My Cup of Tea

  My Cup of Tea

  A Short Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance

  Alice Wilde

  Contents

  My Cup of Tea

  Her Betrothal

  About the Author

  Red Empress Publishing

  www.RedEmpressPublishing.com

  Copyright © Alice Wilde

  www.AliceWilde.com

  Cover by Cherith Vaughan

  www.shreddedpotato.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recoding, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.

  Dedicated to all the little trolls out there.

  My Cup of Tea

  Today started out like any other day…like complete and utter shit. Not only was I woken up by my upstairs neighbors’ pounding away at each other—bastards—but I had forgotten to pay my gas bill the day before and was nearly murdered by a blast of icy water in the shower. You’d think at twenty-five I would be good enough at adulting to pay my bills on time.

  Rubbing myself dry, I wrap my hair in a towel and start to get dressed for the day. I groan as I remember that today is casual Tuesday. Who the hell even does casual Tuesdays?

  Checking the laundry, I find my wet jeans stuck to the inside of the washer and return to my closet. I pull on a tight pencil skirt and grab a wrinkled white T-shirt from a dresser drawer, tucking it loosely into the waistband of my skirt. This is as casual as it’s going to get.

  Wrapping my watch around my wrist, I check the time: 7:25. Good, I still have 30 minutes before I need to leave for the day. Hurrying to the kitchen, I put the kettle on the stove and turn the knob to light the gas. There are the usual sputtering sounds of the gas switch, but the flame doesn’t catch. I turn the knob more forcefully, still nothing.

  “Damnit, the gas,” I grumble to myself. “Guess I won’t be having tea this morning either.”

  Perhaps if I leave early enough, I can grab a cup on the way to the office. It won’t be great, but at least it’ll be something. I pull the towel off my head and shake out my hair. I contemplate blow-drying it but decide against it. There’s not enough time, and I need my tea.

  Shoving my feet into the shoes nearest me, a pair of red stilettos, I rip my coat off the couch where I’d thrown it the day before and hurry out the door, only to realize I’ve forgotten my phone. I throw the door open and rush back inside to get it. Slamming my front door on the way out, I pull on my coat and finally make my way toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

  Today is turning out to be even shittier than I thought.

  Fuck, it’s much colder than I had expected, and it’s gone and fucking snowed overnight. I know it’s December, but up until now it had been unusually warm this year. I haven’t even purchased a pair of gloves yet.

  I exhale out a steamy breath of annoyance, tying my coat even tighter around me and make my way down the street toward the nearest coffee shop.

  The tinkling of the bell over the door is even more annoying today, but I am blasted with warm air upon entering the café. Leaving my hair wet was a bad decision. It’s pretty much frozen into a hard, wind-blown shell around my face. God, I need my tea.

  I step up to the register, running my order through my head over and over so I can say it as quickly as possible when asked.

  The man behind the counter lifts his face to meet mine and I immediately forget the order running through my head. Wow, he’d be a nice hot cup of chamomile tea before bed. He’s the spitting image of Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy. At least, how I imagine him. His hair is dark and curly and his eyes are a shining ocean blue. I lower my eyes to watch as his lips move pleasingly over his teeth.

  A throat clears loudly behind me. “Can you hurry up and order your damn coffee? Some of us have jobs to get to.”

  I try to think of a snarky comeback, but I’m completely lost for words and barely manage to say the first word that comes to mind. “Coffee.”

  “One coffee,” the man behind the counter says in a deep, velvety voice to the barista next to him. “That’ll be 2.99. Cream and sugar are on the table behind you.”

  Grabbing at my shoulder, I am suddenly aware that I left my purse at home.

  “Shit! I forgot my wallet at home,” I mumble as my face begins to burn, perhaps hot enough to melt some of the ice from my hair.

  “Damn idiot,” the man behind me grumbles as he shoves me to the side.

  “Excuse me,” Darcy’s lookalike growls, rising from his seated position behind the counter. “The lady is still ordering.”

  “The hell she is!”

  “Get out, now. Before I call the police,” the man behind the counter says.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who do you think you are? I demand to speak to a manager!”

  “Okay, fine,” Darcy’s lookalike says before calling to another woman behind the counter. “Lydia, would you please deal with this?”

  “Certainly.”

  The gorgeous man steps out from behind the counter and walks over to me. He’s tall and moves like a gentleman. He pulls me gently to the side.

  “I’d like to apologize for what just happened,” he begins.

  “No. No, it was my fault,” I say, interrupting him. I kick myself for being so rude. I can hear Lydia trying to handle the man at the counter who is growing ever more agitated.

  “I demand you fire him. I’ve never been spoken to by an employee like that in all my life.” He’s almost screaming now.

  “Sir, I can’t do that.”

  “And why the hell not?”

  “Sir, he’s the owner.”

  A heavy silence falls over the coffee shop, and I steal a glance toward the irate customer. Then the people in the growing line behind him begin to snicker and I see one girl with her phone out, recording the scene. He’s frozen in place, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He then clears his throat once again and turns, fleeing the shop as quickly as he can manage.

