You all spend thousands on shoes, but your pillow looks like a tea bag.
—Shasha to Dima
SHASHA
Present day
“What can I do for you, sir?”
I looked at the barista and wondered if she had any other inclinations in life but to be paid to sell coffee.
She’d been working there for the better part of my time living in Dallas and looked as if she had no desire to do anything else.
But, since she still didn’t know my order, and I’d been a regular customer here, at the same time every single day, for the past five years, I kind of saw why she hadn’t moved on. Or, at least, up to a more managerial position.
“Tall black coffee,” I ordered.
“Any sugar?” she asked.
“No, plain and black,” I answered the same way I did every time she asked my order.
“That’ll be two-fifty,” she said.
I tapped my phone to the card reader and shoved it back into my pocket before moving to the end of the counter to wait for my coffee.
As I did, my gaze snagged on a beautiful blonde that was idly braiding her hair into Dutch braids two tables away.
She was doing it so effortlessly that I couldn’t stop staring.
Her gaze moved up to catch mine, and I felt the breath leave my throat for a solid second.
Her eyes were a startling green.
Like an emerald, or that Coke bottle green color that I saw on the Dos Equis beer bottles that Dima, my brother, liked to drink.
I was so focused on her that I didn’t hear my name be called for my coffee.
The impatient barista called my name a second time, I assumed, and I had to force my gaze away from the blonde.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the coffee that I didn’t tip for.
I probably should have, but I didn’t like the barista.
She was a bitch to everyone, and I couldn’t stand her.
Whenever she was working, I made sure not to tip.
She didn’t bother replying, and instead turned to the next drink order.
I took a drink of the coffee and was unsurprised to find it lukewarm.
Normally I would’ve said something—there were times that I felt like she purposefully served me shitty coffee because I didn’t tip—but the door burst open and a group of men poured in through the door.
All of them were wearing a white shirt that said ‘Sweat Construction’ on it.
All of them were covered in dirt and concrete, and of course, they headed for the blonde at the table.
“What the fuck happened, Brecken?”
“Shh,” Brecken, the blonde, whispered. “Be quiet, y’all. Don’t create a scene.”
I took another sip of my coffee and decided that I would be saying something about my coffee.
I’d also be taking a seat so I could hear “what the fuck happened.”
I turned to the barista at the counter and said, “This is cold, ma’am.”
I made sure to be extra nice despite her lack of professionalism.
The barista shot me a look that said she clearly didn’t care.
I narrowed my eyes and said, “I’d like some hot coffee, please.”
“Sorry, no refunds.” She smiled sweetly.
It showed off the metal stud that she had between her front teeth.
“One more chance.” I held it out to her.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Maybe you should go get me your manager,” I suggested.
“Sorry, she’s not here,” she lied.
I knew, in fact, that her manager was here.
I took the lid off and poured it onto her counter, watching as her mouth fell open.
“I overpaid for this coffee as it is,” I pointed out, not bothering to inform her that she’d overcharged me on purpose. My guess, to line her pockets, seeing as she was so bad I never tipped her. “Now, you can either get me a new one, clean that up, and not complain, or you can go find another job.”
“You can’t do that.” She rolled her eyes, not believing that I’d get her fired. “My boss will love me for not serving you again.”
“Actually, I can,” I said as quietly as I could. “Because my sister owns this place.”
She blinked.
“She does not.”
“Actually, she does.” My sister, Milena, came out of the back room. “Now, give him the good coffee, clean that up, or go find a different job.”
“I…he doesn’t tip!” she cried.
“Mariska, dear,” Milena said. “He co-owns this place with me. He doesn’t have to pay a tip because he literally pays you a full salary. And to be quite honest, a tip is something you get when you give good service. I’ve yet to see you give that to him since you started working here. He’s been very accommodating with you despite your lack of professionalism.”
She opened her mouth and closed it.
“Milena.” I lifted my coffee cup. “Please?”
She took my cup, walked to the coffee pot that did, indeed, have the good coffee, and filled it up.
She then walked it back over to me and said, “Why do you pay when you know that you don’t have to?”
“Because I want you to see that you have a shit employee, but you refuse to get rid of her because she’s ‘your best help,’” I pointed out.
