Mug Shot (4 page)

I spent the rest of the afternoon making cookies with Camille and Wayne. Normally, Camille would clock out at two, but she was doing such an efficient job (and having so much fun working side by side with Wayne) that I asked her to work overtime. She and Wayne were giddy over getting to spend more time together, and we were quickly closing in on our thousand cookie total.

Cole came back to the kitchen to let me know that “Pete's stuck-up girlfriend and some hot cougar” were here to have a meeting with me about the 5K. I would have to remember to tell Savannah about Cole's assessment of her. She'd get a kick out of it. I headed out to meet them.

Cecilia was in charge of the entire day's festivities, including a fundraiser ball that night. Stan had asked me to go to the ball a while ago, although now I was significantly less excited about it. A big fundraiser gala with a bunch of pretentious assholes was the last place I wanted to go with Stan, now that he'd undoubtedly be a social pariah because of what happened at his grandmother's repast. It was going to be a night of rich people angst, to be sure, and I didn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle of it.

I figured this meeting couldn't go too badly with Savannah present. She was the head of the children's charity that would receive the proceeds from the event, so she was working with Cecilia to make sure everything went smoothly. However, Cecilia seemed to be treating Savannah more like her assistant than her equal.

“Where is the packet I'm supposed to give her, Savannah? Find it,” Cecilia snapped, her back to me as I approached their table. “And even though you two are friends, which I do
not
understand, please don't engage her in conversation. I don't want to have to deal with that waitress any longer than is strictly necessary.”

Oh, no she didn't.

Her smug comment took me back to when we were in college. Cecilia and her little band of stuck-up sorority girls had come into Java Jive one afternoon, probably so Cecilia could chat up Pete. Pete, however, was having none of it.

He said to me exasperatedly, “Jules, Cecilia Hollingsworth just spilled her latte so she could get me to go over there to clean it up. I think what she really wants is to ogle me while I do it.”

I laughed. “Yeah, probably. Because you're so hot.” I had veiled my statement with sarcasm, but I was speaking the truth. I secretly ogled Pete sometimes when he wasn't looking.

Glaring at me, he said, “It's not funny. And I'm not going over there.”

“That spill isn't going to clean itself up,” I replied, employing a phrase his dad, George, was fond of using.

“Come on,” he whined. “Will you do it for me? Please?”

“No. I don't want to go over there with those snooty bitches, either.”

“But at least they won't stare at your ass
. Please?
”

“You can't be sure of that. My ass is pretty sweet.”

“Jules…”

“Fine. But you're cleaning all of the tables when we close tonight. And taking out the trash.”

He smiled. “That's a good trade. You're the best.”

Steeling myself for a dim-witted, catty conversation, I headed over to clean up Cecilia's “spill.” I had watched her knock her drink over. It was totally on purpose.

As I got within earshot of the group, I heard Cecilia whisper conspiratorially, “That no-class waitress Juliet thinks she has Pete wrapped around her little finger, but we'll see who he leaves with tonight.”

One of her henchwomen agreed, “Yeah, she has, like, no chance. Did you see her hair today?”

That particular girl didn't have any room to talk about how someone looked. Sure, every hair was in place, but even her awesome 'do couldn't distract attention from her giant hooked nose. Granted, my hair had looked better, but I had worked all afternoon, so several locks had escaped from my ponytail. The girl's comment made me seethe. Silently, I wiped the spilled latte off the tabletop, then squatted down to tackle the small puddle on the floor. I heard them snickering while I was under the table, and when I straightened up, Cecilia was giving me the evil eye.

“Um,
waitress,
” she said pompously. “You need to bring me another hazelnut latte.”

I blew out a breath, trying to control Redheaded She-Devil and her wrath. “Cecilia, I believe you know my name.”

“Yeah, it's ‘waitress'!” another of her toadies chortled. She reminded me of one of Cinderella's ugly stepsisters.

“Now, about getting me that fresh latte—on the house, of course, since I spilled my first one,” Cecilia said, flashing me a fake smile.

