Christmas was a tradition I missed celebrating in my childhood. Back when confined to the squalid basement, I laid on the concrete most nights and envisioned which colourful trinkets I'd use to decorate the tree and, if given the opportunity, how many presents I'd buy for friends and loved ones. For the first time in a long time, I had the chance to make dreams come true with people who, unfortunately, I allowed to imprint on my heart.
Now, I cannot think of anything worse than festive jollification. Hell, I never liked eggnog, anyway.
"It was recently refurbished." The estate agent's heels clicked against the hardwood floor. "As you can see, it is decorated to an impeccable standard with a bright, spacious lounge and sumptuous furniture." She opened the balcony doors. "You have stunning views of the garden from here."
Chloe glanced into the kitchen. "Where does that door lead?"
The estate agent smiled. "The utility room."
My friend's eyebrows lifted. "Impressive."
"Parquet flooring." Her heeled foot tapped the floor. "Both bedrooms have spacious wardrobes."
"It's lovely."
"And expensive," Chloe said quietly. "Don't you think it's above our budget?"
Overhearing the one-way conversation, the woman stepped in. "It's the heart of Notting Hill."
After leaving the penthouse, I checked into a bed-and-breakfast with Chloe, and we have stayed there ever since. I am over laundrette service and meals-on-wheels. It's time for a fresh start. "Can you give us a moment, please?" I waited for the estate agent to give us some privacy and then turned to Chloe. "I think we should take it."
"Hon, I don't earn enough," she whispered behind her hand. "You are unemployed."
"I will pay twelve months in advance," I offered, and she sighed. "I have to use the compensation money, eventually. What better way to spend funds? It's a beautiful apartment. Plus, it's in a nice, safe area. In the meantime, I will find another job."
Chloe's fingers traced the floral-patterned wallpaper. "It's a little ostentatious."
I laughed airily. "I am sure the landlord won't mind if we redecorate."
"Well, it's only the bedrooms and the living room." Her eyes toured the room. "Everything else is stunning."
I concur. "So, shall we go for it?"
After a long pause, she squealed. "Yes. Let's do it."
"What's the verdict?" the estate agent asked.
"We'll take it," we said in unison.
I signed a twelve-month contract and received a set of keys six days later. Moving into our new home was hardly cumbersome. We had little possessions but an abundance of optimism.
You'd never believe that we had lived together before. Everything felt new and exciting. While I peeled the bedroom wallpaper, Chloe visited the DIY store to buy decorating supplies.
"Pink for me." Holding up the Middleton pink paint pot, she tossed the colour chart over. "What's your poison? Red? Blue? I like purple."
I rolled pink onto the wall. "White."
"White?" She scoffed. "Well, that's boring."
"I want something bright."
"What about white and green?"
I pondered. "What, like, bottle green?"
Her nose crinkled. "Lime."
I gawked at her. "No, thanks."
"Come on," she probed. "Live a little."
My shoulders sagged. "Fine. Go wild."
Two days later, I had a newly decorated white and sage green bedroom with gilded ornaments. I mean, the decor was better than lime, and I liked the white, fluffy rug, but I also felt out of place.
Chloe's eyes were ablaze with pride. "What do you think?"
Why did I agree to decorate each other's bedrooms again?
"I love it," I lied, not wanting to hurt her feelings. "And those cushions? Wow."
"Right?" She rearranged the jungle leaf velvet scatter cushions on the double bed. "I bought them in the charity shop. The guy charged ten quid for the lot."
Pink paint freckled my face. I was in dire need of a shower. "Let's make a toast." Uncorking the champagne bottle, I poured effervesce into two mugs. "To new beginnings."
Clanking our mugs, she said, "To new beginnings."
Job hunting commenced. Freshly showered, I sat on the balcony, searching for job opportunities on my phone. I must have sent over thirty emails to different employers with attachments of previous employment history. By the next morning, almost everyone replied with the same generic email.
Miss Haines,
We appreciate that you made an effort to apply for a position with our company. We received applications from many people. After reviewing your submitted application material and qualifications, we have decided not to offer you an interview.
Please apply again in the future should you see a job posting for which you qualify.
Again, thank you for applying.
We wish you the best.
I was dumbfounded.
Dialling the company number, I placed the phone to my ear and went through options until the receptionist answered. I asked to speak to the manager.
"One moment."
I blew my cheeks out.
"This is Ian speaking," the manager introduced himself. "How can I help?"
"Hi, I was wondering if you could help me with something. I applied for a job on your website last night, and I received an email this morning saying I was unsuccessful. Is it possible for some feedback on where I went wrong? Only so I know what to look for when applying elsewhere."
"Yes," he said, and I heard a door close behind him. "What's the name?"
"Alexa Haines."
