Beauty and the Blackmailer

by Amorette Anderson

  She marched over to him and handed him the apron. “I think you forgot this,” she said stiffly. “Please put your phone away, and put your uniform shirt on.”

  Adrienne was stuffing a steamy hot sandwich into a paper bag. She looked over at Sebastian. “Told you,” she said with a grin. “Bridget here may come across as a sweetheart, but she can lay down the law, too.” She crossed to the front counter and tossed the paper bag down into the pick-up zone. “Egg white, tomato, basil on whole grain for Tom!” she shouted out.

  Bridget felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Being a disciplinarian was the least favorite part of her job, but Sebastian was leaving her with no choice.

  She crossed her arms and stared him down until he reluctantly swiped his shirt and apron off the counter and headed for the back room.

  When he returned, he had both on. His white shirt was poking out around the bottom of his uniform shirt, and she had to tell him to tuck it in. Adrienne was hustling, filling food orders just as fast as Christine, at the register, called them out.

  Bridget watched Adrienne work. The heavy-set woman moved with grace and athleticism that was surprising for her age and build. Though she carried some extra weight, she could kneel down to the small refrigerator under the microwave and bounce back up all in the blink of an eye, over and over again, without showing any signs of fatigue. She darted around the small space and explained what she was doing to Sebastian as she worked.

  While Bridget watched all this, she tried to think about what she knew about Adrienne. For one thing, Adrienne was a single mother of one son, a boy of eight named Henry. Bridget had seen hundreds, if not thousands, of photos of Henry on Adrienne’s phone, during lunch hour or after work. In the photos, Henry was usually in his wheelchair, smiling at the camera, his big, bright blue eyes magnified by the thick glasses he wore. He’d been born prematurely, which affected the development of his spine and legs. Adrienne always beamed when talking about Henry.

  She’s a good mom, Bridget thought as she watched Adrienne pull a croissant from the baked goods case. Heck, she’s a good person.

  If she really did steal the folder, she’s got to be feeling guilty right about now, thought Bridget. She sure doesn't look guilty—but maybe she’s just good at hiding it.

  Adrienne smiled as she handed Sebastian a sandwich. “Now call out the name that Christine wrote on the bag,” she coached him.

  Sebastian barely raised his voice. “Lauren... Garlic bagel with butter,” he said flatly.

  “No, no, you gotta shout it out!” Adrienne said. She then repeated the order in a booming holler, and then placed her hands on her hips and looked at Sebastian. “Like that, honey,” she said with a grin, as a thin woman on her phone clicked over to the counter in her heels and scooped up the bagel.

  Adrienne looked to Bridget. “Can you tell this boy to holler out the orders?” She turned back to Sebastian. “Look at this place, honey; it’s packed this time of day. If you don’t call it out, the food’s just gonna sit there and get cold.”

  “Don’t call me ‘honey’,” Sebastian said. “It sounds like you’re talking to a kid. I’m thirty-five, you know.”

  “Goodness gracious! Really? You don’t look a day over twenty-five!” Adrienne said. “For heaven’s sake, you really aren’t much younger than me! Now you’re makin’ me feel bad. Well, I do have a kid at home, so I supposed I can’t put all that time into my looks. You got kids?”

  Sebastian shook his head.

  Adrienne laughed. “Of course not! Look at you, with that nice tan skin and those strong muscles, like you live in the gym! No dad I know of can keep up looks like that.”

  Adrienne picked up an empty bag as Christine handed it over. “Grab an egg and ham from the fridge, honey,” she said to Sebastian.

  This time, he didn’t complain about the nick name. He actually seemed to appreciate her compliments.

  Adrienne bustled over toward Bridget to grab a bag of bagels. “How’s it going with your dad, Bridget?” she asked. “Did he find his folder?” Her face was flushed, and Bridget wondered if it was because she was working so hard.

  Why would she ask that if she was the blackmailer? wondered Bridget. Maybe she’s trying to judge whether we’re going to the cops or not. She tried to keep her expression neutral as she said, “No, not yet. Hey, could I talk to you for a sec? Really quick, in the back?”

