When I enter the shop, the chatter stops. Seriously. Am I scowling again? Women supposedly have “resting bitch face.” What’s the male equivalent? Because apparently my facial muscles lapse into whatever that is.
The woman who single handedly took on all of their DoorDash orders stands at the smoothie counter, washing out a blender. "Can I help you, sir? I mean, Mr. Santiago?” She flushes, as if the ‘sir’ part was an accidental flirtation.
I wonder what Sam told her about last night.
“Yes, please. I Like You a Latte.”
She blinks. “But you don’t even know me.”
I look at her in confusion for a moment. “I… mean the smoothie?” I point to the cappuccino booster smoothie at the top of the menu.
“Oh,” she says, turning a deep shade of pink that resembles boiled lobster. “I… yes, of course.” She picks up her phone and taps something on it.
Jesus, it’s a good thing I didn’t order the ménage one.
She tosses things into another blender and presses the button as the door to the back opens and Samantha comes out.
“Hey,” she says, jerking her chin at me like we’re old buddies.
I like that.
“Hey,” I say back. “Toni staying out of trouble?”
She snorts. “Of course not, but it’s kind of her personality type.”
She sits on a stool next to me. “She’s in the back brushing Prince, which is perfect because I need to speak to you privately.”
There’s a lot of things we need to do privately, and not very many of them involve speaking.
I toss a tip into the tip jar and sip my smoothie. Yeah, this one’s good, too. No wonder this place is always hopping.
“Right. Want to head back up to my office?”
She looks to the back room.
“Go,” her friend says. “I’ll keep an eye on the two ankle biters.”
“Thank you,” I say to her, stepping down from the stool. By instinct, I offer my hand to Samantha to help her hop down, and she takes it.
I like the feel of her hand in mine. I like how she smiles bashfully and ducks her head a little, as if she’s never been shown this kind of courtesy. When she’s standing in front of me, I don’t let go.
“You’re still holding my hand,” she whispers, as we walk to the exit.
“You’ve got a problem with that?”
She pauses, as if thinking it over for a moment, then shakes her head. “Now that you mention it, not at all.”
Maybe this could work, I think to myself.
I was supposed to be running these women off the premises so I could get the place to myself.
I was supposed to be declaring war.
Instead, I’m walking out of here, hand in hand with the enemy.
And I have zero regrets.
Chapter 13
Sam
I feel like a schoolgirl, because all I want to do is sing out loud, Miguel Santiago’s holding my hand, bitches!
And oh, what a nice hand it is. All strong and rugged and masculine, warm and much bigger than mine. I expected it to be smooth, with all the office work I figure he does, but apparently chefs really get their hands all callused, from like holding knives and shit, and dude, I like it.
As we walk down the street, I launch into investigator mode, trying to quell my rising excitement that I get to see the inside of his office. It’s like a part of him or something, and it feels private and special that he’s taking me there, like this is next level relationship or something. No one goes into Miguel Santiago’s office.
Careful, my baleful inner voice warns. I inwardly sigh, telling her to shut up. I don’t want to listen to reason right now.
So, he had a fit and broke a guy’s camera into smithereens. Not a big fan of that display of temper. Are you just going to pretend that’s normal behavior? Or are you going to face the fact that he’s a rich guy who gets what he wants? Have you seen him compromise on anything? At all?
Shut up shut up shut up!
I start talking to pay homage to the logical side of my brain. I don’t get action, and this is definitely leaning toward action. The kind that I need. Crave. Have been fantasizing about ever since he sauntered into the shop smelling like bottled sex.
“So,” I say, getting all professional and business-like, “I found information on your brother and Toni’s mom. Looks like they had a wedding in Vegas after knowing each other one week.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah. Elvis and the whole nine yards.”
He cringes.
“Oh, it gets so much better.”
“Can’t wait.” He takes another sip of smoothie as if trying to gain sustenance.
“So, predictably, he knocked her up. It’s all over her social media. Then he just disappeared. Sent child support for a short time, but even shorter than I initially thought after some investigating, because apparently he claimed she slept around in Vegas and the baby wasn’t his.”