One Bossy Dare: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)
One Bossy Dare: Chapter 3

The next day, I load up a couple canisters full of my latest roast and head over to the homeless camp in the park just a few blocks from my apartment.

I promised Wyatt—the original genius behind the campfire brew I’ve refined—and his girlfriend Meadow that I’d help pass out breakfast today. It’s also an awesome chance to test my latest efforts with a sample audience.

When I get there, they have a table set up, piled high with donuts and breakfast sandwiches. I unload my canisters, disposable cups, and rating cards on the table before I turn to Wyatt.

“Here, try this. I need your thoughts,” I tell him.

With a big grin showing through his now nicely trimmed beard, he fills a paper cup with the velvety black liquid. I watch him hold it up, sniff, and throw back the drink—right before he covers his mouth and coughs.

“Shit, that’s hot. Think I burned my idiot tongue. Not sure my tastebuds are much use now—”

Meadow laughs and elbows him gently. “It’s coffee! What did you expect?”

“Not third-degree mouth burns,” he grumbles.

I smile. “I hardly ever brew past one eighty-five. It’s too easy for the coffee blooms to go wrong and start messing with the flavor.”

He squints at me, blowing on the coffee and taking another sip. “The temp’s that important?”

“Totally. The more original oils left intact, the better…”

“It’s good stuff. You took my pig iron idea and turned it into gold,” he says with a wink that makes Meadow roll her eyes. “What’s the new spin on this one? You named it yet?”

I grin. “I’m tentatively calling it West Coast Day Trip. I used avocado wood to roast the beans—”

“Right. Because of the oil.” Wyatt smiles, stroking his beard while Meadow leans on his shoulder.

God, it’s so good to see him well again.

It seems like only yesterday when he was laid up in the hospital at death’s door, and if it wasn’t for the bosshole who married my bestie—I shudder to think what would’ve happened to him next.

“It’s a super slow roast,” I say. “I spent half the night working on it. I threw in a few watermelon seeds with the beans on a whim for some extra depth.”

“Ah, that’s why it’s sweeter than your usual brew,” Meadow chimes in after stealing a sip from his cup. “Wow, you’ve got a brain for this.”

“I just wanted the West Coast in a cup. With every sip, you’re experiencing SoCal, moving up the Pacific highway, all the way through Oregon and Washington.”

“Wow,” Meadow whispers again.

I grab her a fresh cup, but she stops me before I can pour very much coffee.

“Take more,” I urge.

“Oh, no. There are so many people here. It’s easier for me to get good coffee anytime. They can’t.”

She’s such a sweetheart. And still so terrified of wasting anything after living a hard life on the streets. I take her cup and top it off generously.

When I look up, there’s a familiar balding head with a beard wilder than Wyatt’s. I wave frantically.

Wayne locks up his bike on the rack nearby and jogs over.

“Eliza, how are you?” he asks. Thankfully with a smile and not a hint of anything that screams you cost me my freaking job.

“Good,” I say, a little shyly.

I want to ask about yesterday so badly.

Like, how much hell did I leave in his lap? But I’m not sure how to approach it. He’s not pissed, anyway. Hopefully that’s a good sign.

But with the crowd moving in, we’ll have to catch up later.

Several people from the camp wander up to the table in a slow, shuffling line. Meadow offers baked goods and sandwiches while I pour coffee.

I pick up a rating card and a pen, passing them over.

“Hi, thanks for coming. Would you mind letting me know how you like the coffee?”

“Sure, hon, but I bet it’s tasty.” A woman takes the cup, card, and pen.

I smile at her. “If there’s anything at all you don’t like about it—any way it could use improvement—don’t hold back. Please. I can always do better next time.”

She gives me a toothless grin. “Oh, honey, no. You always do just fine by us.”

“Yeah, but I have to do better than fine if I’m ever going to convince someone to pay me for it, right?” I’m feeling a twinge of déjà vu. My mind flips back to the conversation with Cole Asshat Lancaster yesterday—a butting of heads I’ve been trying and failing to keep out of my mind.

Out of the corner of my eye, Wayne stiffens like he can’t believe what I just said.

Frick.

Maybe I did do some real damage yesterday.

She pats me on the shoulder. “People will pay you for it, doll. Waking up with this beats any old alarm clock.”

I give her a friendly smile, but seeing how genuine she is makes me sad. She’s old enough to be my grandma.

Where are her own grandkids and why do they let her live on the street? I wonder. This is the hard part of coming here twice a month.

She leaves with her drink and a small stack of donuts. I serve the next person, going through my spiel about the rating card.