He went quiet, and then he replied, "Yes, I remember. I am the person that declined the application. Miss Haines, you have more than enough experience to work from the hotel's bar. Needless to say, I had reservations."
I sat on the sofa. "About what?"
"Your previous employer."
"Mr Warren?" I mused, and he sighed into the receiver. "What about him?"
"I will offer you some free advice, Miss Haines. Avoid putting his name on job applications. You will do better without it."
He ended the call.
What a quandary.
***
Rather than apply for jobs online, I ventured into central London to knock on doors. People can take me at face value. I had to avoid unfair hiring practices. Hell, as far as I am concerned, I have never worked a day in my life. By all accounts, companies avoided any connection to Liam Warren, which included his former employees.
I walked from shop to store to restaurant to bar, handing in application forms. Writing no previous employment went against me. It screamed idleness.
"Do you have any experience at bar work?"
Maybe Ian advised incorrectly.
"Yes," I admitted, and the manager, an old, stone-faced gent, waited for further details. "I worked behind the bar at Club 11 full-time. It's a nightclub—"
"I know what it is," he said sharply, returning the application form. "Listen, you seem like a nice girl, so I'll be straight with you. No one in their right mind would hire someone that previously worked for Warren. Do yourself a favour. Keep that unsettling information to yourself."
"This is unfair." I was getting desperate. "I am being punished for someone else's reputation."
Pity softened his gaze. "It is what it is, lady."
"Fine." Stuffing the application form in my bag, I elevated my chin. "Fuck everyone."
"Very mature," he grumbled.
I threw him the bird and left.
Coffee happened. I ordered a latte, fell into the booth and lowered my head to the table. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. I had a good mind to call Liam and unleash frustration.
Liam Warren.
The bane of my life.
Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time?
Unlocking my phone, I clicked on photos and swiped through shots of us together. I had many favourites, but the night on his sofa triumphed. He came home early-ish and joined me on the makeshift bed.
Liam looked so happy that night and, dare I say, enamoured. He kissed my cheek while I snapped selfies and gave the camera a rare smile.
I should delete the photos, but I wasn't ready to erase him from my life.
"You are late." Someone sat on the bench opposite me. "Fifteen minutes late, to be exact." He had short, peroxide hair, a sharp, angular jaw, chiselled cheekbones and evident lip fillers. "Grayson Turner." He shook my hand. "You must be Cheryl."
"I—what?" Locking the phone, I shoved it in my bag. "Alexa Haines. A customer."
"Oh." His lips rounded. "Well, excuse my bad manners. Long day." He laughed once. "What do you think of the coffee? You won't find better beans anywhere else."
I had to agree.
"I guess that tardy trollop is a no-show." He stared through the window. "What's a guy gotta do to hire some decent staff?"
"I'm looking for work," I blurted out, and his defined eyebrows bent. "No, really. I am. I just moved into a new apartment, and, well, it's pricey. If you are hiring, I would love to apply for a position."
"Do you have any experience?"
"Pouring coffee?"
"With customers."
"No," I lied, and he grimaced. "Look, I might be inexperienced, but, as you can see," I gestured to myself, "I have great verbal communication skills and a positive attitude. I am punctual, adaptable and flexible. You won't hear any complaints from me. If cleaning tables all day is what it takes to prove myself, I will do it."
He was nonplussed. "Did you memorise that speech?"
"No," I fibbed again, and his eyes grew wide. "Alright. I googled pointers online."
"When can you start?"
I flung him a double-take. "I got the job?"
"Yes." He looked as desperate as I felt. "You got the job."
My jaw hit the floor. "Well, I can start right away."
"Good." A black polo shirt with the company's logo printed on the breast landed on the table. "We close at eight."
My smile turned into a frown. "What's the name of this place?"
"Really?" He deadpanned. "It's the Coffee House."
***
"Woah, Alexa." Grayson snagged the overflowing mug from my hand. "Didn't that hurt?"
I examined my raw skin. "Oh, God," I squirmed, flapping like a bird. "Shit, Grayson! It stings!"
He apologised to the impatient customer on my behalf, instructed another team member to step in and hauled me to his office. "Alexa, calm down." He sat me on the wooden desk and opened the first aid kit. "You were miles away."
My eyes watered involuntarily. "I'm sorry."
"Enough of that." He shot me an innocuous wink. "I am more concerned about your skin. Here." Applying a cold compress to my swollen hand, he examined each of my fingers. "We need to make sure there's not too much damage."
"It's fine." It's nothing a little cream and pain relief can't fix. "It already feels better."
It's been three weeks since I secured a job at the Coffee House. In all fairness to my eccentric manager, his patience level is commendable. I mean, I never claimed to be an outstanding barista but had promised my coffee skills were praiseworthy—lies. I am no better with those damn machines than I was with pouring spirits and cocktails at Club 11. Today is the third time I have scalded myself while preoccupied with depressing thoughts. I also mix the wrong beans, burn paninis and give customers improper orders.
