Seventy-two

“Esther! Esther! Are you all right?!”

Yelling, I burst through the door, baseball bat in hand, but the thief was gone, barreling down Hudson. I dropped to one knee beside her. She was already sitting up and favoring one arm.

“Are you hurt?”

“Not much,” Esther said, frowning over a rip in her coat. “But I’m really pissed at that stupid-ass thief!”

“What did they get?” I asked. “Your wallet? Your phone? As long as you’re not hurt, that’s what matters—”

“I’ve got my phone!” Esther cried. “And my wallet’s in my pocket. But that creep stole Mr. Scrib’s notebook! I was supposed to take care of it and now it’s gone!”

Esther teared up. I didn’t know whether it was because she was in physical pain or mental anguish over the loss of Mr. Scrib’s property. I suspected it was both.

I put down the baseball bat and hugged her tightly. After a minute, I helped her to her feet.

As I gave Esther the once-over, I heard a car door slam. I turned at the sound and noticed a flashy sports car parked across Hudson. Its sleek red finish gleamed under a streetlight. With air scoops on the side, it looked like a rocket, or maybe a UFO. The windows were tinted so dark it was impossible to see inside.

I never saw a car like it, but I instantly recognized the blond Adonis who exited the vehicle.

“Cody Wood,” I spat with a visceral sense of purpose. “Call the police,” I told Esther.

Traffic was light on Hudson Street, and I stepped off the curb, twirling the bat like a designated hitter warming up.

“Hey, Wood!” I shouted, moving straight for him. “Did you have something to do with this?”

The former champion surfer turned coffee chain CEO stopped dead. “What? You mean the purse snatching? I don’t know a thing—”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Whoa, Cosi, whoa!” Jumping between me and his sports car, Cody spread his arms wide. “Hit me if you want to, but don’t touch my baby!” His panicked voice was reaching Bee Gees–level octaves, rising higher and higher with each new syllable. “This is a quarter-million-dollar McLaren GT Coupe!”

“I don’t care what it is! I repeat: What are you doing here?

“I came to see you. I figured by now Allegro would have told you about the deal I proposed.”

“He told me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Listen, Clare, I come in peace. And I don’t blame you for being upset. It’s understandable after all the years you wasted on an antiquated business model.”

“Keep flapping your gums, Wood, but I’m not buying what you’re selling. Actually, I couldn’t choke down what you’re selling.”

“I’m sure you could, if I added enough sweetener. And that’s why I’m here. To give you something to consider. Something that will change your life.”

“And what could that be?”

“First think about this. We both know Allegro is good at what he does. But do you honestly believe traipsing around the world’s coffee belt, visiting smallholder farms, and befriending community co-ops is the future of this business?”

“Get to your point.”

“You’re the talent and the brains behind the Village Blend, I know that. Your drinks are phenomenal, and you’re an exemplary roaster; even my own research team says so.”

“Where is all this flattery going?”

“To an inescapable place, Clare. Come work for me at Driftwood.”

For a moment I was dumbstruck by the man’s casual tone. I could hardly believe it. He was trying to lure me away, and he was betraying Matt in the process with disturbing ease.

“Aren’t you sick of sweating in front of a Probat in the basement of an ancient building? Don’t you want to stop slaving over a balance sheet, just to keep an old shop on track like some dollar-store manager? You’re better than that.”

“What about everything you promised Matt?” I shot back. “Was that all baloney?”

“No, I fully intend to honor the offer I made. I just think you would be better off joining my Driftwood team. Sure, I realize you’re used to roasting premium small-batch beans sourced by the father of your child. But Matt’s whole approach—” He shook his blond head. “It’s fine dining when you and I both know that the vast majority of people are perfectly content to consume fast food—”

“So now you’re serving hamburgers?”

“No. But I’m a realist about large markets. And I know you care about quality, which means you can help us at Driftwood bring our less-than-perfect beans to another level.”

“You want me to help you serve better burgers?”

“Exactly! Who needs small indigenous farmers when we can cut costs with mass production? See what I mean? And you can do your job nine to five, in a clean lab, with a whole team at your beck and call.”

“And it’s more efficient for you, right? You won’t have to hire spies to come to my shop and steal my seasonal menus.”

“And you can contribute your ideas without the troubles of a dollar-store manager!” Cody’s temper was showing, and he knew it. After taking a breath, he tried again with a more conciliatory tone.

“Look, Clare, I know you’re emotional now. Change is always hard to swallow—”

“Like your Driftwood coffee?”

“Just think about my offer. I’ll start you off with a salary in the low six figures. Within a year you’ll be a VP earning half a million—”

“And by the third year, I’ll be fired. Because I’ll insist on doing away with high-fructose corn syrup and artificial flavorings, and your ‘team’ will tell me those choices won’t work with the bottom-line numbers for your national chain.”

“Hey, I know you don’t trust me. I know you think I’m some sort of rat who’s trying to sabotage your business, but nothing could be further from the truth.” He flashed his Vegas neon Driftwood smile. “You can trust me, Clare—”

At that moment, the shameless CEO popped his driver’s side door. The car’s ceiling light went on and showed me Cody’s dark interior, in more ways than one. The bright illumination unmasked a shockingly familiar face.

Lazily sprawled in the passenger seat was the very same tattooed guy with the overgrown beard and dirty blond hair who’d started the food fight in our packed Writer’s Block Lounge.

“You’re the jerk with the air raid siren ringtone!” I cried, pointing. “You’re a hired gun! Cody’s plant! A saboteur!”

Suddenly, a camera flash went off, and I realized Esther had been lurking behind me in the shadows. And when she saw who was sitting in Cody’s car, she swooped in, aimed her camera, and snapped a picture.

“Thank you, Esther!” I cried. “You see that, Wood? I’ve got wanted posters now, and you’re both on them. The two of you are hereby banned from the Village Blend for life!”

Cody rolled his eyes. “Calm down, Cosi. Get over yourself. And get some rest. When you wake up, you’ll realize the two deals I’m offering are too good to pass up. I advise you and your ex-husband to take them. If you don’t, you could both end up with nothing.”

Before I could shout back, he was already jumping into his four-wheel rocket. As the engine roared, and he hit the gas, I was ready to hurl my bat at his precious sports car, but Esther stopped me.

“Don’t waste a good slugger,” she said. “He’s not worth it.”

Then together we watched the ex-surfer ride a wave of darkness into the New York night.