I know.

Some people might ask why I bother scrounging up feedback from homeless people, who should just be happy with whatever they can get. But the truth is, their opinions are just as valid as anyone’s.

Maybe more so.

The homeless are honest. When you have nothing material left to lose, why hold back?

Wayne moves closer as the line churns on, offering me a hand with filling cups. Is it just my imagination, or is he still pretty stiff and nervous?

Once our first cluster moves on and there’s a break, I turn to him and ask, “So, how’re you holding up? That jerk of a suit didn’t fire you, right?”

I hold my breath.

If he did, it’s a thousand percent my fault.

“Nah…not exactly,” Wayne says cryptically, smiling when I give him a confused look. “Actually, the big boss was impressed with your coffee, Eliza.”

Huh? What’s he talking about?

“My coffee?”

Wayne nods again.

“What on earth are you—oh, crap.” It suddenly hits me so hard I rock back. “Yikes. I forgot my mason jar of home brew there, didn’t I?”

Wayne’s lips turn up slightly in a sheepish grin. “Hey, it could happen to anyone after the shit he threw at you.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me. Mr. Gold Dick himself stooped down and deigned to—to what? Try it?” The idea of that corporate maniac with his priceless suit and eyes like pure blue sorcery drinking my campfire roast freaks me out. I’m not sure why.

Maybe because it’s too intimate.

Right now, that drink is for me, a few select friends, and helps warm a few desperate bellies at a place like this. Definitely not intended for overdressed pricks who go off on coffee like they’ve had their own mother insulted in the worst way.

It’s a campfire roast and it’s supposed to be fun. I can’t believe the Grumpfather even knows the concept.

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head.

“Exactly. The kid dove in and took the first swig, but he wasn’t far behind her. Honestly, it seems like he wants to offer you—I don’t know—an opportunity with your brew? To buy it? A job? I’m not sure. He just wants to talk to you first.”

There goes my head. Spinning.

“What? Why, Wayne? Why would he just up and offer me a job? Especially after I gave him an attitude check for the ages. He seemed pissed about that.”

“In fairness, he had it coming. Maybe he appreciates being called out?” Wayne suggests.

The laugh that tears out of me hurts.

There’s no earthly way a walking ego like Cole Lancaster enjoys the bruises I left on his pride.

I have to stop for a few more people coming to our table. I hook them up with breakfast and try not to faint in the meantime.

Once they’re gone, Wayne sighs and says, “Okay, E. I gotta be honest. He chatted me up after you left and I promised him you’d get in touch. I hate putting you on the spot, but he offered me a bonus—”

I stare at him.

He holds his hands up.

“Like I said. I don’t want to twist your arm. I know you don’t do corporate. It’s just—well, mom, you know—her insurance wouldn’t even cover the last round of diabetic stuff. We’re strapped for cash and I need the money, so I’m asking—begging—if there’s any chance you’d just hear him out? I’d be grateful as hell if you did.”

My heart plunges into my belly.

I’m stunned and annoyed at myself for feeling frustrated when Wayne’s giving me those big puppy dog eyes. How can I be pissed at a man who’s just trying to do right by his sick mother?

“Wayne, it’s cool, but I have to be honest…I’m not keen on doing anything for that jackass.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that, but I had to mention it anyway. After yesterday, I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell you’d ever work for Wired Cup. But I figured you might be willing to talk to him, see what he wants.”

My mind races in the silence between us.

“You thought right. I wouldn’t work for that dude if he was offering a whole coffee farm.”

“I think he owns one in Hawaii somewhere. So they say.” Wayne shrugs, wearing a strained smile. “You’re better off on your own for sure. Any of the local shops in this city would be happy to have you, and they’d probably pay more. Wired Cup is about as corporate as it gets after the national chains.”

“You know my problem with taking odd jobs…remember the backup shifts I picked up for you? Too much of that cuts into my brew time. That’s why I’ve settled for the VA work. It’s flexible and different enough from what I like to do at home. It doesn’t wear my creativity down to a nub. Then again, I’ll have to replace something else soon. This was a mediocre month for freelancing and Seattle isn’t getting any cheaper.”

He smiles knowingly.

“Just stay true to your dream. You’ve got a thousand people here who want to open their own shops, but most of ’em give up and leave the industry for good. I only know one lady who actually opened a successful café. She was fifty before she could do it. Scalding yourself day in and day out for tips and dealing with rude assholes is the best way to get burned out.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m scalding myself for free right now. A little cash would be an upgrade.”