  Adrienne nodded, grabbed another bag from Christine, and put it down on the counter in front of Sebastian. “You got this, hon?” she asked, while giving him a pat on the back. He stiffened at the touch, and gave a slight nod.

  Bridget led the way to the back room.

  “Hope he does alright,” Adrienne said. “It’s the busiest time of the morning out there.”

  “This won’t take long,” Bridget said. “I think he’ll be able to handle it.”

  “You didn’t see him pulverize a cranberry muffin when he tried to butter it,” Adrienne said.

  Bridget looked over her shoulder in time to see Adrienne rolling her eyes. She chuckled softly at the thought of Sebastian’s attempt. To be fair, it was hard to put butter onto the crumbly, soft muffins.

  “He’s an odd duck, isn’t he?” Adrienne asked. She eyed the office that Bridget was leading her toward, and a look of concern crossed her face. “What’s this about, anyway? Review time or something? I thought that wasn’t ‘til November,”

  Bridget didn’t know how to answer that. She opened her office door and beckoned for Adrienne to enter. “I just want to chat with you,” she said. She cleared a folding chair of a cardboard box of plastic display signs and then motioned to the chair. “Have a seat.”

  “Am I in trouble?” Adrienne asked. She sat, and her face turned even more red. “Oh, goodness, you found out, didn’t you?” Her face crumpled up, becoming etched with worry lines that weren’t there seconds before. “I knew you would!” she said.

  Bridget gasped. This was easier than she thought. Was Adrienne confessing?

  “I am so sorry, Bridget, really I am,” Adrienne said. “I knew it was wrong. Please don’t fire me. You know I have Henry at home to support...”

  Bridget wasn’t going to make any promises, but she had to safely get the folder back from Adrienne before even thinking about employment.

  “Adrienne, it’s okay,” she said, mostly because she didn’t want Adrienne to get too emotional. “We can figure this out... as long as you give it back. I just need it back. My father is so worried... understandably so.”

  “He’s worried about me and Jeremiah?” Adrienne asked, bewildered. “Why?”

  “No—he’s worried about his invention,” Bridget said. “What was this about Jeremiah?”

  “Oh, I thought—What’s that got to do with me and Jeremiah kissing in the storeroom the other day?” Then understanding dawned on her face, quickly followed by more beet-red embarrassment. “Oh, Lordy, this isn’t about that kiss, is it...?”

  Bridget slowly shook her head. “No...” she said.

  “Oh my goodness,” Adrienne said. “Can you forget I ever said anything? I know it’s against Glitter Cup’s rules. I am such an idiot!”

  Bridget felt her cheeks flush, too. She was barely prepared to question Adrienne about Tuesday morning, and she was certainly not prepared to talk to her about a secret kiss with another Glitter Cup employee. Though Jeremiah wasn’t Adrienne’s manager, he was a manager. Adrienne was right—her kiss with Jeremiah was definitely against company policy.

  Bridget sighed. She’d have to deal with Adrienne’s confession, but that could come later. For right now, she needed to track down that folder. “Now that I know, I can’t unknow,” she said. “But what I really want to talk to you about is what went on around the café on Tuesday morning.”

  Adrienne was quiet for a moment. “Am I going to lose my job over our kiss?” she asked.

  Bridget sensed she wasn’t going to make progress with her line of questioning if Adrienne continued to fret about
her job.

  “No,” Bridget said. “You’re not going to get fired just because you and Jeremiah kissed. But we’ll probably have to fill out some forms for HR.”

  “Forms? What kind of forms? It was just one kiss... we’re not dating. Though, if he wanted to date me, I’d probably say yes. But he doesn’t want to date me. I have a kid! And he’s ten years younger than me!”

  “Henry’s a little angel, Adrienne,” Bridget said. She longed to steer the conversation back to the folder, but she had to get Adrienne back on track first. “I am sure Jeremiah would love to spend time with him. If you guys really like each other, you can have a relationship—we just have to make sure it’s documented correctly, because the company is very sensitive about stuff like that—especially because Jeremiah’s technically your superior.”

