TrustFall | Under HEAVY Revision & Editing

Chapter 3. End of Icy Anger

Scarlett's POV

Present Day

My decision to work as a barista at my uncle's café despite having a bachelor's degree in computer science and business administration was due to it having flexible hours. Plus, the soothing ambience provided a suitable space for my thoughts. I was still pursuing a master's in business by taking online classes, as I wanted to take over my uncle's café one day. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment mostly paid for by my parents. It's close to my parents' house, but I wanted my own private space. I mean, what twenty-eight year old doesn't?

We brought in a very decent profit, especially for a small, local café. Our annual gross profit is $210,000 and that number hasn't moved for years as we're loved and well-known in West Hollywood where a colossal number of people come in everyday, so we're pretty busy.

Since my appearance as one of the baristas working in the café, the number of customers had increased significantly. My uncle says that it's because my beauty and radiant energy is like a customer magnet, but I just think that it came from me recommending the place to my friends who have high connections in Hollywood. Or maybe both, who knows?

Recently though, my uncle had promoted me to manager so I could learn more about the business before becoming the owner. Working as a manager/barista was very entertaining at times whenever I dealt with pissy customers.

On this day, however, we've had a slight decrease in customers, as happens from time to time. It was about 5:00 P.M., and I was observing a male customer sitting in the darkest corner of the room with his laptop open and taking note of his rapidly changing expressions on his face ranging from sad to angry to giggly. 

Probably scrolling through Twitter or Reddit like a jobless idiot and trolling in the comments, I thought as I rolled my eyes. I returned my attention to the front door when I heard it jingle open, announcing the arrival of a new customer. 

She immediately piqued my interest. She was wearing black gym shorts that showed off her toned and athletic tanned legs. She wore an oversized black hoodie with a beautiful red dragon design located on her heart area. Her luscious blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and a pair of black sunglasses were perched on the top of her head. I noticed the exhaustion on her face as she settled her gaze on me.

She had the most gorgeous face that honestly belonged on a movie set. Those almond shaped blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones, and especially the phenomenal smile that only elevated her beauty.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" I asked with a welcoming smile.

She told me that she was new here and asked if I could provide her with some of our signature menu items, to which I eagerly obliged. I recommended our signature lamb made from a family recipe with roasted Mediterranean Vegetables, since it was one of my favorite meals and always made me feel better afterwards.

I was so overjoyed when she picked the lamb that my smile widened with happiness, which was pretty weird considering I had spent my entire morning assaulting the punching bags at the gym. Not to mention being irritated about the fucking troll in the corner.

"That's a great choice," I told her, ignoring the strange change in my mood. "That's exactly what I would choose. That will be twenty-one dollars and thirty-four cents."

She gave me forty dollars and told me that the rest of the change is my tip. I politely declined, because that was almost a hundred percent tip.

"I want to," she persisted. "You deserve it."

I was surprised since no one has ever tipped me so much before. We don't require tipping or even offer the option to because we're a family business. But a good number of customers would still tip us based on our perfect service and friendly demeanor. The biggest tip that I've received was fifty-percent, and that was from a frequent customer who I was sure only came to the cafe to see me. That assumption was derived from the stupid love-stricken look that he gave me every single time. I have to hold back from yelling; "I have no interest in being with you men! Go fuck yourself!", and just keep up my professionalism.