“But you’re actually roasting and brewing. Making real joe. I grind beans and toss them in a machine. It’s not the same. Hell, you know I won’t sneeze at that bonus, but it’s not the only reason I brought it up. I thought you might be interested.”

I sigh. “How big is the carrot he’s holding?”

“Ten thousand bucks. Paid after you start, from what I understand,” he says.

Damn. That’s months of income for Wayne and a lot less stress from medical bills. I feel my conscience twitch, stabbing my heart with a little pitchfork.

“So it’s a job? I do have to work for him?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

He shrugs roughly.

“What if I just start and quit the next day?”

Wayne scratches his beard. “He didn’t go too deep in the weeds. But it’s Lancaster. I’d check the fine print for sure. It’s really not a big deal, though. You don’t have to do this for me if it’s too much. I’ve always managed.”

He has, but his uneven smile tells me he’s also approaching his wit’s end.

This. Sucks.

I want to help Wayne, and I need the money too. It’s the kind of no-brainer that just has to come with a horrible catch.

I sigh so hard it rattles my bones. “I came to Seattle to follow my dreams. Not have them dashed by corporate America—”

“I know.”

“But if he likes my brew that much…do you think it could open some doors?” I swallow. Freelancing as a VA is feast or famine and not reliable, even if it saves me from creative brain drain.

“It could. I’m sure having whatever he wants on your resume can’t hurt. My dealings with Cole Lancaster have pretty much been limited to two or three odd inspections like you saw yesterday. He doesn’t do small talk. Still, working for him means skills and money. No question.”

He definitely isn’t making this easier.

I feel like I’m being morally ripped in half.

“What would you do?” I ask quietly.

“Me? Shit, I don’t know.” He laughs loudly. “I’m not the most unbiased person to be asking for advice, either. I’ve got ten thousand smackers on the line.”

I laugh. “True.”

“But,” he says, ““It can’t be worse than your freelancing, right? It’s a steady check or maybe a massive buyout. If you try it out and don’t like it, you can walk away.”

“Did Lancaster name a number?”

He shakes his head. “He didn’t. You want his card? He left it for me to pass on.”

“I’ll take it, but I’m not sure I’m going to do this, Wayne. Sorry. I just can’t make any big promises.”

“I wouldn’t expect it, Eliza. You’re a wildcat and you rock it. Don’t let anybody cage you in.” He hands me Lancaster’s business card. “Here you go. Just in case.”

“Listen, if I don’t do it, I’m giving you free coffee and baked goods for the rest of your life,” I tell him.

“Sweet. I win either way.” But the way his smile thins tells me that money would do infinitely more good than my consolation prize.

“You do, and you deserve it since you work for a raging dick.”

“His daughter went off on him after you left. First you tore him to shreds, then the teenager did. It was amusing.” Wayne sniffs.

“The girl at the table? That was his daughter?” I ask, a little shocked.

When he nods, I have to smile.

I hate that I’m curious.

But I love the thought of Mr. High and Mighty CEO being brought low by a mouth he can’t just walk away from.

I sit on the deck of Dakota’s sprawling home, overlooking the Puget Sound. “I just hope one day I can be a tenth as successful as you. Oh, and have a cute little baby or two.”

The little bundle of joy squirms in her arms. The way Dakota smiles down at the munchkin says her world is now complete and unbreakable.

They named the baby girl Evermore, and even if it sounded weird at first, now it’s kinda fitting.

Dakota looks up and laughs. “I mean, I can only take half the credit for this masterpiece.” She waves her hand at the kidlet snuggled in her blanket. “And Linc had this place before we even met.”

“No,” I say sharply.

“No what?”

“Lady, you’re a bestselling poet, a top-notch copywriter, and a badass mom. Do not sell yourself short in front of me.” I wag a finger.

“Um, my bestselling poetry collection has sold like fifty thousand dollars this past year—and that’s a lot for poetry.”

“You’re not in it for the money.” I smile, ignoring the obvious fact that money will never be a problem again when she’s married to a billionaire. “Also, you’re still one of the most successful poets in America. Congratulations. You made Edgar Allan proud.”

“Once a Poe, always a Poe, I guess. Even with the name changing to Burns.” She nods firmly. “Thanks for the confidence boost. And I think you should just reframe the way you view success. There’s something to be said for living life on your own terms. Nobody does that better than you, Eliza.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What brought you to Seattle, anyway? I mean, way back when you could’ve just stayed warm in San Diego sipping iced lattes.”

I pull my knees to my chest and hug them close.

