Is that why he’s sent me out on this mission to get him some new clothes?
What in the world happened?
For a businessman who lives for his company, it didn’t seem fitting to his ruthless professional image that he wouldn’t change before work.
Did he go home with someone else after hitting on me?
The thought makes a pang of raw jealousy ripple through my core, a sentiment that makes me grunt in disgust.
“You okay?” Stacy asks.
“Yeah, I . . . uh, I’ve gotta go. I’m coming up to the café now.”
“Good luck out there, Chloe! Let me know how it goes.”
When the line goes dead, I slip my phone back into my purse and eye the small coffee shop curiously. The cozy café isn’t the kind of place that I expected Donovan to send me to. I’d been expecting some beautifully rustic café with a menu in all Italian and prices so high that I needed to up my credit card limit just to walk through the door.
Instead, what sits before me is an adorable mom and pop coffee shop with a handwritten menu scribbled in chalk and dotted with clumsily drawn smiley faces.
It’s as odd and bewildering as it is endearing.
I glance around, wondering if this isn’t some sort of practical joke. Maybe Donovan did remember me and wanted to send me all the way out here just so I’d be late returning and he have a reason to cut me loose.
My eyes land on the reflection of myself in the tinted doors, my gaze following the line of Stacy’s tight pencil skirt. She’d dragged fishnets over my legs while Morgan quickly did my makeup this morning. I didn’t look bad, but I was a little more dolled up than usual. And I had to leave my glasses on as I didn't have time to put in my contacts. I think my glasses actually make me look more professional, so that’s a plus.
While I’m scrutinizing my reflection, the door abruptly swings open and a jolly-faced man with red cheeks greets me. His hair has just started to gray and his eyes are kind.
“You gonna stay out here in the summer heat or are you gonna come in, young lady?” he chuckles, gesturing me inside.
He speaks with a thick New York accent, one that reminds me of my grandfather, instantly putting me in a better mood.
I step inside, glancing around the quaint little place. It’s small but bustling, people eagerly sipping from paper coffee cups and nibbling on scones.
“What brings you here today?” he asks.
“I’m here for my boss, actually. He sent me all the way across town for a croissant. Oh my God, that’s him!” I gasp, pointing in surprise at a framed picture on the wall by the cash register.
In the photo, the jolly-faced man stands with one arm wrapped around Donovan’s shoulders, their hands locked tight in a handshake. The man, who I suppose is the owner of the café, looks as delighted in the picture as he does today. It’s Donovan’s face that surprises me. He beams out at the camera, the corners of his blue eyes crinkled and his teeth glinting. He looks so pleased with himself that I had to do a double take to make sure it was actually my grumpy new boss.
The old man’s eyes widen. “Oh, Donny’s your boss? You’re a lucky lady. He’s a good egg, he is.”
Donny?
Lucky?
Good egg?
There’s so much in the old man’s words to unpack that my head starts to spin, making me wonder if I’m not still dreaming. Or maybe when I crossed the road I somehow managed to fall into an alternate universe where Donovan Dunn is pleasant.
Fortunately, the man takes my silence for agreement. “I’m Joe, owner of Cup of Joe.”
“And how do you know . . . Donny?” I struggle over the casual name, trying not to giggle, but Joe’s eyes grow serious and soft, making my laughter die in my throat.
“He saved my business. I was struggling hard back in the day. My wife had just gotten sick and all of our bills were piling up so high that I thought I’d have to shut down the café if I didn't manage to find more business.”
“And Donovan helped you?” I ask, hating how incredulous I suddenly sound.
Joe’s eyebrow arches at my tone but he nods all the same. “He sure did. He came up with a marketing plan and a set of ads that he swore up and down would fix my publicity issue. He was right. Rosie and I made enough over the next six months to take another year all to ourselves.”
This must’ve been years ago. Even back then, Donovan was the best in the industry. No wonder he’s so famous for it now.
“That’s wonderful,” I say sincerely.
The man gives an eager nod, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Meeting Donovan changed my life. That year we got to take off was the best year of my life . . . and the last year of Rosie’s.”
“Oh, Joe. I’m so sorry.”
Joe’s shoulders rise and fall just slightly as he wipes at his misty eyes. “It was because of Donny that my wife and I had that time together, otherwise the last year of her life would’ve been spent panicking over bills and not spent just being together. We saw beaches and islands and even made it to Italy for the first time. I’ll never forget what she looked like standing in the streets of Rome. She was so beautiful.”
“I bet she was.”
“Afterward, I reached out to Donny to let him know. Even though he was getting his own business off the ground, he still came to Rosie’s funeral. He would’ve paid for it too if I’d let him. Donny is like my guardian angel. He worked a miracle for Cup of Joe. Without him, I would’ve lost everything.”
Joe’s story sizzles in my veins, twisting up in my core. It’s a solid reminder why I’m here today. Working in the advertising industry, it’s more than just being able to be creative and work with interesting brands. It’s about helping companies present themselves to the world, helping them find their voice and their consumers.
It’s why I got into this business. If I do my job correctly, I’d have the power to change someone’s entire life for the better.
Even Donovan, smug and irritating as he is, seems to have a grasp on that.
It’s more important to me than ever to show him that I deserve to work for him as more than a secretary. The anger I felt for being sent all the way out here starts to ebb.
“Let me make Donny’s usual,” Joe says. “It’s been a little while since he popped by, but I know the things he likes. I still use Rosie’s recipes, haven’t changed them a bit.”
I just nod, quietly watching as Joe heads behind the counter and begins to make all sorts of concoctions back there. When he reemerges, he has a box of pastries and two huge paper cups of coffee. I’d been planning on getting coffee at that weird street vendor that Donovan had asked for, but I thought it better to just let Joe work his magic.
It was all on Donovan’s tab, after all.
“You want me to call you a cab, miss?” Joe asks politely. “It’s quite the walk back to Donovan’s building.”
“Actually, I still have to make another stop. Thanks though.”
“Right-O. Well, you tell Donny that Big Joe says hello, won’t you?”
“I definitely will,” I promise him, exiting the café and wandering up the street in a daze.
The sugary scent of the pastries wafts up from the pink box where they’re carefully nestled. My head is spinning as I make my way to my next stop. I need to get my head out of the clouds, but there’s just so much to think about that I can’t seem to force myself to focus.