  “Well, that seems to have sorted itself out. Thank you, Lydia,” the tall man says. Then he turns back to me. “Your coffee is on the house. My name is Fitz.”

  “Mandy,” I say out of instinct.

  He smiles, gently squeezing my shoulder, then he grabs the coffee that’s now waiting on the counter, handing it over to me. I look up at him as I take the hot beverage from his hand.

  “I have to go to work,” I blurt. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Mandy,” Fitz says, giving me a slight bow before returning behind the counter.

  I stay frozen in place. I could have sworn he just winked at me. What the hell? Pull yourself together! I have to stop reading too far into things. That’s how I get into trouble. Besides, he was just being nice…and there’s no way someone like him would ever have feelings for someone like me. That’s just for fairytales.

  I spin around and speed walk out of the cafe, the heat from his touch still burning my shoulder.

  The subway isn’t nearly as crowded as usual, and I manage to get a seat right away. Thank goodness I have a subway pass on my phone or I’d really be screwed today. I check my watch. Shit! It’s already past 8. I’m going to be late.

  Taking a sip from the drink Fitz gave me, I grimace. I hate coffee. I was supposed to order tea. I really am an idiot. I pull out my phone and open the Kindle app and tap “Discover.” At least I have some time to read. I scroll through my recommended reads, but the further I scroll the more frustrated I get. Over two dozen recommendations and not a single one I like. In fact, I hate them all. No matter how many times I refresh the screen, all I see are reverse harem fantasies.

  I admit I’ve clicked on a fair number of them, and
sometimes I still do. The covers are just too damn beautiful, but come on, seriously? Reverse harem? The first time I found out about “reverse harem” books I had to Google it to find out what they were about. There’s just no way a self-respecting woman would ever fall for this trash. Multiple men being besotted by a single woman but also fine with her having sex with all of them? Completely unrealistic and absolute bullshit.

  Frustrated, I start tapping on them. The only way I’ve found to get them off my feed is to leave a rating on them. I scroll down to the reviews section and select “Write a customer review.” I select 1-star and then the empty box and pause to think, absentmindedly taking a sip of the coffee and nearly spewing it across the car. Ugh, coffee is definitely not my cup of tea. That’s it! I look back at the empty review box and type: Not my cup of tea.

  Perfect.

  Sure, I haven’t read most of them…Okay, I haven’t read any of them. But it works. Once I’ve reviewed a book, it seems to stop showing up in my recommended list. I continue this process for the next few RH books in the list before resorting to my one of my go-to reads, Harry Potter. I have to get Fitz out of my head.

  Just as I’m starting to get immersed in my reading, the train stops and a passenger boards the car. The dreamy scent of cologne wafts around me. I look toward him instinctively and my mouth goes dry. The passenger is leaning nonchalantly against one of the car’s metal poles, a book in hand. And when I say book, I don’t mean an e-reader but an actual book!

  I swallow hard, then dare to peek at his face. His hair is disheveled, but not in an off-putting way. His lashes are thick and long. He turns a page in the book but then looks up as a subway announcement calls the next stop and my mouth falls open.

  Yum. If he was a mug of peppermint tea, I’d have him in my mouth in a second. He is the spitting image of how I imagine an adult Harry would look. Okay, almost a spitting image. Now that he’s running a hand through that tousled mane of his, I can see that he doesn’t have a lightning scar. His eyes are a beautiful olive green behind his round glasses and his face has a boyish charm to it. I can’t imagine him being much older than myself…if older at all.

  I continue to stare as he moves the edge of his long, unbuttoned coat aside to put a hand in his pant pocket. I don’t know how he’s managing to keep reading using a single hand, but he does. The subway announcer blares through the car once again. There are just two more stops until I have to get off. Two more stops worth of man ogling. I honestly can’t believe my luck. I was certain today would be the crappiest of days, but in the space of an hour, I’ve seen two men that are exactly my type. Well, as much as a real man can be.

  I suddenly realize I’m about to reach my stop and jump to my feet, but it’s a moment too soon and I find myself falling, my coffee flying through the air as the subway car lurches to a halt. Oh, shit! I shut my eyes tight in anticipation of colliding with the cold, dirty floor, but the moment never comes.

  As if by magic, I find a strong arm hooked around my waist and I open my eyes. I am bent Hollywood damsel style over the crook of the green-eyed man’s arm. He’s smiling rakishly at me, his other hand still holding onto his open book.

  “I take it this is your stop?” he says.

  “Mmhmm,” is all I can utter. My heart is racing in my chest, and everything in me wants to hold onto him and never let go. But the moment is gone as he quickly pulls me to my feet and helps me off the train, the doors closing behind us just as we step off.

  “I…I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry…I…” I can’t get the words out. I don’t even know what words I want to say.

  “Don’t worry about it. I can always catch the next one. My name’s Dan by the way.”

  “Uh, I’m Mandy.”

  “Well, I wish this was under different circumstances, but I’m very glad to have met you.”

  The rush of wind signals the approach of the next train, and my heart skips a beat at the thought of parting.

  “It…Thank you,” I say lamely.

