Ch 1: Sweet Cream- P1- Hot Boss, Quick Attitude -

Abigail, Grande Latte Cafe- 9:30 PM

~~~

Ugh, finally, the day is almost over! It's Friday, so that means I made it through another week. I think to myself, sighing heavily in relief. You see, I'm employed as a barista for a trendy cafe that took over a bakery that went bankrupt, and ever since then, I've had no damn social life.

My job, the Grande Latte Cafe, closes every night at 10:00 PM and reopens every morning at 7:00 AM, except for Saturday and Sunday. My manager, Keith, says that people must have lives outside of work to socialize, party, or hook up. Which is hilarious, because he doesn't practice what he preaches! He's here more than most of us, and I've occasionally caught glimpses of him in the building when it's closed.

Plus, he treats all of the women who work here like we don't exist if we aren't performing tasks for him. So forgive me if I find his ideology baffling.

The idea of a life that doesn’t involve this place is shocking. Long hours, moderate pay, and a demanding jerk like Keith verbally abusing us like a bad ex. I have been working here for six months, give or take, and I hate it. But I'm broke and have no other experience, so I tolerate it.

Fortunately, there is one thing that makes it all worth it. Keith is super hot! I'm not talking about an average attractive older man, hot, more like a supermodel. A god trapped in a mortal's form, waiting to burst forth and ravage nearby, lonely maidens.

Since we close the shop every night. Together. Alone. I've often caught myself fantasizing about Keith. And all of the things I would want him to do to me, hypothetically, of course.

It begins with me closing my eyes and focusing on his scent. Sandalwood and Oak with a hint of whiskey. The smell of an older, refined man who knows what he wants.

After that, my fantasy begins.

~~~

He pulls his thick, shoulder-length honey-brown hair loose from the confines of its ponytail. He casually tosses the daily paperwork off to the side while slowly stalking toward me with intention. My body squirms from his presence, knowing full well that what he wants isn't work-related.

Those massive forearms of his wrap around my waist, pulling my back into his hard, sculpted chest. Keith brings his soft, plush lips to my ear and whispers, "It's been a long day, hasn't it, Abby?"

I fidget, pressing into his chest as his warm breath tickles my neck. That's when I feel him. Huge, hard, and hungry as always. Biting my lip, I reply, "Y-yes."

"Mm, I think it's time for you to get off, Abby." Keith rasps, nibbling on my earlobe. "What do you think?"

I gasp, anchoring my fingers into his gorgeous hair. "Um, we still have 30 minutes..."

Keith spins me around suddenly, perching my butt on the edge of the counter. His lips impatiently cover mine. Our tongues unite in a hungry, passionate dance. My legs wrap around his tight, muscular hips, holding on like a horny female Mantis.

He breaks our kiss. I whine, missing his expert tongue already. With a wicked smile, he ducks beneath the counter, tossing my legs over his shoulders. From between my thighs, he murmurs, "You get off when I say you do, got it?"

"Dammit!" Keith groans loudly, breaking my fantasy.

Annoyed, I press my thighs together to relieve the built-up pressure. Ugh, it was just getting good, too!

~~~

Sighing heavily, I ask, "What's wrong this time?"

Keith glares at me, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging bigger than normal. He's seriously pissed off, but why? We've barely spoken to one another in three hours aside from the occasional "Excuse me" or "Can you hand me that?"

So, what's his issue now?

"The floor by the register is sticky!" Keith snaps, stomping his feet in the area. "I thought you already mopped over here, Abigail?"

I smile politely, hiding the real words I wish to express. Actually, if he would recall it correctly, around 8:30 PM, he told me not to mop until after the lobby was properly sorted.

But, evidently, he completely forgot that interaction. Like usual.

"I wanted to make sure the lobby was situated first," I explain cheerfully, yawning slightly. "Since the windows are clean, tables are done, and chairs are stacked, I should be able to tackle the floors pretty easily. Would that be alright, sir?"

His eyes narrow as he shuffles off to the office, muttering something under his breath. Geez, what a moody jerk.

For several minutes, I thoroughly sweep and mop the lobby, the walkway to the restrooms, and behind the counter. Paying extra attention to the register area, which was barely sticky.

Go figure, Keith was being dramatic again.

Waiting for my next set of 'orders' from Keith, I began polishing the countertop, display cases, and coffee machines. That's when I heard Keith scream, "Abigail, my office, now!!!"

Carefully, I made my way to the office. Walking into a lion's den of sorts, in which any number of things could happen.

~~~

I find Keith sitting at his cheap Ikea desk, tapping his fingers on the fake wooden exterior impatiently. "Sit down."

Not wanting to further anger him, I obey.

"The register is $14 short," Keith states, tossing a stack of receipts at me. "And according to the schedule that I made, you were on the register all day!!" His face was red, his brown eyes almost black from rage. He does this every day. He screams at us and tosses his power around, treating us all like crap. But today, he took it too far.

My mouth falls open. Is he fucking seriously accusing me of stealing!? I've been a loyal, on-time employee for six months, doing whatever he wants, and for what? To be called a thief? Screw him.

Jumping out of my seat, I snap, "Keith, I'm so sick and tired of your attitude! Every day you find things wrong with our jobs, complain about what we do, even if you're the one who told us to do it, and to make it worse, you never stop yelling!!" I pick up a stapler from his desk and throw it against the wall; it shatters on impact. "It's like you hate everyone and everything, and I don't get that! Do you barely make minimum wage? No? How about snooty, entitled customers who throw stuff when their order is wrong? Still no? Gee, how about a boss who accuses staff of stealing from the register!?" I was panting. Every ounce of courage I had is gone confronting this authority-clutching demon spawn.

"That's enough!!!!" He roars, standing up suddenly.

He is inches from my face, towering over me, about four inches and one hundred pounds of muscle heavier. His presence terrifies me, driving me crazy with his dominance.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. Keith’s going to fire me; I know he is. Shit.

"If that's how you feel, then I suggest you go elsewhere, Abigail." He states firmly. "Because, from where I stand, you're finished here."

"Really? That's it!? You're accusing me of stealing without all of the information! I went on break for 30 minutes, so Madison was in charge during that time!" I shriek, shoving the chair against the wall.

He clenched his jaw, glaring at me with his intense brown eyes. "Keep it up, and I'll call the cop."

Scoffing, I ask, "For what? Venting about my shitty job?"

Keith smirks, holding up his hand. "How about the destruction of company property?" He puts down a finger. "Or verbal assault?" Another finger goes down. "Oh, or my favorite, theft?"

Screw this asshole!

I slap him across the face. Hard. He stumbles back from the impact.

Neither of say anything, and honestly? I'm too fucking terrified to do so. What will he do now that I hit him? Scream? Throw something at me? Return the favor?

He growls, his face burning red, pointing at the door. "Get. The. Fuck. Out!!!!!"

"Gladly!!!" I scream back, tossing my apron and nametag at his face.

Quickly, I retrieve my phone and purse from the break room. I don't want to be here any longer than possible, so I dart for the front door, setting the alarm off.

As I drive away, I hear Keith screaming, "You dumb bitch, you forgot to disengage it!!!"

The whole way home, I feel a swirling void of regret in my guts. While I managed to avoid the cops and several potential charges, I just left the only job I'm qualified to do. And I hit my hot boss in the process!

Could this day get any worse?

A text pings on my phone. I activate the text-to-read program so that I can drive without distraction.

"From Keith:

I feel like we got off track and said a lot of terrible shit we didn't mean.

You're not fired, but please take the weekend to cool off.

Come back fresh on Monday. Then, we need to talk."

~~~