Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
But clearly, she can’t help herself with this one. I can tell she’s giddy before the caffeine even gets into her system.
I expect her to ask for another cup, but instead she says, “I’m going to call the lab techs over. Everyone should taste this stuff. Be right back.” She takes a couple of steps and looks back over her shoulder. “Awesome first day, Eliza.”
Be still, my heart.
A few minutes later, Gina returns with half a dozen people. I serve them each a cup, and they all compliment my coffee with surprising sincerity.
“Would you be offended if I use cream and sugar? It has a complex flavor, but it’s very strong,” one woman asks.
“No. Fix it however you like. You’re the one drinking it.”
“Thanks! I’m Chrissy, by the way.”
“Eliza,” I say.
“We all know who you are. I’m Ryan,” another tech says. He slurps his coffee and gives a fast thumbs-up. “This is bussin. Don’t think I’ve ever had fire-brewed coffee before.”
I’m flipping blushing.
“I know. The first time I tasted the difference, I was shocked. I’m thinking I’ll call it s’mor’ofee or something.” I smile awkwardly. “Or maybe I’d better leave that part to marketing.”
Chrissy laughs. “Oh, like s’mores coffee? I love it.”
“Hm, one problem. How do you think you’ll replicate this in a store without safety issues? Having the flame seems pretty key.” Ryan asks.
I freeze. It’s an honestly good question.
“We could make a concentrate. Though nothing beats the taste when it’s piping hot,” I say, racking my brain for options.
“Liquid concentrate or powder?” Gina asks, peering at me over her glasses.
“Uh, I’ve only ever done liquid.” I sip my coffee slowly. “Honestly, I don’t know how to make a powder concentrate...”
Everyone looks up then. For a second, I think they’re stunned silent at my ignorance.
Nope. I’m not that lucky.
A walking coffee curse is moving toward us on long legs stuffed into trousers so expensive they make my skin crawl.
The friendly crowd scatters like birds, clearing a path for Cole Lancaster to come stalking through.
Ugh.
“What are you doing here?” I bite off.
He scoffs. “Last I checked, I owned the place. Including this military-grade coffee lab.”
“Oh, boy, here we go.” I roll my eyes. “You just can’t describe anything without sounding like a Bond villain, huh?”
“Mrs. Walker emailed me, gushing about how good your coffee is. I decided to show up for a personal taste test,” he says bluntly.
Gina comes closer to the pot and takes the ladle.
“No. Let Miss Angelo do the honors,” he orders, holding up a hand. “No sense in stealing her thunder, after all.”
I bite my tongue so hard it’ll be sore later.
He closes the space between us, waiting expectantly for me to pour his coffee, his eyebrow raised in that smug godfatherly way.
Definitely supervillain vibes.
And I’d rather brew coffee for every cartoon bad guy ever invented than give Cole damn Lancaster the satisfaction of taking a piping hot cup from my hands.
He’s clearly enjoying this, his brow quirked in just the right way that makes him ten times more annoying and somehow more gorgeous—which only makes him even more annoying.
Double ugh.
What the hell makes him think I want to waste my time serving him coffee? I guess being King Dick makes him think everyone should trip over each other for the privilege?
I wish I could serve up a super-concentrate strong enough to choke that look off his face.
For now, I toss a steaming ladle of black liquid into a paper cup and thrust it into his hand. I hope it melts right through the container.
“Enjoy,” I snap.
He winks.
He freaking winks at me.
And he takes his sweet, sweet time sipping from the cup, holding the liquid in his mouth so reverently you’d think I just handed him the cure for old age.
Also, I hadn’t noticed how full his lips are around that halo of beard that looks like it would scratch just right.
Not until now.
Like I needed to notice that.
He holds the scalding liquid in his mouth, turning it over, ice-cold calm and assessing. The man towers over me, an intimidating beast even when his shields are down mid-sip.
My eyes are stuck to him now—glued to his broad chest and the wild ripples of muscles that become more visible every time he moves, pulling the silk suit tautly against him.
God, I hate how attractive he is.
I extra hate how he’s in my space.
I triple hate how his lips move as he rolls his tongue inside his mouth, making me imagine all the awful things that tongue could do besides make my blood pressure skyrocket.
This feels like the longest coffee sampling ever.
Of course it is.
When Lancaster finally swallows, I wonder what year I’m in.
“Divine, Miss Angelo.” His unexpected compliment almost makes the torture worth it. “Though even Prometheus had to bring his gift down from the gods.”
“Come again?”
“Prometheus. A Greek god who—”