The Coffee Girl Read online

  It was clear that Brenna’s boss was a weak, cowardly bully. Brock had no use for people like that, especially when they hurt someone he cared about. Someone he loved.

  Wesley was darn lucky Brock was raised to be a gentleman otherwise, he’d be crawling across the floor with a busted nose and a few broken ribs. If he caught him near Brenna again, Brock knew he’d forget all about his upbringing or the repercussions of punching a man in his own office.

  “I’m fine,” Brenna finally said, pushing her hair away from her face, realizing it had fallen down. In an attempt to return to a feeling that she was safe and everything was normal, she turned back to her computer and started typing.

  “What are you doing?” Brock asked with disbelief. “After what he just did, you’re going to sit there and finish your report?”

  Brenna typed the last word, hit save and print, then got to her feet.

  “A lot of people worked hard on this project and I don’t want to let them down. Although Wesley is a… a pig, I don’t want the rest of the team to suffer.” Brenna felt driven to justify why she should care about any of it.

  Tomorrow, she would issue a letter of resignation, see if she could make an appointment with Mr. Harchett, and say her goodbyes to the people she’d enjoyed having as coworkers.

  Lifting the report from the printer, she slapped it in a binder, picked up her purse and trench coat, turned off the lights and motioned Brock into the hall while she locked the door behind them. For all her calm movements, her hands trembled and her legs still felt weak.

  “Will you come with me, please?” she asked, turning eyes full of pleading to Brock. She didn’t think Wesley would try anything, but it gave her a measure of security to know Brock had her back.

  “Do you want me to take it in for you?” Brock frowned as he walked with her down the hall to Wesley’s office.

  “I’ll take it in, but if you wouldn’t mind standing in the door and looking like you could rip his arms off at any moment, that would be good.” A little of her humor returned and she grinned at Brock.

  “Be happy to.” He didn’t have to work at looking furious or intimidating as Brenna stopped outside Wesley’s door and knocked.

  When he barked “what?” she opened the door and walked inside. He was already partway through a bottle of whiskey and his eyes appeared glazed as she set the report on his desk.

  “There’s the report,” she said and turned to leave.

  Wesley staggered to his feet and snaked a hand out toward her when he noticed Brock in the doorway, formidable and furious. He sank back down in his chair with fear on his face then turned to stare out the window.

  Brenna walked out, took Brock’s hand, and left the building without saying a word. In the parking garage, she handed him her keys and asked him to drive.

  So much for the romantic evening he’d planned.

  When his supplier called to say they wouldn’t be able to make a delivery that afternoon, Brock jumped at the opportunity to head into the city. He asked one of his guys to come along. After they picked up the order, he had Tom drop him off at Brenna’s office with all sorts of romantic notions about how the evening would progress.

  One of his favorite Italian restaurants wasn’t too far from where she worked. Brock envisioned a quiet dinner at a cozy corner table. Italian food was the food of love, or so his mother had told him with annoying frequency. From past dating experience, he had to agree with her. There was something about the rich food, spicy smells, and cozy atmosphere that stirred a little romance.

  After dinner and maybe a stroll, he planned to take the rest of the evening to eventually get Brenna home.

  Instead, he was mad, she seemed traumatized, and romance was the farthest thing from her mind.

  He still drove to the Italian restaurant and hoped they could salvage what was left of the evening. They both remained silent, lost in their own thoughts, as they ate the delicious food set before them.

  Finally, Brock took Brenna’s hand in his and kissed her palm.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Brock studied Brenna’s face as he gently rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. She played with her food, kept her eyes downcast, and her shoulders rode dangerously close to her ears as she sat through dinner, tense and upset.

  At her nod, he released a deep breath and let his own shoulders relax a little. He watched her stiff posture relax as well. Instead of leaving well enough alone, Brock felt the need to advise Brenna on how to handle herself should future encounters with Wesley, or people like him, arose.

  “Brenna, you’ve got to stand up for yourself. You can’t let people walk all over you like that. Don’t let them treat you like a doormat. Show them you’re tough. Get some teeth and use them,” Brock said. When she only looked at him, he continued expounding on what she needed to do in regard to dealing with people like Wesley. “There will always be people like Wesley. Even when you leave the company, you’ll still run into his type. You’ve got to learn to stop them or you’ll always have problems like this.”

  Now that the shock of Wesley’s threats had past, Brenna was mad.

  And every word Brock said only added fuel to the fire of her anger. How dare Wesley treat her like that? How dare he threaten her? How dare Brock assume she was a spineless weakling? What gave him the right to lecture her on what she needed to do?

  She needed support from him, not a step-by-step guide to taking on a bully.

  Before the server could ask if they’d like dessert, Brenna jumped to her feet. She grabbed cash from her wallet to cover their meals and a generous tip, thanked the waitress as she handed her the money, and announced they were leaving.

  Brock spluttered and choked on his soda as Brenna paid the server and started toward the door.

  Quickly grabbing her forgotten coat, he followed her out of the restaurant, surprised by her reaction.

  He’d seen her miffed, insulted, and annoyed, but mad was something new. Apparently, his little coffee girl had a temper.

