Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing my hand through my hair in irritation. Ken turns back to the machine to make my coffee. This is all my fucking fault. “Where’s Ava now? Did she say where she was going?”
Meredith shakes her head.
“Is the manager still here?”
Ken nods toward the hallway. “The break room.”
I walk back there, intent on fixing this colossal fuckup that’s all my doing.
Stan, the general manager, is exactly as I envisioned, having only the knowledge that he fired Ava for being late. He’s sweaty and scowling through a walrus moustache as he sits at a table going through receipts the way Ava normally does each morning. His head twists to see me walking through the open door.
He plasters on a smile, because I must be a wayward customer. “Can I help you?”
I shut the door behind me and his smile slips. “Yeah, you can help me. You can tell me why you fired Ava Cavanaugh.”
“I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” he replies, standing from his chair and lifting his chin. It still has him tipping his head back to maintain eye contact with me.
“It is if I’m a customer of this store and part of the reason I come here is her excellent customer service.”
Okay, that’s a bit drummed up for dramatics, because Ava actually works and tries hard to ignore my attempts to draw her into flirty conversation.
“Well, I’m truly sorry that you’re feeling her loss, but she was late for work and failed to open the store on time. I have to balance the feelings of the other customers she’s inconvenienced as well as the staff who were waiting for her to open.”
I scoff at the absurdity. “The staff and customers love her. I can’t help but think you’re the one who was inconvenienced, and that’s why you fired her.”
Stan goes red. “I’m not sure I like your inference.”
“It’s not an inference. I’m affirmatively stating I think you fired her because you were inconvenienced.”
Blustering and stammering, Stan says, “I have a zero-tolerance policy for tardiness when your main duty is to open the store for business.”
“Zero tolerance?”
“Yes.”
“So it wouldn’t make a difference if I told you that Ava found out late last night that her parents were killed in a home invasion? And she was up all night crying and that’s why she slept through her alarm?”
“Is that what happened?” he asks sheepishly.
“No, but you said you had zero tolerance, so I was wondering if there are exceptions.”
“She smelled like booze,” Stan says, going back on the offensive. “She didn’t have her uniform on. Didn’t even call anyone to say she’d be late.”
I sigh in frustration. “Her being late was my fault. We were out last night, and I set my alarm clock wrong.”
Stan holds his ground, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not your responsibility to ensure she gets to work on time.”
I can see I’ll get nowhere with this guy. “Give me your owner’s name and number.”
“It would be a waste,” Stan says, his lips thinning. “He’ll back me on my decision.”
“Maybe,” I muse, knowing I can’t control everything. But it never hurts to try. “Maybe not. Only one way to find out, and that’s to call him.”
Stan huffs, pulls out his wallet, and hands me a business card embossed with The Grind’s logo. On the bottom left, it says Stan Dubetsky, General Manager, and on the bottom right, Jerry Parsons, Owner, followed by his phone number and email.
“He’s on vacation,” Stan says with a triumphant smile. “You won’t be getting up with him any time soon, but his secretary will gladly take a message for you. I’ll have Ava replaced by then.”
It’s cute that he thinks he’s in charge. “Trust me… I have the resources to get in touch with him today.”
Stan’s eyebrows knit together. “How’s that?”
I tuck the business card in my pocket and ease toward the door. “You’re not a Titans’ fan, are you?”
“Not big into sports,” he mutters.
“Then you’ll have to figure it out on your own,” I say, giving him my back and walking out the door.
I’m dialing Ava’s number as I exit the hallway, and Ken steps from behind the counter to hand me my coffee. “It’s on the house,” he whispers.
His own little defiance of Stan and a moment of solidarity with me.
As the phone rings, I smile, but it melts into a grimace when Ava’s voicemail answers.
“Ava… call me. I just found out you got fired… so, call me, okay?”
I disconnect and walk out of the coffee shop, heading back toward my building to get my car.
♦
It’s almost noon and I haven’t heard from Ava, despite leaving another voicemail and a text. I figure she’s pissed at me and rightfully laying the blame at my feet.
It’s not something I can worry about now as I’ve got a meeting with Callum Derringer.