I am an atrocious shambles impending the sack.
"You're getting there," he lied, and I groaned. "Honestly, Alexa. You worry that pretty head of yours too much. It's coffee and toast. In a few more weeks, you'll be whizzing around."
Do I love working at the Coffee House? Not overly. Aside from Gray, I don't seem to gel with co-workers. It's possibly my fault. My incessant moodiness is unbecoming and unintentionally hostile but assisting customers and cracking jokes is not the same without Josh present. I genuinely missed him. I'd give anything for him to whip me around the backside with a tea towel or call me fugly right now.
"Let's get a look." If he weren't into blokes, I'd think those unnecessary finger strokes were a coquettish advance. "Done." Returning the first aid kit to the cupboard, he plucked out change from his wallet. "Why don't you grab an early lunch break? Get us some coffee and toasted sandwiches."
"There are coffees and sandwiches out front," I pointed out. "You are trying to get rid of me!"
Gray pushed me through the door. "No, I am giving you an early break to collect yourself."
"Fine." Slipping out of the black apron, I tossed it on his desk and snagged my purse from the lockers. "I am not accepting your money, though. Lunch is on me."
Before Grayson had the chance to protest, I bolted out of the door and welcomed the afternoon sun on my face.
Strolling down the street, I stopped at the cashpoint and punched the pin code. My finger hovered above the withdrawal amount. No, I had too much money in the bank. "What?"
"Hurry up, "someone complained behind me. "I don't have all day."
"Just a second." Giving the rude bystander a flippant wave, I returned the card and stumbled into the branch. Flinging wayward hair from my face, I approached the glass partitioned counter. "Excuse me. I have a problem with funds."
The female bank teller peered over gold-framed glasses. "How can I help?"
"I just checked my balance, and it's too high. I am worried someone accidentally wired money." I chuckled nervously. "If I spend it, I will be left with a hefty debt to repay."
"Insert your card into the reader."
I listened.
"Type your pin."
I coded the four digits.
"Okay, Miss Haines." Her fingers tapped the keyboard. "You received one hundred thousand last Wednesday that you wish to dispute?"
Those zeros flummoxed me. "It's not my money," I whispered, needing to sit down. "There has been a mistake."
"It was from Warren Enterprise." Turning the screen, she showed me the transaction. "Are you familiar with the company?"
The son of a bitch. "No, I have never heard of it."
Her eyes sliced. "You received payments from this company at the end of every calendar month."
"Well, yeah," I backtracked, drumming my fingernails on the counter. "I mean, I used to work there—but I didn't earn one hundred grand." Composing myself, I blew out a long breath. "Okay, listen. I do not want the money. I need you to send it back."
She gave me an annoyed look. "You don't wish to keep the funds?"
"No." I will not be indebted to the man. "Please return the balance immediately. Thank you."
The customer representative's head shook. "Will you be taking out any money this afternoon, Miss Haines?"
"Just a tenner." I held the purse tight to my chest. "Make it fifteen."
Nodding, she finalised the transaction by asking me to sign a receipt and slipped two notes across the counter. "You can remove the card now." She slapped on a fake smile. "Have a lovely day."
"Thank you." Leaving the building, I stuffed everything into my purse and proceeded to the heady-smelling burger van on the street corner. Ordering two hot dogs and chilled colas, I paid for the goods and went back to the Coffee House.
Grayson followed me to the office. "Lunch smells incredible."
"I hope you like mustard." Biting into the bap, I licked tomato sauce from my lips. "This is amazing."
Nodding, Gray chewed his food.
We finished lunch and stood at designated stations: Americano, caramel macchiato, tall latte, Croque monsieur panini and mango salad. I swear to God I will be singing these orders in my sleep. It has been non-stop from the moment I put my apron back on. "Thank you for choosing Coffee House," I recited with a chipper chime. My forced enthusiasm pleased Gray. "Good, right?"
"Your vocals need some work." He refilled the chiller with cartons of juice and sparkling water. "It's getting late. I will finish cleaning the machines while you tidy the shop floor. Before you go, take this order to the table by the window. You cannot miss him. Extremely Hot," he emphasised with a dramatic eye-roll. "Make a note."
I carried the tray, wading through occupied tables. I spot a guy with his back to me, his leather jacket stretching to accommodate his muscular frame. "Hey," I said, and he looked up, stealing the air from my lungs. "Uh, you ordered..." I sucked in a measured breath. "Food." Hot chocolate with mini marshmallows, whipped cream and shortcake. "Your order."
