Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Griffin may be a solid artist and a decent enough guy, but he needs to grow up. He flirts with everyone like he’s some kind of goddamn Romeo. I’d like to see Ember smack him one of these times, because she deserves better.
Meanwhile, Frank has perked up at the mention of giving Ember a ride into work. No one else would notice, but the sudden keenness of his gaze tells me he’s interested in that idea.
Fuck. Don’t tell me Frank has the hots for her, too. At least I don’t have to worry about him throwing himself at her the way Griffin does. In the three years we’ve been sharing a house, I haven’t seen Frank show an interest in much beyond his work and his personal art projects, so I can’t imagine him putting the moves on her.
“Is the schedule lined out for tomorrow?” Gage is asking Ember, who whips a tablet out of her bag.
“It’s already nearly full for the rest of the month, actually. Some existing clients have moved over to this shop, both to follow their preferred artists and because of location, and we have several new clients from the recent social media campaign.”
Her voice echoes around the empty room as she continues. Griffin is looking at her like he’s planning a prank as soon as Gage leaves. Frank is watching her too, with an intensity I’ve never seen before. When he realizes I’ve caught him, he quickly looks away.
I have the sudden feeling that the four of us are on a roller coaster that’s about to plunge downhill into a volcano.
EMBER
To save money, I’ve been making public transportation work in a city where most people say having a car is a necessity. I used to have one, but it reached the point where it wasn’t worth fixing anymore. Since I rely on buses, the new Beasts Ink location is going to test the limits of my time and patience.
I left my apartment extra early so that I’d be on time, but the connecting bus was late, and now I’m hurrying down the street on foot with only minutes to spare.
It’s not as if my presence at the shop upon opening is crucial. The day’s schedule is booked with existing clients, and the artists know what they’re doing, but I want to be there to greet people as they arrive.
I don’t mean to be a control freak, but this is a big opportunity, and being a hands-on manager will let me make the most of it. The shop is my responsibility, and I want everything to be perfect.
Someone is already standing at the front door, and I worry that a client has beat me there, but as I get closer, Griffin comes into focus.
“Why are you waiting outside? Gage gave all of you keys, didn’t he?”
He holds out one big hand, a coffee cup from my favorite shop all but disappearing in his fist. “I brought this for you.”
“Oh.” I blink up at him. “There’s a coffeemaker in the waiting area. I checked yesterday, and we have all the supplies for it.”
“I’m sure a salted caramel cold brew wouldn’t taste nearly as good if we tried to make it here.”
“Oh, well, thank you.” When I take the cup from him, he opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. I was typically the one who ran out for coffee at our former location, and I don’t remember Griffin ever doing a drinks run, so I’m both surprised and flattered that he knows what my favorite kind of coffee drink is.
This sweet gesture is something different from his usual play-flirting. Could Lexy be right about him liking me?
As soon as I cross the threshold, I brush that thought aside. Behind all his teasing, Griffin’s a friend, and this coffee is a friendly gesture on our opening day. Or maybe he’s going to suck up to me now that I’m his boss.
In any case, I have too much else to think about today.
Frank’s already at his station, a cup of coffee in his hand from the same shop as mine. He gives me a nod when I look his way.
Zeb’s lounging in the waiting area, focused on his phone, one leg propped on the brand new coffee table, the other bouncing at a faster pace than the music one of them has already put on. When I call out, “Good morning” to both men, Zeb raises a hand in greeting, then goes back to his phone.
The coffeemaker’s on; the small refrigerator is filled with bottled water. The overhead lights are shining. There are also individual lamps at each station that the artists can turn on when they’re working.
Everything seems to be in order, and all that’s really left to do at the moment is turn on the “Open” sign in the front window.