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Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Juniper
I’m already eying a new computer and a few other neglected upgrades.
Like lunch for everyone today.
Best thing of all, knowing he’s a rich, traveling jerkwad, I’ll never have to see his arrogant–and irritatingly attractive–face again.
Jake sighs in delight as he finishes his sandwich and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “That was awesome. So much better than my mom’s homemade sandwiches.”
The homemade sandwiches in question lie abandoned on one of the tables. Cling–wrapped and soggy, they’re possibly the least appetizing thing I’ve seen all day.
“Gross.” Emmy pulls a face.
“You’re telling me. Who thinks cream cheese and a pickle needs jelly–on it?” He groans and lets his head flop down. “You’re a lifesaver, Junie.”
“Speaking of saving lives, it’s time for me to get back to the accounts.” “That,” Emmy says firmly, “is the least lifesavey thing I’ve ever heard.” I ruffle her hair as I pass. She’s a good kid.
Most businesses claim they’re a family, but this place really feels like it sometimes. Sarah and Jake are busy saving up for college; Emmy’s trying to get her art career off the ground and working part–time to cover costs, and then there’s me, desperately holding it all together.
The computer whines to life with less complaining than usual today. When I open the dreaded spreadsheets, they don’t feel so miserable after all.
In fact, I almost feel-
Okay, light might be an exaggeration. But when I look up at the pictures of Nana on the walls and the way the store was back when she was kicking butt, I feel like less of a failure.
-I’ve almost had enough time to settle into the accounts and start crunching numbers for real when Emmy knocks on the door I’ve left cracked open.
“Junie,” she says hesitantly,
“What’s up? Didn’t I say I have a hot date with a calculator?” I call back, trying not to groan. I’m so close to finishing this quarterly crap and being able to focus on something besides profit margins and expenses that finally have a shred of breathing space. “This better be important.”
“It’s him. The guy from a couple of days ago…” she says too quietly.
Her blue eyes are hesitant as she looks up at me. “You know. Big Fish.” Oh my God.
It’s crazy that with just one ridiculously bear–sized order and awful attitude, they’ve given him a nickname.
“Shit.” I thread my fingers through my hair, tugging the resistant strands out and staring at them, red and worn in my grip.
Why the hell is he back?
Did he realize he grossly overtipped and now he’s here to correct the error?
Holy crap, no. My stomach knots.
But what if it’s even worse? If the food somehow made his big boss sick…
I do the calculations in my head.
It was three days ago now when I presented the food to this man with all the pomp of a Roman emperor. Plenty of time for his big boss to get sick and for him to take the brunt of the abuse–and to figure out how to make my life miserable.
“I don’t suppose you can tell him I’m out?” I ask. Of course, I can’t ask her to hide me.
Letting her or Jake deal with him wouldn’t be fair or wise. Even if it’s amazingly tempting right now.
etroyed: A Journey of Sonaraks
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Chapter 13
“Junie…”
“Relax, I’m coming, I’m coming.” I drag myself up from my chair and follow her to the front.
He’s standing by the counter with the same terrifying maleness as before.
It’s like every single thing about him is designed to shock and awe the primitive part of my brain, reminding me the customer from hell looks like a scary hot man’s man.
And dammit, my very confused body likes it for some unholy reason
He gives me what might even pass for a smile as I take my place behind the counter.
“Hi,” I force out, not trying for the breezy placating customer voice I went for last time.
If he’s here and pissed off, he’ll know better, anyway. I sassed him before, after all.
I cringe internally.
“Juniper Winkley, is it?” he asks, reading my name tag. “Nice to see you again.”
Nice? Nice?
I don’t believe this guy finds anything about me ‘nice,‘ but he delivers the line with such practiced sincerity, I almost believe it.
Then I come to my senses and wonder what he’s up to. My eyes narrow as I clear my throat.
“Um, yes.” I fumble over what to say next and settle for, “Thank you?” “I didn’t thank you properly before.” He smiles, this time wider than
before and fake as hell.
Oh, man.
It doesn’t reach his eyes, but there’s something charming about it anyway. Even if he’s just putting on a show, it’s nice to see a face that handsome set to something besides perma–scowl.