I fake-smiled right back. “Well, since I saw you purposely pour it on the floor in a pathetic attempt to get Pete to come over and talk to you, I'm going to have to say no.”

Her smile turned icy. “Get me the manager.”

“Gladly,” I retorted, stalking off to get George out of the kitchen.

That night Cecilia received a free drink and I got a talking-to from George about being nice to customers, even those I didn't get along with. Pete had felt terrible about me getting in trouble with his dad—as he should have, since it was really all his fault.

Today, though,
I
was the manager, and nobody was going to give me a talking-to about how I treated rude, awful customers. The thirty-year-old me was going to have a little fun with this.

Appearing beside her, I said, “Hello, ladies. Can I get you something to drink? A hazelnut latte, perhaps? On the house, of course.”

Cecilia jumped and sputtered, “What? No…no, we're fine.”

I took a seat at the table. “Let's get started, then. I'd hate to waste any of your time.” Turning to Savannah, I whispered loudly, “Hey, Savannah. I would engage you in conversation, but…you know.”

Savannah gave me a sly grin and a wink, but kept quiet.

Bristling, Cecilia slapped a large envelope down on the table in front of me. She quickly rattled off, “Here is the packet with everything you need. It has directions for setting up your booth, a map of vendor spaces, your official vendor badges, and a schedule for tomorrow. One of us will come by your booth at the end of the event to collect your donation money. Don't forget that twenty percent of your gross sales is the expected donation. Any questions?”

“Of course not. You've explained everything so carefully,” I replied, sitting back and crossing my arms.

Cecilia's eyes narrowed and zeroed in on my wrist. Through gritted teeth, she asked, “Where did you get that bracelet?”

Interested in where she was going with this, I replied, “This bracelet?” and shoved it in front of her face. Savannah's eyes grew wide.

Cecilia was turning purple now. “That's a
three-thousand-dollar bracelet
.”

Holy crap. Three thousand dollars? That was some serious overkill on Stan's part. I'd known it was a pricey bracelet, but I hadn't dreamed it cost three grand. That kind of money would have furnished my entire apartment. Twice.

“I suppose what you're really asking is where did a no-class waitress get such an expensive piece of jewelry. Am I right?” I assumed that she already knew exactly where I got it, but it was fun to watch her lose her shit while I needled her. “It is gorgeous, isn't it?”

Cecilia made a strangled growling noise in the back of her throat.

I laughed. “Oh, I won't keep you in suspense anymore. Your brother gave it to me earlier today.”

“Only a skank like you would accept a gift from a would-be
murderer
,” she spat.

I was shocked. Cecilia did not usually talk like that about family members. I didn't care what she said about me, of course, but I wasn't going to let her call Stan a murderer. “That's your brother you're talking about. I know you guys don't get along, but he's not a killer.”

She snorted. “What do you know about Stan besides the fact that he has more money than you can count? Everyone knows you're gold-digging trailer trash looking to land a big fish. You can cut the act, waitress, because you'll never see a penny of Hollingsworth money unless it's over my dead body.”

Redheaded She-Devil had had enough of her. I stood up. “Get out. Now.”

She hopped out of her chair. “You can't throw me out! My boyfriend is the owner!” Several customers turned to stare at us.

I got inches from her face and said very quietly, “Yes, but he's not here right now, so I'm in charge. Don't think I won't physically remove you if I have to.”

Her eyes got a wild look. She put her hand on my shoulder and made a feeble attempt to shove me.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it. It was laughable that she thought she had any chance of ever taking me in a physical fight. It was a moot point, though. No matter how much I wanted to slap her, I'd never allow myself to raise a hand to my best friend's girlfriend. I was still going to goad her, though. “Is that all you've got?”

Before Cecilia could reply, Savannah jumped between us. “Cecilia, we need to get moving. We have several more stops to make before we head over to start setting up for the race. Let's go.”

Cecilia glared at me, but took a step back and gathered her things. Purposely bumping into me on her way past, she stormed out, Savannah in her wake.