Although mostly covered with leather and denim, intricate designs wrapped his sculpted physique, from photorealistic representations of art icons to swirling geometric patterns and religious idols. He has a hard-edged image: styled brown hair, sculptured jaw and cheekbones, mesmerising forest green eyes, facial piercings, nose ring and eyebrow barbell.
He offered me a friendly smile, which displayed his perfectly straight white teeth. His tongue peeked out to smooth along his bottom lip, giving me a glimpse of his titanium barbell, and when he set the newspaper aside, I marvelled at his inked hands and fingers. "Cheers," he said, his voice smooth yet rough.
"No problem," I squeaked, arranging his order onto the table.
"I got to have my sugar fixed." He lifted the mug to his mouth, licking cream from his full lips.
I found myself oddly fascinated by his innocent tongue sweep. "Oh, you have diabetes?"
His puzzlement added a hint of red to my cheeks. "No." He chuckled, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair. "I just like my sugar."
"Well, who doesn't love sugar, right?" Hand to my hip, I continued to prattle, "I swear, I practically live on ice cream. I buy at least six litres per week. And I am not kidding. I pack that sugary goodness away and search for leftovers in the freezer."
Alexa, shut up.
"Vanilla is my favourite," I told him as if he cared. "I am partial to chocolate. Although mint has become a requirement over recent years..."
"No, shit." He is modest enough to play along. "Ice cream is a must. Where do you put all those calories, though?" His eyes toured me from head to toe. "You're a dot."
"Oh, I got some thunder thighs."
Alexa, stop talking.
"I chafe all the time."
"Chafing up, huh?" He busted out laughing. "Sounds painful."
I actually have no idea; I don't even know why I said that. "Anyway," I inched back, feeling Gray's nosiness drilling into the side of my head. "Enjoy your sugar."
"Jace," he said, and I halted. "My name is Jace."
I smiled at him. "Nice to meet you, Jace."
"And you are...?" His head tilted slightly. "I assume you have a name, too."
"Alexa," I later found my voice. "My name is Alexa."
"Alexa." His green eyes seared into mine. "Thanks for the beverage, Alexa."
A nervous chill raced across my flushed skin. I spun on my heel, rushed behind the counter and busied myself with cleaning. I sensed Jace's eyes on me the entire time and didn't quite know how I felt about it.
While spraying the countertops with disinfectant, I peered over to Jace's window table, watching him type a message on his phone. As if detecting my curiosity, he lifted his gaze, and a slight smirk teased his lips.
I waved like an idiot.
Jace is no Liam, but he is handsome in his own right. He doesn't wear tailored suits, twenty-four karat gold or ice diamonds. He's neither modelling Ferragamo shoes nor is he armed for mass destruction. He settled for a simple pair of heavy-duty boots and faded denim jeans.
Growling under my breath, I put my head on the counter—
"Alexa," Jace called, and I whipped around to face him. "You didn't ask for payment." He held up a bank card. "Can I settle it now so that I can leave?"
It is pitiful that I assumed he called me for another reason. "Of course," I whispered, wiping the cleaning residue from my hands. Holding the PDQ, I coded in his order and passed it over the counter.
Jace inserted the card and thumbed the transaction. "I don't think I have seen you here before." He made small-talk. "Are you new?"
"Relatively." The black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, leaving little to the imagination. "Why do you ask?"
"Curious." He lingered for a few strained seconds, almost as if he wanted to continue our conversation, then decided against it. "It was nice meeting you."
Jace walked away, and I didn't breathe until the Coffee House door closed behind him.
"What did I tell you?" Gray miraculously appears at my side. "Hot, right?"
"He is definitely," I pursed my lips, "different."
"Different?" His beautiful face bunched up in horror. "Girl, that guy is a wet dream. He is definitely my wet dream."
"Oh, God." Giggling, I began to clear the spillage trays. "And I thought I was smitten."
He deliberately licked his lips. "Spank bank material."
"Grayson, will you shut up? You're giving me unwanted front row seats to late-night jerking sessions."
"Come on. Admit it. You will use the sex god to get yourself off later."
"Absolutely not. I am seeing someone..." My error was a harsh, stupid reminder that Liam and I were no more. "Never mind."
"I am seeing someone," he imitated. "What type of answer is that?"
"Well, no." My throat tightened. "I was seeing someone. It's over now."
"There you go." His hands clapped. "It's time for fresh meat."
Our conversation brought down my jubilance. "It's complicated." I am not ready for fresh...anything. "Coffee?"
"I am good." His arms folded. "So, do you?"
I blinked twice. "Do I what?"
His eyebrows waggled impishly. "Get yourself off."
He literally could not have said that any louder.
"Fucking hell, Gray. Why not shout louder, so the entire Coffee House can hear you?" He had no filter. "Anyway, why do you care? You're gay. My masturbation sessions do nothing for you."
"I'm nosey, woman!"
If you like this book, please don't forget to vote. ⭐️