Espresso Shot

She nodded. “By then Rhonda was old enough to take care of my brothers. So I moved to New York and, with a completely fabricated résumé, landed a job at New York Trends.”

“But I still don’t understand. Why did you have to hide your past?”

Brea

“Didn’t anyone look into your background?”

“New York Trends wasn’t exactly high on the food chain. Randall Knox was just a horny little editor-in-chief. I fluttered my eyes, flipped my blond hair, crossed my legs, and he didn’t bother checking out my fake credentials. He just hired me on the spot. The creep hit on me regularly, by the way, along with every other woman under thirty in his office, which is one reason I vowed from day one to create my own magazine. Taking most of Knox’s staff with me was just the cherry on top.”

I regarded Brea

Brea

“I don’t doubt it.”

“His Mayflower name was a huge help on my pitch to Reston-Miller to start Trend. I’d been a Winslow for so long by marriage, I’d created a whole new me, a whole new life. No one in my new social circle ever questioned my right to be there.”

I looked at Brea

I’d once read a breeder’s notes on the varietal. The geisha, he’d written, was an undesirable type of bean, long and thin, which, under neglectful conditions, produced a liquor of poor quality; yet it almost always displayed resistance to leaf rust. Brea

“If Knox knows what I know, he can ruin you. Can’t he?”

“He can’t take away Trend’s phenomenal circulation,” Brea

“So what are you going to do?”

“Don’t you worry about Knox. I’ll swat that little pest myself. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with this sort of thing, and I doubt it will be the last.” She exhaled and met my eyes. “Okay, Clare, you know everything about me now, the ugly truth.”

“It’s your private business, Brea

“Not even close.”

“You really love him?”

Brea

“I’m not sure I understand.”

She faced me again, met my eyes. “I’m a fighter, Clare. I did what I had to for my family and for myself-to succeed. Here at the magazine, I’m the bitch boss. It’s a role that gets the job done, gets the magazine out on time, keeps my people employed and my bank account healthy. But when I’m with Matteo…”

“Go on.”

“He’s like no other man I’ve ever known…” The woman’s brassy voice had become a whisper, and her gaze drifted back to the clouds, the park, her dreamy view. “When he takes me in his arms at night, I feel vulnerable again, i

I never, not in a million years, expected an answer like that from the grand bitch of fashion. It was exactly how Mike Qui

“Thank you for being honest with me,” I said.

Brea

“She misses you,” I said. “And she still admires and loves you.”

“She said that?”

“She didn’t have to. The way she talked about you-it was clear as sunlight through plate glass.”

Brea

“Maybe… or maybe you just never gave them a chance to understand.”

Brea

I nodded and turned, heading for the door. Before throwing the lock and departing, however, I turned back to say one last thing.

“Brea

“I can’t do that,” she whispered. “He’ll never want me then…”

“If that’s how little you think of Matteo Allegro, then you really should call the wedding off.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“OKAY, guys, what’s the verdict?”

“Pretty amazing, Clare,” Gardner said, paper cup in hand.

Dante nodded. “Good job on the roast!”

“Superb,” Tucker said.

“Thanks.” Three down one to go. “What do you think, Esther?”

Esther Best pushed up her black rectangular glasses and peered at me with her big, brown, hypercritical eyes. “I think I can’t get my mind around where these beans have been.”

It was eight o’clock in the evening. Matt, Joy, and Madame were all at the wedding rehearsal di

Mike elbowed me. “What does she mean by that? Where have the coffee beans been?”

“You can ask me directly, you know?” Esther told Mike flatly. “I won’t bite your head off. I generally don’t bite people’s heads off unless the moon is full.”

Mike raised a sandy eyebrow. “Okay, Esther. What do you mean by that?”

I stifled a smile as she explained that kopi was the Indonesian word for “coffee,” and luwak referred to the small catlike animal from which the coffee beans were collected.

“I don’t understand,” Mike said, taking another hearty quaff from his paper cup. He looked down at me. “Coffee beans come from trees, don’t they?”

I bit my lip, met Esther’s eyes.

“He has no idea, does he?” Esther asked.

I shook my head, and she looked about ready to lose it. Then she did, literally doubling over with laughter.

“What?” Now Mike’s blue gaze was spearing me.

“The luwak is a feral, forest animal,” I explained. “It eats coffee cherries and voids them whole. The Indonesian farmers collect them, process them, and sell them as the most expensive coffee on earth: Kopi Luwak.”