything, apparently, if the snide silver spoon remarks she endured for the rest of the shift were anything to go by.
At midday, he cut her loose. “Go home, Cinders. You’re done for the day.”
“Cinders?” Eddie finished loading clean mugs on top of the coffee machine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Does it matter? You’re done. Finished. Go home to your castle.”
“You’re a dick, you know that?”
Sam smirked. “It’s been said before. Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Do you want me to?”
He shrugged. “I’d rather not tell Pops you’ve flounced on the first day. He seemed quite taken with you.”
“And what about you?”
“Am I taken with you?”
“No.” Eddie forced herself to meet Sam’s gaze, pretending for all the world that it didn’t feel like he could see right through her. “I meant, do you want me to come back? I’d rather not waste my time if you think I’m utterly useless.”
“You’re not utterly useless.”
“Fine!”
Eddie dumped the last mug on the machine and stalked away, slamming into the staff room and roughly jamming the key into her locker. Bloody Sam Nowak. I hate him. And as she gathered her things, it was all too easy to imagine that she’d never see him again, that she could walk out of the café with her head held high, knowing that she’d done her best, and that he was the epitome of all that was wrong with the male population of London.
But, of course, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t, because even without the perilous state of her finances, there was no way she was backing down. Sam Nowak believed she would fail, that she wasn’t good enough to mop the floor of his crappy café. More fool him.
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
For the millionth time that day, Eddie jumped and whirled around to find Sam behind her. “Stop sneaking up on me!”
“I wasn’t.” Sam took a casual bite of the wonderfully burnt toast in his hand. “I came to ask if you wanted something to eat before you left. We don’t do much lunch trade in the week, so I’ve got time to make you something.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Why not? Worked all morning, didn’t you? You’ve gotta be hungry, unless you’re on one of those stupid diets. No carbs in daylight, or some shit.”
He laughed at his own joke, and the desire to punch his beautiful lights out returned full force.
“I’m not hungry, thank you,” Eddie said with as much dignity as she could muster while leering at his toast with a watering mouth. “And after watching you sweat over that grill all morning, I wouldn’t eat here if you paid me.”
“That right?”
“Yes. Goodbye, Sam. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re coming back, then?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Oh, and Eddie?”
“Yes?” Eddie turned on her way past him, trying not to shiver at the way he said her name.
“We do pay you to eat, as it goes. You get a meal every shift you work.”
Arsehole.
Chapter Four
Eddie spent the afternoon after her first day at the café trying to recover from the most physical labour she’d endured in years. Apparently hours of brutal violin practice had done little to toughen her up for the real world, a fact she bitterly accepted as she soaked her aching legs in a steaming hot bath.
The fact that she couldn’t get Sam Nowak out of her head didn’t help her mood either. His eyes, his cotton-scented skin, even his smug smirk, had her so preoccupied that she didn’t notice her hands and feet turning into prunes. Ugh. She glared at the offending appendages, imagining Sam’s face carved into her wrinkled palms. It went some way to dulling his devastatingly gorgeous eyes, but his devilish smirk remained.
With a sigh, she hauled herself out of the bath and padded back to her bedroom. Her phone rang as she tossed her damp towel on the bed. She wondered if it might be old Mr. Nowak telling her not to come back, that Sam’s assessment of her performance had been so bleak that he’d decided not employ her after all. Or perhaps her father—who she was in no mood to talk to—wondering if she’d made it home from yesterday’s adventures.
But it wasn’t her father, or Mr. Nowak, old or young. It was Ian, and for some reason that seemed worse.
Eddie sat on her bed and took the call. “Hello?”
“Eddie! How are you, darling?”
The cheer in Ian’s tone caught her off guard. “Erm…fine, I guess? You?”
“Oh, I’m just grand. Anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to come for a drink tonight? Some of the crew are meeting at the Vic around eight. They’re all dying to see you.”
Lies. Ian’s vapid friends didn’t like Eddie any more than she liked them, but she couldn’t deny that, despite her aching legs and the lingering smell of grease in her hair, the idea of returning to the real world—to her world—was more than a little tempting. “I guess I could pop out for a few. Are you picking me up?”
“Actually, I’m coming from Monty’s. You can get a cab, can’t you?”
Eddie wasn’t in the mood to remind him that she was no longer in a position to get a cab anywhere, and so she agreed to meet Ian at the bar and hung up.
After drying her hair and dressing in a black maxi skirt and white camisole, she stepped into her favourite gladiator sandals and headed out to the nearest bus stop. The walk took her past the café. She glanced inside, hoping to get a good idea of the evening trade, so she knew what to expect on her first late shift in a few day’s time, but there seemed to be no one about, save a few old men…and Sam, who chose to look up at just the wrong moment.
Embarrassed to be caught staring in, Eddie averted her gaze, heat flooding her cheeks. She put her head down and kept walking, hoping Sam hadn’t seen her.
“Can’t stay away, eh?”
Rats. Eddie dug deep for her most pleasant smile and turned around. “I’m just passing.”
“So I see. Off anywhere fun?”
“What do you care?”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Neither are you.”
“Touché.” Sam grinned, though it wasn’t quite the smirk Eddie expected. “I told Pops that you’d be back tomorrow. Not changed your mind, have you?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
Sam shrugged. “Dunno. I guess this just doesn’t seem like your kind of place. I thought maybe you’d lost a bet, or something.”