“It always seemed like my destination. I stomped around five states, did a summer working in Heart’s Edge at this cool little shop called The Nest, and then…hello, Seattle. I dunno. So many chains started here. Indie stores are still the beating heart of the coffee culture. It just feels natural.” I need to know what she thinks. “Speaking of chains, I, uh, may have a chance with one.”

“At what?” Her eyebrows lift as the baby squirms in her arms. “Seriously? You mean getting your coffee into an actual chain café?”

“Well…”

“Holy crap, that’s wild! Not like you’d ever go for that—it’s too corporate for you, right? But how’d that happen?”

I try not to grimace.

“It was pretty random. I was working on my latest version of Wyatt’s campfire brew and took it to Wired Cup for the barista to try while I studied the flavor profile of their new lineup—”

“Is it good?”

I give her the side-eye. “Definitely not sweet enough for you, you fiend.”

Her laughter makes the baby wave her little arms.

“You know I’m right. Your dark poet soul loves candied coffee with enough vanilla to rival potpourri. Anyway, this posse of suits comes in, and their ringleader—who looked like some mafia guy—starts talking trash to my friend Wayne about how the coffee is barely passable…turns out, he was the CEO.”

I fill Dakota in on the rest of the madness.

When I’m finished she blinks at me, holding the baby close to her chest. “What a riot. I feel like I’m still missing something, though…”

“You are. The jackass drank the coffee I left behind. He liked it so much he offered Wayne a nice fat bonus if I just swallow my pride and come to work for him.”

Dakota awkward laughs so hard she snorts. “Yeeesh! Okay, now you have to do this—if nothing else, to make it up to poor Wayne.”

“Shut up,” I groan.

Her laughter fades, and she straightens up. “At least call. Talk to them, Eliza. You never know where a corporate gig might lead.”

I rake her with a knowing glance.

Easy for her to say, considering her stint in Corporate America landed her Grump Charming and a life beyond her wildest dreams.

“It still feels wrong. Giving in to a desk job isn’t why I came here. It’s the anti-dream.”

“Maybe, but it’s not forever, right? And if he liked your original brew, I bet you can negotiate. You won’t be tied to a desk or stuck in a store grinding out eight-hour shifts brewing glorified instant coffees. You’ll be the brains behind the scenes—and you’ll make him pay out the butt for your smarts.”

“But I want to be in a coffee shop, Dakota. A little one, with my name on it. Remember Liza’s Love?”

“Oh, you’ll have your precious shop one day. I’d bet my boobs on it. But scoping out the business side from that high up might help in the long run. When I worked at Haughty But Nice, it sure as hell wasn’t poetry. It was just a cushy, high-paying copy job. I learned a lot from the experience and it landed me enough money to support my poetry gig—”

“It helps when the boss falls madly in love with you, huh?” I smile as she gives me the stink eye. “I can’t count on cupid to help me out here.”

Not that I’d flipping want him to.

Not with blue-eyed Lucifer.

I’d rather take an actual arrow to the eye than suffer Cole Lancaster getting smitten with me—or, God forbid, the reverse.

Dakota slumps down with the baby, still laughing. “You never know. Linc and I didn’t exactly get along when we first met. We almost had a crime scene over cinnamon rolls. How’s the godfather CEO on the McHottie scale?”

I bite my lip.

Yeah, I can’t dare mention how hot the Grumpfather is.

I’m not Dakota and this is not a quirky rom-com.

I won’t land a billionaire husband from the office, and if I ever did, it wouldn’t be Lancaster in a trillion years.

I don’t care that he’s a loaded and arrogant and—no. Not calling him hot again.

Not even in my own head.

I wouldn’t date him for anything.

If we’re the last two people alive after the apocalypse, we’re not repopulating this rock. We’re handing the world over to insects and wishing them good luck.

Even his name—his freaking name—tastes like a pretentious mouthful.

I’m trying so hard not to flush when I shrug.

“Nothing to write home about. He’s no Burns, that’s for sure.”

“Too bad. It’s less complicated that way. Make the call. You can do it here. I’ll listen in for moral support,” Dakota offers.

I shake my head fiercely.

“We’re debating what it would be like to sell your soul to Big Coffee, but the truth is, until you’ve talked to him, you don’t even know if that’s an option,” she whispers.

I scrunch my nose up, waving a hand.

“Nope. He wouldn’t offer Wayne a bonus that big if he wasn’t set on hiring me for whatever dirty work he has in mind.” I try like hell to ignore the innuendo in that statement.

Right on cue, the baby wails for attention.

