“Are you finished? You don’t have to self-insert into business that’s not yours,” he growls.
Somehow, it feels like he grows another inch, towering over me higher with every snappy remark.
“And you don’t have to be a huge jackoff to this barista. The coffee’s fine. It always is when Wayne’s at the helm. He’s easily the best guy here,” I say matter-of-factly.
He stares through me.
“I have nothing to prove to you—whoever the hell you are,” he mutters.
I hold up my paper cup.
“Look. I just had a cup of the same new drink you did. The coffee’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with it. For a big chain, it’s pretty dang good. Now, I’m sorry the coffee isn’t up to your high and mighty tastes, but don’t those come from your recipes?”
His glare hardens, so venomous I have to clear my throat to keep breathing.
“All I’m saying is, you don’t have to scapegoat. Why take it out on the person grinding away to sell your product while he deals with rude customers and scalding hot liquid all day?”
Grumpfather is so not impressed with my feedback.
His eyes never flinch.
The fact that the man could win a staring contest with an owl hints that I should probably shut up and go.
Guess there’s just no reasoning with some people.
Too bad I’m not done.
“Also, I kinda doubt you’d know a good cup of coffee if the beans pelted you in the face.” I fold my arms, stretching on my toes to reach closer to his eye level.
“You already nailed it. Everything that’s wrong,” he says slowly.
“I—what? I’m not sure what you’re—”
But the way his face lights up cuts me off mid-sentence.
When the Grumpfather smirks, he looks like a god.
“‘The coffee’s fine.’ ‘There’s nothing wrong with it.’ ‘For a big chain.’” He throws my words back at me with an icy calmness that sends shivers up my back before he continues. “Very astute observations for someone with no filter. Sales are slumping with the younger crowd. ‘The coffee’s fine’ won’t cut it in a few more years. Nobody under thirty wants to be caught dead with a drink from a big chain in Seattle and Portland. They’re I-G-ing cozy little shops.”
“I-G-ing?” I repeat.
The teenager behind him laughs. “He means Instagramming, but it’s stupid, right? No one in their twenties Instagrams much anymore.”
“Dess, enough,” he snaps.
“Wow. I apologize, mister. Looks like I had you all wrong,” I say softly, my blood heating.
He gives me a questioning look.
“I thought you were just a suit having a bad morning. But you don’t stop at chewing out Wayne. You just have to yell at a kid because she’s right, huh? Oh, and by the way, I’m under thirty and I biked across town just for my big chain featured drip this morning. You’re welcome.”
He flashes the girl an annoyed look. “Everyone’s on Instagram. The metrics don’t lie. If our sales are ever improving, the product has to lead the way.”
My turn. “While you’re stuck on improvements, can we talk about your attitude?”
His lips part, and he stares at me, speechless.
Burn.
“Usually, my 'attitude' saves me from taking hideous advice from strangers who feel a burning need to interject themselves into private business.” He scoffs. “Just this once, though, I’ll give you a chance to enlighten me. Where does everyone hang out online?”
“TikTok,” the girl—Dess—and I say at the same time.
Grumpfather glares at me.
In one second, he’s gone from angry demigod to warrior. He turns his head and glances at Wayne before looking back at me.
“The clock app? Why am I not surprised you share a fifteen-year-old’s taste in social media?” He shakes his head.
I roll my eyes right out of my head.
“Someone has to. Just like somebody needs to give you an attitude check. It sounds like everybody else lets you go stomping, snarling at problems. And I haven’t heard a single solution since you started your spiel.”
Uh-oh.
He stares Wayne down again, his nostrils flaring. “I hope she’s not an employee, and if she isn’t—why is she here? This store was supposed to be closed for our meeting.”
Wayne turns beet-red and hangs his head.
“I, uh...may have forgotten to lock up again when I came in this morning. I meant to, of course, but once the doors are open, habit kicked in.” He scratches the back of his neck loudly. “If it helps, Eliza’s a friend. One of our best customers. I didn’t think it would hurt for her to have her coffee here. Uh, don’t fire me?” Wayne throws a nervous look around the room, tugging at the end of his gnarled beard.
Grump-zilla looks me over like he’s examining some squished animal his limo just ran over. “Hmph. Your 'friend' might be right about the attitude adjustment needed at our stores.”
Wait, what?
I didn’t say the stores needed an attitude adjustment.
I said he did, but now might not be the best time to point that out.