I rip open my desk drawer and fumble around for the Tylenol bottle, tossing a couple pills down my gullet.
I know better than to let these memories wash over me, especially when they抮e triggered so easily by an old face I should抳e been prepared for.
They always leave me with a drumming headache. I go to the coffee machine on my sideboard, pop in a Wired Cup capsule, and pour two espresso shots to chase the painkillers.
The combination might not be optimal, but right now it抯 strong coffee or a proper drink.
Because Troy Clement is absolutely right, no matter what bad memories he dredges up.
Change is the only constant. Ever.
The change I need next is a bold new coffee that makes Wired Cup a brand people talk about again. I want people who have never stepped foot in our stores screeching about the campfire coffee on social media. I want my great grandpa抯 legacy reborn.
My team just needs to figure out how to make it happen.
I pick up the office phone and call Katelyn.
揌ey, Mr. Lancaster. What do you need??she answers, cheerful as ever.
揌ave we landed an interview with our new friend yet??
揝he can抰 come in before seven p.m.?
My brows lift. 揥hy so late??
揂h, that. I couldn抰 get an answer out of her. She just said that if you wanted to see her, that抯 the only time she has available.?There抯 a heavy pause on Kate抯 end. 揂re you sure you want to do this??
揟ell her I抣l see her at seven. Today. Thank you.?I slam the phone back in its cradle with my eyes flicking to the red-and-white pill bottle again.
I just wonder how big my headache will be by the time I抦 done with this strange, infuriatingly gorgeous woman and the pile of absolute bullshit she seems determined to shovel into my life.
A little after six, Kate comes strolling into my office.
The click of her heels doesn抰 feel like a mallet against my skull. The headache is better.
揂re you sure you don抰 want me or someone from HR to stick around??she asks.
揘ot necessary. I can handle a simple interview. I don抰 need either of you working so late to accommodate this little cactus. Go home to your family,?I say.
揗r. Lancaster棓 She hesitates.
Damn. What am I in trouble for now?
?it抯 just highly unusual to conduct an interview so informally this late. I worry her motives might be less than pure. If you don抰 have someone sitting in, it抯 going to be difficult to protect you.?
揚rotect me from what??I cock my head.
揈rm梬ell梱our very blunt tongue. What if you set her off like you did at the store??
I throw back my head and laugh.
揔atelyn, please. I抳e handled a thousand interviews in my day. I can handle this night owl who wants to pluck out my tongue, too, but I appreciate your concern.?
揃adger.?She clears her throat. 揢m, that抯 the animal Destiny gave her, right??
I sigh. 揑 don抰 care what her spirit animal is. I just want to get this over with.?
揝ounds like a hint someone should stay. Just to keep you on your toes, y択now??She flashes a strained smile.
揑 don抰 need a damn babysitter. I抳e got this.?
揝orry. If you insist棓
揑 do.?I throw her a heavy look. 揊or the last time, go home. Feed your kids and husband.?
揥here抯 Destiny? You抮e usually not here this late. Has she eaten yet??
I hold back a smile.
Annoying or not, I remember why I have the best staff when Kate Storm cares this much about my daughter.
I抦 not sure Destiny and I ever would抳e come through Aster抯 demise as well as we have without my team.
揑 told her it抯 pizza night with her friends. Thanks, though,?I say.
揑 gotcha, boss. Okay, I抦 out. Good luck!?
I have exactly two minutes to brace for that siren with her honey-sweet eyes and a spear for a tongue.
Then Eliza sails into my office wearing mildly faded jeans and a flannel button-down shirt. She looks like she just stepped off a shift at a wood mill.
Nice interview-wear. You look like a Pearl Jam fan circa 1990, I think bitterly.
Still, the fact that I agreed to speak with her this late tells her I抦 willing to make certain accommodations if she can work her coffee magic.
I haven抰 said a word, raking her with a silent, assessing look.
I抦 braced for her attitude today.
Only, she抯 so quiet today.
Her jaw drops slightly as her eyes move from my wall of windows to the aged wood molding above it. She inhales deeply and smiles like she doesn抰 want to rip out my throat.
Are we making progress?
Her eyes scan up and down, flicking to the window wall and back to me again. 揂t least you look the part.?
揚ardon??I snap.
揧ou know…stuck-up prince in his ivory tower, so above us mortals.?Her eyes move just above my head.