  Angrily searching through her purse, Brenna finally huffed in frustration and held her hand out to him.

  “Keys,” she said tersely, wiggling her fingers in his face. Aware that she wanted her car keys, Brock wasn’t convinced giving them to her was the smartest move. She seemed too worked up to drive with any thought to safety.

  “I’m not sure you should drive, Brenna.” Brock kept the keys firmly in his hand after he fished them from the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Keys,” she said again. Irate fire flashed from her blue eyes, shocking Brock.

  His eyes widened at the fury he read in Brenna’s as he reluctantly handed over the keys. After saying a brief prayer for their safety, he held her door and hoped she wouldn’t leave him standing in the parking lot. Hurriedly running around the car, he barely shut the door when she peeled out into traffic. Grappling for his seatbelt, he securely fastened it then held on for dear life.

  There was more than one moment when Brock closed his eyes and hoped for the best as Brenna swerved between cars, exceeding the speed limit as they drove through the evening traffic in Portland.

  She muttered under her breath as they merged onto the freeway. Brenna sped through cars without speaking to Brock, turning up some lively jazz music on the radio. The farther they headed south, the more the traffic thinned and Brock let out a sigh of relief.

  He’d ridden with Brenna any number of times and she was normally a good, safe driver. If this had been his first experience riding with her, he might have refused to risk his life as a passenger a second time. He didn’t particularly like seeing Brenna seethe with anger. She seemed to be okay, other than quiet, until he started suggesting ways to handle Wesley.

  Surely, his helpful encouragement about handling bullies didn’t set her off.

  Brenna scowled as she passed a big extended cab pickup. Brock noted the driver staring at Brenna’s little car. It wasn’t long until the truck sped up and passed her, pulling right in front of h
er then slowing down.

  As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Brenna again passed the truck only to have him pull in front of her then slow down.

  Brock watched as her shoulders tensed even more as she passed the pickup for a third time. The driver swerved toward Brenna, trying to intimidate her. She glared over her shoulder at the man as she passed him.

  “If being passed by a woman makes you feel threatened, you better check the expiration date on your man-card, dude.” She glared once more over her shoulder then sped down the road.

  Despite her anger and his fear of dying in a fiery crash on the way home, Brock roared with laughter.

  “That’s a good one, Brenna. Really good. I’ll have to remember to tell Mike you said that. He thinks you’re all sweetness and no sass, but I think I just got a glimpse of the real Brenna.”

  She glowered at him a moment then her anger began to seep away and finally she offered him a shy smile. Slowly bringing the car down to normal speed, she continued driving toward home, but her hands no longer gripped the steering wheel with whitened knuckles.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I should have warned you I have a bit of a temper when it is provoked.” Brenna looked sheepish, now that her anger was cooling.

  “If I hadn’t experienced it first-hand, I wouldn’t have believed you,” Brock said with blunt honesty.

  Brenna looked exactly like someone who would never have a temper fit. With her big blue eyes, golden curls, and unassuming personality, it was easy to see why people took her for granted. Obviously, she did have the ability to draw the line somewhere. He just wasn’t sure what had pushed her over it at the restaurant.

  “I know. Everyone thinks I’m a big pushover. Brenna the doormat,” she said, sounding deflated.

  “What happened earlier?” Brock took Brenna’s hand in his and lightly stroked his fingers across her palm.

  Nearly undone by his touch, she took an exit that left them sitting in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant. She couldn’t drive and have a conversation with Brock about Wesley or her temper. And she most certainly couldn’t concentrate on the road if Brock continued to touch her hand in such a sensuous manner.

  Glad that she decided to stop the car to talk, Brock unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward Brenna. He was a take charge, squash all problems before they start kind of guy. That’s why he couldn’t understand why Brenna let Wesley bully her like she did. Bullies would back down when confronted.

  “Let’s start with what made you so mad at dinner. Which, by the way, I was planning to buy.” Brock held both her hands in his. His hope was that she wouldn’t get mad at him again if he caressed her hands. “I had plans to ply you with cannoli until you begged for mercy.”

  “You made me mad,” Brenna blurted, heedless to Brock’s teasing.

  “Me?” Brock asked, stunned by her response. “What did I do to make you mad?”

  “You were bossing me around, telling me what to do, how I should handle Wesley, how I need to be someone other than myself.” The little embers of her anger rekindled as she recalled Brock’s words. “I don’t need you to tell me how to fight my battles. I don’t need you to point out all my character flaws. And I certainly don’t need you to treat me like an idiot. What I needed from you was a little understanding and encouragement.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” Brock watched sparks ignite in Brenna’s eyes. “I hate seeing people bully and take advantage of you. I was just pointing out ways to stop that kind of behavior.”

  “In pointing out my faults, you hurt my feelings and made me mad.” Brenna stared at the dark hairs on the backs of Brock’s hands as they rubbed gentle circles on her own. It was hard to hold on to her irritation when he touched her so lovingly. It made heat of a completely different variety fill her stomach.

