“Coffee?” I cuckoo, pulling my eyebrows together.
“Yeah,” he huffs a half-hearted chuckle. “Brown, bitter, delicious. You do have that in Greece, right?”
“Yes. Much better than what I’ve had here so far.” I ponder the invitation for a total of three seconds. Who in their right mind would saynoto him? “Coffee sounds nice.”
A rational part of me, the one not ruled by hormones and pushed to action by the long celibacy, plays this down. I have no friends, and closing myself off isn’t in my nature. Until recently, I’ve been surrounded by crowds of people, and I miss that. The hormone-ruled side of me knows it’s bullshit.
Theo and I won’t be friends. We’ll fuck and move on. I have no strength to resist that man, and there is one tag that allHayes brothers share: player.
The interview with Sandra takes ten minutes. It’s not really an interview. Apart from asking if I’m legally allowed to serve alcohol and capable of balancing a tray full of drinks on the palm of my hand, she focuses on measuring me up and fetching a uniform. This one, at least, is less revealing than the one at the Country Club—white shirt, black waistcoat, and a below-the-knee black pencil skirt.
“We cater to the upper class. Any reason is good for the Newport Beach elite to throw a party. We are absolutely swamped during summer.” She speaks faster than she moves, opening and closing drawers and cabinets, rushing around the office searching for a pen, checking her phone, and then cutting off calls. “When can you start? We’re catering to a sixtieth birthday party tomorrow. Are you good for that? Three hundred guests, six hours.”
“Yes, sure. Where and what time?”
“You must be at the residence at five-thirty. The party starts at six. Arrive in your uniform and ask for George. He’ll give you further instructions.” She hands me a wad of papers. “Fill this in at home. It’s a standard contract and some details we need. Give it to George tomorrow.” She scribbles an address on the back of a gold business card. “This is where you need to be. Five thirty tomorrow.”
I take the card out of her hand, and a second later, she’s by the door, which is my cue to leave. “Thank you. I won’t disappoint, I promise.”
“I know, I—” The phone starts ringing on her desk for the seventh time. She flashes me a glowing smile before closing the door in my face.
“Crazy, isn’t she?” Theo says, resting against the door to his office, a phone in hand. “Got the job?”
“Yes. I start tomorrow.” I tuck the uniform into my bag, zipping it up. A thrilling burst detonates in my chest as I step closer to him. “So? Coffee?”
He holds out his hand toward the door leading back to the lobby. We fall into step, passing the bellhop, who spares us a curious glance before we leave the building.
“How’s the apartment hunt going?” Theo asks, heading down the street. “Have you found a place?”
“No, I’m not looking yet. I won’t have enough saved to rent a place for at least another month. Newport Beach is expensive, but the pay is good, and there’s work everywhere.”
Theo pushes the door to the café open, letting me in first. The bittersweet aroma of coffee overpowers the smell of his earthy cologne. I welcome the sensory distraction with open arms, inhaling deeply to clear my mind off this idiotic, lustful fog. Maybe I’ll stop acting so out-of-character if I can’t smell the arousing scent.
We stop by the counter where a young barista pours milk into a tall glass and then covers the froth with two espresso shots before moving to the till to take our order.
“A large, iced, white coffee and...” Theo pauses, bringing his eyes to me.
“I’ll have the same.” I reach for my wallet, but he pushes my hand away, smirking under his breath.
“Will you please stop doing that around me? It’s very emasculating, Thalia.”
“Emasculating?” My pronunciation isn’t quite perfect on the first try, the word foreign to my ears. “Emasculating...”
“It means I feel like less of a man when you think I expect you to pay for your coffee. I invited you here. My treat.”
This isn’t the first time someone has helped me with a definition of a word I’ve never heard, but it is the first time I’m not embarrassed by not knowing. There’s not a trace of mockery or surprise in Theo’s tone. I relax, knowing my lacking vocabulary won’t be met with laughter. I’m self-conscious as it is because of my thick accent and the trillingrI can’t soften, no matter how hard I try.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your ego.”
Once the barista slides our coffees across the counter, we settle into a booth by the window overlooking the main street. Shiny, expensive cars line the curbs, and people rush about in dark shades, designer bags in hand. The shopfronts of well-known luxury brands reflect the sunlight, enhancing the items on display and enticing the Newport Elite to tap out their pin and press the green button.
Theo sits opposite me, forearms on the table. His long fingers mindlessly slide the glass across the tabletop between his hands. His dark eyes roam over my face for the hundredth time since we met. I’ve never been looked at the way he does—as if he’s trying to memorize me. As if he’s searching for something he lost. His gaze slides from my eyes to my lips, cheeks, nose, and back to my eyes, forcing a shot of adrenaline to throb in my veins like the first taste of alcohol.
The polo shirt he wears stretches across his chest, the fabric on the verge of bursting at its seams. Black lines of a tattoo in the crook of his neck steal my attention. I haven’t noticed it before, but now that he angles his head, the collar of his shirt naturally tilted, revealing the ink, my curiosity takes the lead.
“What have you got there?” I point at his neck.
He hooks his finger in the collar, pulling it aside to uncover the design. Feathers. Very detailed, arranged into wings. I imagine they run lower, across his shoulder, ending somewhere under the sleeve. Or maybe they’re tattooed down his back.