“You look like you’re in pain,” Grant said.
I had given up on the spreadsheet and I was massaging my fingertips into my eye sockets, trying to keep my head straight. “I am a master of willpower,” I said, mostly to myself.
“Straight people are so weird.” Grant shook his head. “I’ve told you before, you should try men. We’re so much simpler. I have a few single friends who would blow your freaking mind.”
“No thanks, I’m fine. Just fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Good, because I’ve solved our staffing problem for the holidays. Brit is going to work for us.”
I dropped my hands and looked at him. “What?”
“We’re short-staffed.” Grant pointed to the spreadsheet on my screen, his first acknowledgment that it existed. “I want time off over the holidays, and you don’t work behind the counter.”
I never worked behind the counter at The Corner. Not because I was too good for it—I’d spent years waiting tables before the Road Kings took off—but because a lot of local fans knew that I was part owner of the shop, and if I was behind the counter pouring coffees, they’d come in. The problem with fans was that they mostly gawked or asked for an autograph without buying anything, and they spooked the paying customers away. The Corner was supposed to be a comfortable place to hang out, not a rock ’n roll spectacle.
So I worked behind the scenes, and Grant worked front of house alongside the employees. Despite his head for business, Grant was a sociable guy who’d rather gossip all day and never do a lick of paperwork, so our partnership worked out. Besides, Grant’s presence made the shop gay friendly, and unlike broke rock ’n roll fans, the people in that community were great customers.
“Brit wants to work here?” I asked. “She’s never said anything about it to me.”
Grant shrugged. “Itmayhave been my idea. Who’s to say? It’s possible I sold her on getting out of the house, meeting people, and earning money. And guess what? Now our holiday staffing problem is solved.” He smiled mischievously at me. “Now you’re Brit’s boss. You’re welcome.”
I thought it over. Grant was probably right, and it was a good idea for Brit to get out of her comfort zone. But she hadn’t told me everything that went down with her ex in L.A. I was haunted by those words—it felt like life and death.Whether that meant the guy had hit her or done something else shitty, she hadn’t specified, and I hadn’t asked. The gory details didn’t matter. What mattered was that whatever happened had been bad, and Brit wasn’t over it.
Which made me protective of her. It was just a job pouring coffee, but anyone who has worked customer service knows you have to be biker-tough. Especially over the holidays. I’d been shouted at, cursed out, and insulted every which way when I was a waiter, probably hundreds of times. I’d had my ass grabbed, too, more than once. It felt like I was sending Brit into a meat grinder.
Yet Brit had run her own business for years. And she was a grown woman who got to make her own decisions.
“What are you thinking about?” Grant asked. “Is there a problem?”
“She doesn’t work solo,” I said. “Not ever.”
He blinked, then nodded.
“If anyone crosses a line and upsets her, they get kicked the fuck out,” I continued. “None of thisthe customer is always rightbullshit. The customer is never right. Anyone upsets Brit and they’re out of here. I’ll back up anyone who kicks out a customer. Make sure everyone knows.” When he nodded again, I added, “If she wants to quit, she gets to quit, no questions asked and no commentary allowed. If she quits and we’re short-staffed, I’ll fill in her shifts myself.”
Grant’s voice was quiet. “Got it, boss.” He never called me that, because we were partners. But he knew when I meant business. “This will be good for her,” he said.
“It fucking better be.” I mentally rearranged my schedule. I’d been thinking of going to San Diego to visit my sister, Elle, over Christmas, but that was off the table now. I needed to be in town in case Brit or the shop needed me. Elle would be cool with it. If she wanted to see me, she could take a break from her work schedule and come to Portland.
As for my brother, River, he was in Portugal the last time I checked, bumming around as usual, probably smoking weed and drinking wine on the beach, getting laid. I’d see him whenever he drifted by next.
“Brit’s car is old.” I was thinking out loud now. “She doesn’t like driving very much. When we go out, I always drive. I’ll make sure she takes it in for maintenance so it doesn’t break down on her in the winter weather. Is there a way to put money into someone else’s Uber app?”
Grant was wide-eyed now. “Um. Probably?”
I shook my head. “Forget it—too complicated. It’s easier to give her access to my account so I’m paying if she needs to use it. I’ll try to give her a ride myself as much as I can, especially when she’s coming home after dark. And it goes without saying that if any other employee makes a pass at her, he’s fucking done.”
There was a moment of silence between Grant and me.
“You know, you can be pretty frightening when you choose to be,” he finally said.
I shrugged. “No one is nice all the time,” I said. “Let’s rework the schedule.”
EIGHT
Brit
How low can one woman sink? Apparently, she can go from being L.A.’s most sought-after hairstylist to being technically homeless and serving coffee in a few short months.