  “Yeah, I got that part just fine,” Brock said with a trace of humor in his voice. “Help me understand what made you so angry.”

  “I felt like you were saying ‘poor stupid little Brenna can’t take care of herself. Someone smarter and stronger has to do it for her. Too bad she can’t just figure it out and handle her problems without help.’ What I heard you say made it sound like I was too dumb to figure out what to do. You also made it sound like you expected me to follow the orders you were barking at me. That’s what made me angry.”

  Brock stared at Brenna, trying to digest what she said. Brenna obviously had some issues with confrontation that she needed to work on. Although he offered his opinion on how to keep from getting into a similar situation, Brock never intended to make her feel stupid or that he expected her to follow his directives. With a natural tendency toward problem solving, it was easy for Brock to see what needed to be done and do it. He’d have to remember to offer a more circumspect response the next time.

  “Brenna, you’re strong and smart and beautiful. You deserve better than to be treated the way Wesley treats you. I just wanted you to realize you don’t have to put up with it.” Brock began to feel frustrated with himself, with Brenna, but mostly with Wesley. “I was only trying to help. I was upset when I walked in to find Wesley manhandling you as well as threatening you. He’s lucky I held on to my temper as well as I did. If we hadn’t been at your office, he’d still be trying to figure out which way was up or down.”

  “Violence begets violence, you know,” Brenna said with the barest hint of a smile. She sat quietly for a moment, considering what happened during the last few hours. “I’m sorry, Brock. I just don’t like to be bossed around. I have to put up with it at work, but I won’t put up with it elsewhere. I understand if that changes things between us.”

  “Actually it does change things.” Brock ran a hand over his head and observed her for a long moment.

  When she raised teary eyes to his, he released a resigned sigh. “I’ll do my best not to stir up that wicked temper again.”

  “Brock,” she whispered, leaning toward him.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe away the few tears that escaped her closed eyes.

  “Now, about Wesley…” Brock leaned back, still holding her face in his hands. “What are you going to do?”

  Brenna pulled away from him. She fiddled with a button on her jacket then looked out the windshield.

  Finally, she cleared her throat. “As soon as I get home, I’ll write my letter of resignation. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to see if I can get an appointment with Mr. Harchett to tell him what Wesley has done. I might have been leaving anyway, but the company needs to know how he behaves. I plan to clean out my office tomorrow, because I don’t exactly feel safe being around Wesley now.” Brenna said. She looked out the window while she talked, organizing the details in her mind of all the things she’d have to do to clean out her office and leave the projects she was working on in good hands. “And just so you know, I was already mad at him and myself by the time we sat down for dinner. Your comments sort of pushed me over the edge.”

  “Not fair trying to cast all the blame at my door for driving you into your temper fit.” Brock offered her a teasing grin. When Brenna shot him a glare, he gave her an encouraging look. “Why were you mad at yourself?”

  “For not slapping Wesley silly, or stomping on his foot with my heel, or screaming for security. I’m a complete and total wuss, and having you point it out didn’t help matters.”

  “You’re not a wuss, Brenna, just too sweet for your own good sometimes,” Brock said, then added with a mischievous grin, “but never too sweet for mine.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That is so, coffee girl.” Brock leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Since we’re already parked here in front of this fine greasy-food establishment, what do you say we run inside and get some ice cream? Someone ran me out of the restaurant before I got my dessert.”

  “I’m sorry.” Contrite, Brenna got out of the car. “If I buy you a double scoop, will that help redeem the situation?”<
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  “Maybe.” Brock draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the door. “Except I’m buying.”

  By the time Brenna left the office the next day, Wesley had been escorted from the building by security with a full investigation launched into what he’d done for the past many months. Kathleen high-fived Brenna as they watched him fight against the security guards at the elevator, calling out more threats. Not even his uncle could salvage his job this time.

  “Are you sure you won’t consider staying now that Wesley is gone?” Kat asked as the elevator doors closed on a screaming Wesley.

  “No. I’m sticking with my letter of resignation. I’ll finish out two weeks, but then I’ve got to get things set up for my bistro. I just hope Wesley doesn’t try anything before I leave.” Brenna appeared concerned as she and Kat walked back to her office.

  “I don’t think he’d dare with the threat of lawsuits hanging over his head. Granddad says he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t face some jail time for all the things he’s done. There seems to be some evidence pointing to him pilfering company funds in addition to all the other strikes against him.” Kat sat on the corner of Brenna’s desk and swung her leg back and forth.

  “I hate to see anyone suffer, but he certainly deserves whatever he gets.” Brenna’s voice carried a hint of venom. Just seeing Wesley that morning made her stomach churn with nerves and fear, but she followed through with her plans. Mr. Harchett was quite interested in what Brenna shared and called in several members of the board to listen to her statement. When she mentioned she had a witness who could verify what Wesley had done to her the previous evening, they snapped to attention in a hurry.

  “Did Brock really threaten to clean his clock?” Kat asked. Although she’d only met Brock twice, she had assured Brenna he was a keeper.

  “He was so mad, I thought he might explode.” Brock had looked incredibly intimidating, with muscles bulging and anger flaring.