  He laughs then turns toward the slowing train. I’m certain this will be the last time I see him when he unexpectedly spins back around.

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me give you my number?”

  My mouth falls open, but I shut it quickly in embarrassment.

  “I mean, I don’t have to give it to you if you don’t want it,” he says, his lips turning up in a roguish grin. “No pressure. I just thought maybe we could share a date sometime so you can openly stare at me for as long as you’d like.”

  “What? No. I mean…Wait,” I say patting down my coat pockets in search of my phone.

  “Do you mind holding this for a sec?” Dan says, handing his book, Pride and Prejudice, over to me. He reaches into his pocket and then hands me his phone. “How about you give me yours, and I’ll call you sometime.”

  “Uh, sure,” I say as I take his phone and half-heartedly dial my number before handing it back.

  “Thanks! Dang. Sorry, got to run,” Dan says as he spins around and just manages to slip onto the train through the closing doors.

  What the hell just happened? If I hadn’t been such a ditz, perhaps we’d have actually gone on a date. Ugh, but then he asked me to give him my number. Classic. Girls do it all the time when they just want to get out of an awkward situation. Oh here, give me your number. Ten minutes later they’re renaming the phone number “subway creeper” or deleting it altogether.

  Another blast of cold air shakes me from my self-berating thoughts and I check my watch once again only to realize Dan’s forgotten his book and…Shit! I’m already a half hour late! I slip the book into my coat pocket and hurry out of the subway.

  The walk to my office building is bitter. Bare legs. Heels. My life choices are really starting to get to me. I push my way through the rotating doors and slip into a waiting elevator, avoiding eye-contact with the lobby attendant. As soon as the doors close, I untie my coat to let it hang loosely around me and try to run my fingers through my hair, but it’s still crunchy with ice. Hopefully, I can make it to a restroom unseen to fix it. I’m just preparing myself for my restroom getaway when the elevator doors slide open on my floor and I find myself face to face with Nick, my boss, and several of the other managers.

  “Good morning, Mandy.”

  I clear my throat nervously. “Good morning, sir.”

  “It’s nice to see you so festive today. I didn’t realize you were so into the holidays.”

  I laugh politely as they step in and I step out of the elevator but otherwise remain utterly confused by his remark. Lowering my eyes to the floor, I dash to the nearest restroom and duck inside. What I’m greeted by in the mirror almost sends me into shock.

  Where I expected to be a matted, disarray of blonde hair is exactly that, but it’s my outfit that has me leaning over the sink, breathing hard. When I selected my bra earlier that morning it had been with a completely different outfit in mind. The “casual Tuesday” jeans and red sweater.

  I peek up at myself once again, the apples of my cheeks and the tip of my nose red both from the icy outdoors and the heat of my shame. I straighten and shake my head at what I see. There, very clearly showing through my thin white T-shirt, is my glittery, holiday-themed tassel bra.

  A friend had given it to me as a gag several years ago, and I was surprised to find that I actually liked the way it filled out certain shirts. But I’d never in a million years purposefully wear it out in a way that it would actually be visible. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the rest of the day.

  The bathroom door swings open and in glides Catherine, the boss’s favorite little brown-noser, looking as glamorous as ever.

  “Good morning, Milly.”

  I plaster a smile on my face as I imagine shoving her perfectly made up head in the toilet. “Morning.”

  “What an interesting outfit. I didn’t realize casual Tuesdays were supposed to be quite so…um, casual.”

  Catherine’s tone throws me for a loop,
and I’m not sure if she genuinely making fun of me or concerned about her own outfit…which is perfect. She’s wearing a pair of dark, snug jeans with a French-tucked, tailored button down that’s open just enough to reveal some of her ample cleavage. Something that I was not gifted with, no matter how many times I had blessed them with holy water during puberty.

  “You know, might as well take advantage of the situation. Right?” I say with as much fake confidence as I can muster.

  “Huh, you might be onto something,” Catherine says, examining her own outfit with a disapproving look in the mirror.

  I switch the faucet on and run my hands through the warm water and then begin combing them through my tangled hair as I watch Catherine fuss with her shirt in my peripheral. At least my hair is actually looking pretty decent now that it’s no longer frozen.

  Taking a final look at my reflection, I sigh to myself. If this is how today is going to go, I might as well make the most of it. I remove my coat and straighten my posture, sticking my chest out as sexily as I can. It really does look like I’m wearing a bullet bra.

  “Have a nice day,” I say as coyly as possible to Catherine as I turn and kick the restroom door open on my way out, my head held high. Fake it ‘til you make it.

  I probably shouldn’t have done that.

  No sooner have I kicked the door open, there’s a yelp and a thud on other side. Fuck my life. It’s Lucy, the receptionist…and Nick’s daughter.

  “Oh god, Lucy, I am so sorry! The door, I just didn’t want to touch it with my hands. Germs and all,” I say.

  A small crowd of coworkers has started gathering around us. Some of the women are giving me real side eye.

  “Damn, Mandy, what did you do? Nick’s going to be pissed. You should probably just quit now,” one of my awesome coworkers says.