“To be truthful, she is,” Milena muttered darkly. “It’s so hard to find good workers nowadays. All these young kids want high pay for little work. They don’t show up because they need a mental health day because their friend’s best friend’s dog died. Hell, one quit on me last week because I asked her to show up on time for her job, and she told me I didn’t respect her ‘time blindness.’”
“What the fuck is time blindness?” I blurted.
“According to her, she doesn’t realize what time it is.” She blew out a breath, causing her bangs at the top of her head to ruffle. “So she was consistently late for every shift. At the least, by fifteen minutes. And in the morning when there’s a rush before work, that fifteen minutes counts. She asked me if I could make accommodations for her when she started, and I said no. She chose to take the job anyway, assuring me that she was going to be able to make it on time. She was late for three weeks straight.”
“How do you find these people?” I asked.
“It’s the new age, bruh.” Milena rolled her eyes, mimicking her barista’s voice so completely that I nearly choked on my sip of coffee.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as the green-eyed blonde got up and started back toward the counter.
She’d missed the coffee incident, thanks to her brothers coming in.
She stood next to the register, patiently waiting for the barista to get off her phone.
“Excuse me?” the blonde, Brecken, said.
“Yeah, it’s my break right now,” the barista said.
“Your break doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” Milena countered, whipping around with fire in her eyes.
I grinned.
It took a lot for Milena to get mad.
She was, by far, the most even-tempered Semyonov.
She had to be when all of the other ones were hot-headed.
She was the peacemaker. The one sibling who controlled her shit and everyone else’s shit.
Brecken, sensing a problem, backed up a few steps from the counter.
I moved, taking a sip of my coffee as I did, and wound my way to the other side.
“What can I get you?” I asked, my eyes focused on hers.
Her pupils dilated, and she opened her mouth and closed it before saying, “I was just wondering what kind of milk base she used on my coffee. I asked for oat milk, but the way my stomach’s reacting, I think she used regular milk. I kind of wanted to know before I left for no reason.”
I turned to the barista. “What kind of milk did you use on this woman’s coffee?”
She shrugged.
It was then I’d had enough.
I didn’t fucking care how goddamn “reliable” she was.
“Get out.” I pointed to the door. “And don’t come back.”
She bowed her chest out and said, “You’re not my boss!”
“He is, you stupid fool.” Milena threw up her hands. “I have put up with a lot from you. But seriously, you can’t handle a simple order like black coffee, or what kind of milk not to use? What if she was allergic to it? What if she had an allergic reaction in our establishment because of coffee that you made her, and she died? Would you feel bad?”
The barista rolled her eyes. “You can’t fire me.”
“I can,” Milena said. “I can fire you for no reason, because Texas is a fuckin’ fantastic state and allows me to do it at will, for no reason other than I freakin’ want to. Now get out, and don’t come back. Your last check will be mailed to you.”
The barista started to protest, but my eyes caught Artur’s, who’d been watching the show from the back of the room with amusement.
I could see the surprise in his eyes that I hadn’t handled this all differently—kind of like picking her up and bodily throwing her through the plate-glass window like the trash that she was.
I wasn’t a good man.
Truthfully, I’d lost what little desire that I had to be nice to women a long time ago right around the same time that my little sister went missing.
Women were just as bad as men were, and if they said they weren’t, they were fuckin’ liars.
“Please see yourself out,” Artur said, coming from the door to stand directly beside the barista.
The barista huffed, grabbed her purse from underneath the counter, and stalked off.
I jerked my chin at Artur, telling him without words that I wanted her followed far enough away that I was sure she wasn’t going to double back and deface the building or something.
She looked vindictive enough to do that.
“I can make you a new latte to make sure,” Milena offered.
“Thank you,” Brecken said. “I’d also like to order some coffee for my brothers.”
“Coming right up,” she said. “Move, Shasha.”
I stepped to the side to allow her to get to work.
When I did, those green eyes met mine once again, and I had the urge to reach out and touch her, just to see what she would do.
When she blushed, I winked and stepped around the counter and said, “Gotta go, Milena.”
“Thanks for coming in and making me work on my day off,” she muttered.
I chuckled.
“Love you,” I teased.
“Love you, too,” she grumbled back.
