Dakota awkward laughs so hard she snorts. “Yeeesh! Okay, now you have to do this—if nothing else, to make it up to poor Wayne.”
“Shut up,” I groan.
Her laughter fades, and she straightens up. “At least call. Talk to them, Eliza. You never know where a corporate gig might lead.”
I rake her with a knowing glance.
Easy for her to say, considering her stint in Corporate America landed her Grump Charming and a life beyond her wildest dreams.
“It still feels wrong. Giving in to a desk job isn’t why I came here. It’s the anti-dream.”
“Maybe, but it’s not forever, right? And if he liked your original brew, I bet you can negotiate. You won’t be tied to a desk or stuck in a store grinding out eight-hour shifts brewing glorified instant coffees. You’ll be the brains behind the scenes—and you’ll make him pay out the butt for your smarts.”
“But I want to be in a coffee shop, Dakota. A little one, with my name on it. Remember Liza’s Love?”
“Oh, you’ll have your precious shop one day. I’d bet my boobs on it. But scoping out the business side from that high up might help in the long run. When I worked at Haughty But Nice, it sure as hell wasn’t poetry. It was just a cushy, high-paying copy job. I learned a lot from the experience and it landed me enough money to support my poetry gig—”
“It helps when the boss falls madly in love with you, huh?” I smile as she gives me the stink eye. “I can’t count on cupid to help me out here.”
Not that I’d flipping want him to.
Not with blue-eyed Lucifer.
I’d rather take an actual arrow to the eye than suffer Cole Lancaster getting smitten with me—or, God forbid, the reverse.
Dakota slumps down with the baby, still laughing. “You never know. Linc and I didn’t exactly get along when we first met. We almost had a crime scene over cinnamon rolls. How’s the godfather CEO on the McHottie scale?”
I bite my lip.
Yeah, I can’t dare mention how hot the Grumpfather is.
I’m not Dakota and this is not a quirky rom-com.
I won’t land a billionaire husband from the office, and if I ever did, it wouldn’t be Lancaster in a trillion years.
I don’t care that he’s a loaded and arrogant and—no. Not calling him hot again.
Not even in my own head.
I wouldn’t date him for anything.
If we’re the last two people alive after the apocalypse, we’re not repopulating this rock. We’re handing the world over to insects and wishing them good luck.
Even his name—his freaking name—tastes like a pretentious mouthful.
I’m trying so hard not to flush when I shrug.
“Nothing to write home about. He’s no Burns, that’s for sure.”
“Too bad. It’s less complicated that way. Make the call. You can do it here. I’ll listen in for moral support,” Dakota offers.
I shake my head fiercely.
“We’re debating what it would be like to sell your soul to Big Coffee, but the truth is, until you’ve talked to him, you don’t even know if that’s an option,” she whispers.
I scrunch my nose up, waving a hand.
“Nope. He wouldn’t offer Wayne a bonus that big if he wasn’t set on hiring me for whatever dirty work he has in mind.” I try like hell to ignore the innuendo in that statement.
Right on cue, the baby wails for attention.
Dakota gently rocks her, making a few cooing noises before she says, “Right. So call. You don’t have anything to lose. Normal job interviews involve rejection, and you don’t even have that to worry about here. You’re holding all the cards.”
“But what do I have to gain?”
“So much! First, money. Second, a chance to have your coffee all over a chunk of America. Third—money?”
She makes a powerful argument.
“But I don’t want to have my coffee all over America if it’s not really mine! It’s not like they’ll name it Liza’s Blend or anything. I still want my cozy little shop where people come in to check out what’s on special for the day, where the drinks are handcrafted and memorable, and I know people by name because they visit every day.”
“That’s sweet. I get it. But decent pay means decent capital for your store. Plus, you might learn things from a corporate office that make running your own place easier.”
“We don’t know if it pays well. Wayne’s worked for the loser for years and he’s still making a few bucks above minimum wage plus tips.”
“If he offered Wayne a ten-thousand-dollar referral bonus, trust me, he plans to pay you well to retain you. Trust me. You’ll have whatever you want. Turn down his first offer and ask for ten percent more—no, make it twenty! You have the high ground.”
I smile painfully. “Are you crazy? Is it the sleep deprivation from the baby bean? He’d probably pick me up and chuck me out for insulting his ’generosity.’”