REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Alexa

Impatient customers packed The Coffee House. I fell through the rotational door, windswept and tardy, toppling over mobs of numerous faces to reach the staffroom. I stuffed my handbag inside a spare locker, peeled the rain-sodden coat off my body and, re-checking my dreadful reflection in the long-standing mirror, knotted an apron behind my back. I looked a little bit worse for wear, with tired eyes and wild, unruly hair. The unbecoming image is entirely my fault. I stayed up far too late with Chloe last night, drinking inexpensive vodka, ingesting street bought takeout, watching back-to-back horror movies and, thanks to Michael Myers, shrieking until the early hours. Taking a seat on the wooden bench, I combed soft bristles through my hair and styled two braids. I can overlook the pounding headache as it is nothing a few painkillers cannot fix, but clamminess is hard to ignore.

I sent a text message.

Me: I am dying.

My phone pinged with another.

Chloe: Same. I have already fallen asleep twice at the computer.

Me: LOL.

It was her idea to polish off an entire bottle of vodka.

Me: I blame you.

Chloe: I blame me, too.

Me: Let's go on an alcohol ban.

Chloe: Boring.

I smiled to myself.

Me: Alcohol limitation, then?

Chloe: I can agree to compromise.

Me: No cheap liquor until next week.

Chloe: Yes, I need to save whatever organs I have left.

Grayson's grouchiness boomed down the hallway.

Me: I have to go. My manager is ready to send a search party after me.

Chloe: He sounds like an arse.

Me: No, Grayson is cool.

"Alexa?" Gray's loud voice had the phone stumbling from my hands. I peered up and found him standing in the doorway, glaring at me. "What are you doing? Have you seen the queue?" Before I replied, he threw two hands up in exasperation. "I am out there, losing customers, while you sit in here, moping around like a drowned rat."

I scoffed. "Thanks, Gray."

"I am understaffed," he groused with a petulant lip pout. "Three people called in sick this morning. And don't get me started on the lazy delivery guy. I think he's fallen asleep behind the wheel somewhere. What am I going to do?" Thrusting a hand through his freshly dyed peroxide hair, he paced the small space. "I have eight office deliveries this afternoon. Eight," he stressed for emphasis. "Yet I have no salads, protein pots, juices or smoothies. Elderflower is a customer favourite. I could lose regulars because of unsatisfactory service."

I put the phone in the locker. "Have you tried calling the supplier?"

"Yes." He sank onto the bench and dropped his head into his hands. "I might sell the shop and move abroad."

He is so dramatic. "What can I do to help?"

"Can you make deliveries appear miraculously?" he asked, and I winced. "Then you are pointless."

I stifled laughter. "Would you like me to call the offices on your behalf? I can explain that we have an issue with suppliers, apologise for the inconvenience and even present a solution."