  For some reason, a flash of the way it felt to look into Sebastian’s eyes surfaced in Bridget’s mind at that moment. How ridiculous for me to think of that now! she thought. What passed between Sebastian and I was nothing—I was probably the only one who felt that strange attraction, and I have no intention whatsoever of acting on it. He’s an odd duck—like Adrienne said.

  Adrienne shook her head. “No, no, he won’t want anything serious with me. You have no idea what it’s like, Bridget, to try to date as a mother. I have, like, fifteen minutes to myself a week. Henry is constant work—it’s all good work, mind you—but work nonetheless. And my finances are a mess. Henry was accepted into the Beechman School—you know, the one for gifted kids? The tuition is so expensive, but his heart’s set on it. If he ends up going, I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in debt. I swear, Jeremiah should stay away from me if he knows what’s good for him.” She looked down at her hands.

  “Nonsense!” Bridget said. Internally, some alarm bells were going off. What was this about expensive tuition? If Adrienne was stressed over money, it was possible that she’d resorted to blackmail out of desperation. There’s no telling how far a desperate mother will go to help her son, Bridget thought.

  “I’m sorry,” Adrienne said, still looking at her hands. “You wanted to know about that folder, didn’t you? The one your father left here.”

  “Yes!” Bridget said. “Did you happen to see it when you opened up on Tuesday morning?”

  Adrienne nodded. “When I got in, it was sitting out on the table, just where he left it.”

  “Then what happened?” Bridget asked eagerly. Finally, they were making progress.

  Adrienne shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “I didn’t think about it again. I came into the back and started prepping for the day. I unloaded the dishwasher and mixed up iced teas for the backstock in the fridge. I wasn’t out front again until seven rolled around, and then I was so focused on customers that I didn’t even think about the folder again until you came in and started asking about it. You mean, he hasn’t found it yet?”

  Her voice wavered a bit, and she wasn’t meeting Bridget’s eye. Was it just because she was still feeling guilty about her stolen kiss, or was she feeling guilty about taking the folder?

  Bridget knew she had to proceed carefully. “Not yet,” she said. “But I’m hoping it turns up soon. So, Christine and Sean were out front while you were back here, I take it?”

  Adrienne nodded. “Yep,” she said. “I let those two chatterboxes keep each other entertained. I’m happy to work back here because it’s quieter. You know how talkative Christine is.”

  Bridget nodded. They all knew how talkative Christine could be—and the speed of her chatter tripled as soon as she had her shift drink, which she usually downed before doors opened to the public.”

  “I get it,” Bridget said. “Did you notice either of them come back here and mess with their bags or jackets or anything? Maybe it looked like they were hiding something away?”

  Adrienne looked up, her brow furrowed. “What—you think one of them took it?” She asked incredulously. “Bridget, that’s awful! Those two like your dad just as much as I do.”

  “People can act strangely when money is involved,” Bridget said. “That folder contained valuable proprietary information.”

  “But what would they do with it?” Adrienne asked.

  Bridget didn’t want to go into the blackmail scheme. She wanted to hold that particular card close to her chest for the time being. Instead, she just shrugged, and waited for Adrienne to answer her question.

  “Huh, don’t think I saw either of them messing with their stuff,” she said. “You know—Sean did come back once to turn on the stereo. I guess he could have hidden away a folder at that point.”

  “How about Christine?”

  “I don’t think she came back at all. Pretty sure she didn’t. I don’t remember being annoyed by her chatter. To be honest, I don’t really remember. That morning just blends in with all the rest.”

  Bridget stood. It seemed she’d gotten all she could from Adrienne. “Thanks,” she said. “What you shared is helpful. Sorry to pull you away from the counter for that. We’d better get you back out there.”

  Adrienne moved toward the door. “I hope your dad finds his papers,” she said.

  Bridget pulled open the office door and let Adrienne exit first.

  “Or maybe Sean moved it,” Adrienne said, as she stepped out, “and then forgot where he put it. He’s been so distracted lately.”

