CHAPTER SEVEN - TANYA

I was late.

Of course I was late.

Because nothing in my life ever behaved.

I speed-walked down Alder Street, bag thumping against my hip, replaying this morning on a humiliating loop: me in Damien Lockewood’s office, dropping documents like I’d never used fingers before, telling him he wasn’t as smart as people thought… then Rose telling me he fired a whole manager minutes later.

Yeah. That could’ve been me.

Perfect start.

The worst part?

I wasn’t nervous because lateness was bad.

I was nervous because Nick might decide he didn’t want someone who showed up fifteen minutes late on their first day.

The café bell jingled as I slipped inside, hair windblown, dignity hanging by a thread. Morning & Co. was buzzing. Lila was flying around the counter; Nick was battling the chalkboard like it had personally offended him.

“There she is!” Lila announced grandly. “On her first day! At… eleven fifteen.”

“I can explain,” I sputtered.

Nick didn’t turn around. “She overslept,” he said dryly.

“Correct,” I lied. No way was I admitting I had verbally sparred with a billionaire at dawn.

Lila handed me an apron that said Good mornings are earned. “Honey, it’s fine. First days are cursed.”

“Yeah,” Nick added, “and you’re still earlier than half the part-timers I’ve hired.”

Comforting… ish.

“We’ll ease you in,” Lila promised. “Just breathe oxygen and try not to die.”

Then the door opened and a wave of customers flooded in.

“Congratulations,” Lila said, grabbing my elbow. “You’ve been promoted to active duty.”

“What? I just got here—”

“You’ll be fine—oh never mind, we’re drowning.”

I stepped behind the register like I knew what I was doing. “Good morning—what can I get for you?”

Fifty minutes later, I understood why baristas deserved hazard pay.

One woman demanded milk “that has never touched the inside of a cow barn.”

A man described his ideal drink temperature like he was giving instructions for open-heart surgery.

Someone else asked if our croissants were “as crunchy as crackers.”

I just blinked at him until he walked away.

But Lila kept sliding in whenever I looked overwhelmed, and Nick’s occasional thumbs-up helped more than I expected. Gradually, I found a rhythm: take orders, breathe, repeat, don’t scream when someone says “Actually…” after their receipt prints.

By noon, my feet were liquified, but I was… managing.

At twelve-thirty, another rush hit. Lila paused mid-sentence, eyes widening.

“Oh my God—Tanya. Don’t look. Actually no, look.”

I looked.

A sleek black Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT rolled to a stop outside.

“Who owns that?” she whispered. “Batman?”

Nick snorted. “Batman isn’t that pretentious.”

A sharply dressed man stepped out—crisp suit, polished shoes, purposeful stride. Not Damien-level intimidating… but close.

He entered, and Lila leaned toward me. “He’s becoming a regular. This is the second fancy car he’s driven here.”

Nick muttered, “Great. Another high-maintenance order incoming.”

He came to the counter—clean, efficient, familiar in a way I couldn’t place.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Three of my usual. Black. Extra hot.”

Three? Odd.

Polite, clipped, absolutely not a small-talker.

“He irons his shoelaces,” Lila whispered. “And I would do him.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “He looks like he works for someone scarier.”

And just like that, the thought hit me:

Damien.

No. Impossible. Damien wouldn’t send someone to get coffee from here.

Right?

I handed him his tray. He nodded once, left, and the Porsche glided down Alder Street.

Lila fanned herself. “What does it feel like to be under a man like that?”

“Jesus, Lila,” Nick choked.

“What? He has the vibe and body.”

Nick shrugged. “Body of someone who takes orders from a tyrant.”

I froze.

Because…

No.

No way.

But the idea still dug its claws in.

What if that car belonged to Damien?

“Tanya? You good?” Lila asked.

“Just… processing.”

“Don’t think,” Nick warned. “Thinking is above our paygrade during lunch rush.”

I laughed weakly, but something curled in my stomach.

The universe was rude like that.

At 2 p.m., I finally got a minute to breathe. I grabbed water in the back when my phone buzzed.

Meghan.

“Meg?”

Her voice trembled. “Tanya… he keeps calling.”

My jaw clenched. “Block him.”

“I did.”

“Then ignore him.”

“I’m scared.”

That crack in her voice knocked something loose inside me.

“I’m coming later,” I whispered. “You’re not dealing with this alone.”

She exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”

When I hung up, I pressed my forehead to the wall.

“Hey,” Nick said softly from behind me.

I turned. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, expression gentler than I’d seen all day.

“You good?”

“…Not really.”

He nodded. Didn’t pry. “Take a minute. We’ve got you covered.”

That tiny kindness almost broke me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anytime. Now try not to burn the milk again.”

I nearly threw a napkin at him.

CLOSING TIME

By 4:05, the last customer waved goodbye. Lila locked the doors. Nick tossed me a rag.

“One last wipe, then you can run home.”

I cleaned the tables, the counter, everything. Feet throbbing, brain fried, heart heavy… but for the first time in a long time, I felt okay.

“You survived your first day!” Lila shrieked, hugging me.

“Barely.”

“You didn’t spill anything.”

“I nearly did.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Please raise your standards.”

Nick patted my shoulder. “Try not to quit tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Boss,” Lila mocked.

Nick groaned. “Out.”

We laughed our way onto the street.

On the walk home, I felt lighter. Not enough to erase Meghan’s bruises. Not enough to erase Damien’s voice telling me to “explain.” But enough to breathe.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Where is your friend?

My stomach dropped.

I turned. The street was still lively, but something prickled at my neck.

Another buzz.

This is not a joke. Answer me.

Fear rooted itself under my ribs.

I swallowed hard and walked faster.

Just keep going, Tanya.

Just get home.

Just—