Chapter 3

I snatched Matteo's phone and ended the call, cutting off Lauren's toxic demands.

Rubbing my throbbing temples, I said, "Don't worry. I'm not doing that. Everyone, back to work."

...

The drama faded into the chaos of the next rush.

During a break, a man with a headquarters badge stormed in. His eyes swept across the room before locking onto me. "Jennifer Sargent? I'm James Wilson, head office supervisor. Do you realize what you've done? Seducing a customer's boyfriend and ignoring her reasonable requests? Because of you, we've got hundreds of complaints!"

Incredulous, I pulled over Matteo and pointed at his uniform. "She demanded my staff write pledges and asked Matteo to strip in public. Is that reasonable?"

I pulled out a stack of refund receipts, each scrawled with Lauren's address and vicious notes.

[Jennifer, you hung up on me? You're finished!]

[You little tramp, think you can defy me? I'll shut down your shop!]

Shaking with anger, I glared at James. "She is disrupting our work and complaining about me? You know what? Let's call the police and let them sort it out."

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" he sneered. "She is the daughter of our biggest investor. If she pulls her money, the company is done. Can you handle that?"

His words made me laugh. If she were the investor's daughter, then who was I?

Before I could respond, he shoved a file into my hands. "You'd better do everything she wants, or no one's saving your job."

I opened the file, frowning at a list of absurd demands.

As the manager, I must make 500 smoothies daily, and for Lauren's orders, I must deliver with Matteo in ten minutes. Also, I must monitor the staff to ensure they don't get too close to Matteo.

Every night, I must send Lauren a detailed report of Matteo's actions and words by midnight. During her feedback, I must bow and avoid eye contact.

The list went on, but I didn't bother reading further. My gaze was fixed on James. "Who is Lauren's dad, exactly?"

Just then, his phone rang. He answered, his tone turning obsequious. "Mr. Miller, I'm handling it."

A scornful voice came through. "Handling it? It's been hours! A mere manager dares to upset my daughter? Fix this, or I'm pulling my investment!"

James paled, assuring him, "Don't worry, sir. In thirty minutes, the manager will come and apologize to her."

I sneered, recognizing that man's voice.

Three years ago, my dad hired his distant cousin, Tom Miller, as his driver. Apparently, Tom had been using my dad's name to throw his weight around.

I pulled out my phone and texted him: [Uncle Tom, get to the smoothie shop and look what your daughter has done.]

As the message was sent, a mocking voice rang out.