  “With what?” Bridget asked. The two started crossing the back room side by side.

  “You know—his project. He talks about it all the time.”

  “Not with me,” Bridget said.

  “Oh, that’s right. That’s because you’re the boss.” Adrienne lowered her voice. “You’d better ask him yourself.” She hesitated, like she wanted to say more, but she bit her lip and stayed quiet.

  Bridget wondered what she was holding back. She made a mental note to talk to Sean next.

  As she stepped out into the café area, she immediately noticed a knot of disgruntled-looking people by the counter where the orders were usually set. One woman held up her sandwich. “This is cold in the middle!” she said in a loud, annoyed voice.

  A bald man who’d just picked up his paper bag of food peeked inside. “I didn’t order cream cheese,” he called out. “I’m Roberto, but this isn’t my order!”

  The microwave dinged at the same time that a dark brown hunk of pastry that looked like it may have once been a croissant rolled out of the conveyor-belt style toaster oven.

  Sebastian was ignoring the disgruntled customers and shuffling through a handful of empty paper bags that needed to be filled, muttering to himself.

  Bridget and Adriene looked at each other, each with raised brows. “Uh oh,” Adrienne said.

  “I’ll help him get caught up, if you go handle the angry mob,” Bridget suggested under her breath.

  “Can do!” Adrienne promised. She pasted a happy smile on her face and headed for the far counter. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” she asked the bald man.

  At the same time, Bridget approached Sebastian. “It’s not rocket science, but it does take some figuring out, doesn’t it?” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Seems like we threw you to the wolves a little too early. Let me help you out.”

  She tossed the toasted croissant into the trash and reached for a fresh one in the case. “These puppies get microwaved, not toasted,” she said, as she set the microwave timer. “What’s up next?”

  He was definitely flustered, and it was a nice change from his aloof boredom of earlier. He shuffled through the bags. “Uh... this guy wants an everything bagel with butter. What’s an everything bagel?”

  Bridget laughed as she reached around Sebastian for a bagel from the baked goods case. She noticed a subtle energetic charge due to standing so close to him, but she tried to ignore it. “It’s just a bagel loaded with all the good stuff,” she said. “Salt, garlic, poppyseeds. You’ve really never heard of it?”

  “I don’t do garlic,” Sebastian said. “Or poppyseeds. My chef would
never serve that to me.”

  “You have a chef—like a private chef?” Bridget asked, raising her brows as she swiveled to place the bagel in the toaster oven. She held it up before popping it in.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Sebastian asked. He sounded sincere. Must be that he has a dry sense of humor, Bridget thought. He’s just messing with me.

  “Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “Right. My chef’s just been on a very, very long vacation.”

  “Mine must be on a vacation right now, too,” Sebastian said.

  Bridget laughed again, and shook her head. He was pretty funny. She felt that tingling warmth spread through her. Joking with Sebastian was a nice relief, compared to the stress of her morning.

  “What’s up next?” she asked, as she popped the warmed croissant into its waiting bag.

  7

  The Beast

  Sebastian looked at the noodles floating around inside the paper cup. This is supposed to be my dinner? he thought, utterly disgusted.

  He’d just returned to his apartment from his shift. His feet and legs ached. Though he did impressive leg workouts with a personal trainer two mornings a week, he’d never actually been on his feet for seven hours straight.

  It was all that squatting to get to the mini fridge, he thought. I must have done that a hundred times or more.

  Not only was he sore, but he was also tired. Exhausted, actually. Working with the public, plus learning so many new things all at once, had drained him. He’d never been this bone-tired in all of his thirty-five years. He usually arranged for a nap if he felt even the slightest bit weary—that was easy to do, since he made his own schedule everyday.

  He yawned, and then looked down at the pale, curly noodles submerged in boiled water again.

  A flash of silver caught his eye. There was some sort of packet inside the plastic wrap that the noodles had come in. He picked up the silver packet, and saw that it was spices of some sort. Feeling puzzled and a little bit curious, he tore it open and sprinkled it over the noodles. The brown powder dissolved into the water, making a sort of broth.