Savannah threw a “Sorry!” over her shoulder and followed Cecilia out the door.

I sank back down into my chair, exhausted after our little exchange. Cecilia had crossed the line, and she was way out of control. There was definitely something going on with her. I would have to tell Pete about what happened, but I knew she was probably already calling him, making the whole thing out to be my fault.

Pete came in about an hour later, his face stormy. He pulled me into the office and asked, “What's this I hear about a throwdown earlier between you and Cecilia?”

“Did she tattle on me?”

“You might say that.”

“She was being hateful, and she called me a skank and a gold digger. I told her to leave, and she did. It's really not much more complicated than that. Seriously, though, there's something wrong with her. She normally doesn't allow herself to come unglued like that.”

Pete and I had gone to Belmont with Cecilia, all of us music majors, so we had known one another for a long time. There was never any love lost between Cecilia and me, and we'd had catty arguments with each other before, but we had never had an all-out fight like today.

Pete ran a hand through his spiky, dark hair. “I know, Jules. She's really been different since her grandmother died. I've been trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I don't know if I can take much more.”

It wasn't lost on me that Pete was taking my side against his girlfriend. I brightened. “So you're breaking up with her?”

“I thought I'd give her one more chance.”

Damn it. “Pete, you're too nice,” I said, putting my hand on the door to leave.

“Hold on a second.” He pointed at my wrist. “Is that the bracelet Stan gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you find it odd that someone you're barely dating gave you a three-thousand-dollar bracelet?”

I shook my head. “Rich people. You can't figure them out.”

“You do realize he's buying your affection, or at least your silence.”

“Pete,” I warned, “I thought we discussed this.”

“No, we discussed the possibility of him throwing you down a flight of stairs. We did not discuss him paying you to defend him.”

“You really think I'm that shallow? Not to mention stupid?” I huffed.

He came over and took my hands. “No, I don't. I think he's dangerous, and I don't want you to get blindsided by his lies and bullshit.” He smiled contritely. “You're not the best judge of men.” He wasn't wrong, but I still didn't like to hear it.

I muttered grumpily, “I hang around with you, don't I?”

Chuckling, Pete threw his arm around my shoulders and steered me out the door and toward the kitchen. “The exception that proves the rule. Hey, I hear there's nearly a thousand cookies in here somewhere. Think I could have just one?”

Pete, Cole, and Shane, our evening shift cook, left after the dinner rush and headed over to Centennial Park to set up our tent for the 5K race. I made them take everything we needed for tomorrow, including Java Jive's backup espresso machine, which I hoped would still work after they nearly dropped it getting it out the door. I held on to the cookies, which obviously couldn't sit outside all night. All I'd have to do the next morning would be to transport a few plastic storage bins full of cookies to our booth. No sweat.

Cole and Shane returned a little after eight o'clock. As they were peeling off their jackets and storing them in the office, I asked, “Where's Pete?”

Cole replied, “You know that queen bitch who got up in your face this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering what Cecilia had done this time.

He said, “Well, she came in our tent and started groping Pete. We didn't want any part of that shit, so we bailed.”

I groaned inwardly. I wouldn't want any part of that shit, either.

Shane clarified, “We were done setting up, so Pete told us to come back here.”

“Thank you for getting it all set up. You two look cold.”

“It's freaking freezing out there,” Cole whined. “I think I got frostbite on my ball sac.”

Wishing I could unhear that, I said, “Grab a hot drink and get warm. And, Cole, no more oversharing.”

The coffeehouse wasn't terribly busy tonight, so I went to the ladies' room to primp for my date. Truth be told, I was having a few mixed feelings about meeting Stan. I went through the motions of freshening my makeup and choosing an outfit from the stash of clothes I kept at work, but I just couldn't get as excited about seeing him as I used to. Normally, that would be a pretty clear sign it was time to break things off, but between trying to help him deal with his sister's accident and accepting that stupid bracelet, a breakup would be a dick move right about now.