“A bet? Are you kidding me? Do you really think I’d slave all day in your café for fun? Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do?”
“I’ve no idea what else you do with your life,” Sam said mildly…too mildly. “And, to be fair, you didn’t work all day. I’m still here, remember?”
Guilt was an emotion Eddie didn’t expect to feel when she looked at Sam Nowak, but she couldn’t avoid the fact that knowing he’d been working since five-thirty that morning made her feel a little bad. “Do you want me to come in and help you?”
“Help me?”
Eddie shrugged. “Two sets of hands make lighter work, don’t they? Or something like that.”
Sam’s usual smirk softened slightly, making his chiselled features briefly boyish. “That’s sweet, but I’ll be okay. I’ve been doing this shit so long I reckon I could do it in my sleep, which is just as well some days.”
“Are you tired?” It wasn’t the question Eddie had meant to ask, but as she gazed at Sam, she realised that she didn’t need a response to know the answer. Sam was a beautiful man—despite the fact that he was an arrogant git—but his killer bones and entrancing gaze couldn’t hide the signs of fatigue on his face. “Sorry, that was rude of me.”
“Was it?”
“Yes,” Eddie said. “I imagine I’d be the last person you’d tell if you were tired, because it’s none of my business, right?”
“If you say so.”
“I do—” Eddie stopped as she realised how daft she was beginning to sound. “Anyway, if you don’t need me here, I’d better get going. I’ve got a bus to catch.”
Sam’s grin widened. “You’re getting the bus? Seriously? Or is that toff code for a horse and carriage?”
The perpetual irritation that seemed to be Eddie’s constant companion around Sam returned. “I’m not a toff.”
“No? You ain’t exactly an East-End cockney either, though, are you?”
“Do I need to be?” Eddie put her hands on her hips, her left foot tapping as sudden rage boiled through her. Damn him. “You’re not cockney either. You’re northern, I can hear it in your accent.”
“Leeds, born and bred. Can’t get much posher then that, eh?” Sam’s tone dripped with sarcasm, and the grin that had briefly softened his features was lost to his trademark sneer. “We’re immigrants too. That pushes us up the food chain, right?”
“Don’t be so bitter,” Eddie snapped. “I bet you’ve never left this country.”
Sam said nothing, and for the first time since she’d met him, Eddie sensed victory. Granted, it was a small point, but a point nonetheless, and something told her she’d need all she could get around Sam Nowak.
“Anyway,” she said again with as much dignity as she could muster. “I really do have a bus to catch, so I’m going to leave you to it. Will I be seeing you in the morning?”
“I’d imagine so,” Sam said flatly.
“Well then.”
“Well then,” Sam repeated.
And still, Eddie didn’t step away. “Anyway—”
“You said that twice already.”
“Oh, piss off, will you?” Eddie finally exploded. “I only stopped to be polite.”
“Thanks for that.”
“For goodness sake. You’re so tiresome.” Eddie turned on her heel and stalked away from Sam Nowak for what felt like the thousandth time that day. How was it possible that she’d only just met him?
Eddie knew the moment she walked into the Greenwich bar that agreeing to meet Ian had been a massive mistake. After her hellish day and subsequent run-in with Sam Nowak, she desperately needed to decompress and take stock of the disaster her life had become. A glass—or three—of wine and a sympathetic ear would’ve been worth coming out for, but Eddie had been halfheartedly dating Ian long enough to know that he’d likely forgotten all about the financial tragedy that had led to her getting a job at Jimmy’s Café in the first place. I
shouldn’t even bother telling him I’ve got a job. He’ll only be mortified that it’s not at Fortnum and Mason, or somewhere.
“Eddie!”
Ian’s jolly bellow rang out across the busy bar. A few faces in the crowd of pressed shirts, loafers, and tweed turned to stare, first at him, and then Eddie. She cringed, though his greeting was far from unusual. Was it possible that he’d overnight become—Sam Nowak aside—the most irritating man on the planet? Or was it her? After all, she was the one whose world had imploded.
Suppressing the urge to run all the way home, Eddie forced a smile and tentatively waved at Ian. She made her way across the bar and joined him just as he was buying a round of drinks.
“White?” he asked.
“Please.” Though, for some reason, Eddie fancied a beer. Her legs still ached and her throat was scratchy. A cold beer would’ve slid down like a dream.
But such a thing was impossible. The ladies in Ian’s life didn’t drink beer, not even from the pretentious, bulbous glasses it was served in at bars like this one. The large glass of chablis he thrust into her hands would have to do, even though he was bound to have picked one that tasted of pickling vinegar. That’s right—for a rich boy whose parents likely had a sommelier on retainer, Ian had dreadful taste in wine.
Still, despite tonight’s poison being as acrid as she’d feared, Eddie tipped it into her empty stomach, absorbing the resulting giddy recklessness, which in turn made a second glass seem all the more sensible. Halfway through her third, she realised what a terrible mistake she’d made. Head spinning, she excused herself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. As she looked up, she caught sight of her reflection. Dear God, I look like a zombie. And with her pale skin and shadowed eyes, it wasn’t far from the truth. She combed her fingers through her thick, strawberry-blonde hair, trying to tame it, but it was no good. Her cursory blast of the hair dryer combined with a damp evening had sealed its fate.