Dakota gently rocks her, making a few cooing noises before she says, “Right. So call. You don’t have anything to lose. Normal job interviews involve rejection, and you don’t even have that to worry about here. You’re holding all the cards.”

“But what do I have to gain?”

“So much! First, money. Second, a chance to have your coffee all over a chunk of America. Third—money?”

She makes a powerful argument.

“But I don’t want to have my coffee all over America if it’s not really mine! It’s not like they’ll name it Liza’s Blend or anything. I still want my cozy little shop where people come in to check out what’s on special for the day, where the drinks are handcrafted and memorable, and I know people by name because they visit every day.”

“That’s sweet. I get it. But decent pay means decent capital for your store. Plus, you might learn things from a corporate office that make running your own place easier.”

“We don’t know if it pays well. Wayne’s worked for the loser for years and he’s still making a few bucks above minimum wage plus tips.”

“If he offered Wayne a ten-thousand-dollar referral bonus, trust me, he plans to pay you well to retain you. Trust me. You’ll have whatever you want. Turn down his first offer and ask for ten percent more—no, make it twenty! You have the high ground.”

I smile painfully. “Are you crazy? Is it the sleep deprivation from the baby bean? He’d probably pick me up and chuck me out for insulting his ’generosity.’”

I stick my tongue out.

With a frustrated sound, she walks to the sliding glass door behind the deck and opens it, sticks her head inside, and yells, “Hey, Linc! Come here.”

He’s outside in seconds. His big arms go around her, pulling her into an adoring look on his face that used to be almost as grumpy as Lancaster’s.

Wow.

“Uh, are you guys okay?” I venture.

“Never better,” she says.

As I watch them, I realize having a nice hot slice of man might not be half-bad. Someday.

But I’ll settle for my café first.

Is it too much to ask the universe to deliver a lickable husband who’s just as crazy about coffee as I am and wants to open a little shop where we can live our dreams?

Back in reality, no guy has ever looked at me remotely like Lincoln gazes at his wife. He’s so lost in her it’s almost indecent.

I mean, someone tried once.

Someone who lied brutally well.

Whatever. There’s a reason I stick to coffee over dating.

Dakota pulls away from her husband and gazes at him with moony eyes, until she remembers I’m still here.

“Oh. Linc, tell Eliza what you told me about corporate interview negotiations.”

Lincoln meets my eyes, this hulking bear of a man who always looks intimidating, even when his intentions are pure. “Hey, Eliza. Didn’t see you there.”

Yeah, no wonder.

If Dakota wasn’t one of my best friends, I’d be revolted by their lovesick show, but instead, I just grin.

“Okay, corporate negotiations…” he says, pondering for a moment. “If a CEO is taking time out of their day to meet with you, you can always get more than they offer. Always ten percent, sometimes twenty.”

“Cool. I had no idea,” I say.

He nods thoughtfully. “By the time you’re meeting the CEO, you have the job. It’s a given. Someone would have weeded you out long before then, otherwise.” His face glows when he looks back at Dakota and she passes him the baby. “Am I done? Evermore has a hankering for Paw Patrol and so do I.”

“Oh, fine!” Dakota beams at him.

He leans in and kisses her again before retreating inside their mansion with the munchkin.

“When you two are together, it’s intense. Like, a little scary intense. I’m afraid of getting trapped inside your bubble,” I tease.

She just shrugs happily and sits on the outdoor couch. “Are you going to do it then?”

“The interview?”

She nods.

I groan. “I think I have to, now. Who knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again? I’m almost short on rent. It’s not like I can turn down the cash.”

“Do you need a loan?” Her eyes glow with concern.

“And have you hate me because it’ll be the year 2100 before I pay it back? No thanks.”

“Eliza, I know you. You don’t like this sort of thing, but I could just give you the money. The only reason I didn’t offer is because you haven’t liked me asking in the past.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got this. I’m just going to have to make the Grumpfather an offer he can’t refuse.”

“That’s the spirit. Go interview, get the job, and then call me ASAP. We’ll figure out how much you need to save to be out of there and running Liza’s Love in six months to a year.”

I hold back a frown. She makes it sound too easy. But if Dakota could do it when she started in a similar spot to where I’m at now…

I can’t say never.

“When I get my own place, will you write cutesy quotes for my cups?”

“Yes, and a full poem for the large size,” she promises.

We both laugh.

Fine. Decision made.

I’ll chisel off a piece of my soul for Wired Cup Inc. and later—who knows how much later—after I’ve made a clean break, I can catch up on penance.

For now, I just need all the prayers before I lock horns with that snorting bull in a suit again.