One
Stan
I quit!
I’d said those two words over and over in my head until I heard them in my dreams. But after all Abrar had done for me, there was no way I could leave it at that. Or start or end with that. I thought back to the years I’d worked for the man. First as a barista and then manager of the original Café Om that was wedged between two tall office buildings. We’d made so many mistakes but we learned on the job, and Café Om was now a respected name in the coffee world.
Thinking back to the alphas and omegas who’d met, bonded, mated, and married at the coffee shop brought a smile to my lips. That little café was a matchmaker, and part of me missed the whoosh of the old-fashioned coffee machine Abrar insisted on having in each shop, along with shiny new ones.
We’d worked so hard and had little time off, but what free time I did have‚ I spent volunteering at Omega House. The month or so I’d sat at home with a broken foot got me thinking about trying to advance in the company, and that meant leaving the day-to-day hands-on life of a shop manager. It was a big step, but I was always up for a challenge.
Abrar, who was able to see potential in his employees, often before they recognized it themselves, offered me a job in head office while I was working out how to make the leap from shop front to corporate life. It was a position that was both terrifying and thrilling.
Going from a manager who doubled as a barista during rush hour, pacified irate customers whose drink was too hot, trained new staff, wrestled with spreadsheets when doing staff schedules, plus emptied the garbage and manned the ovens when we were overwhelmed, to sitting at a desk staring at a computer while wearing a tie that made me itch was a radical sea change.
But when I’d settled in and stopped arriving at the office at the crack of dawn trying to show my immediate boss I was capable and proactive, the job opened up a whole new world. And once I’d proved myself, Abrar himself presented me with another opportunity which got me out of the office.
Managing and expanding the old plantation nestled in the mountains while the former manager, Elliot, created a new plantation across the valley. Fresh air, hands in the soil, sort of, walking the rows of coffee bushes while building facilities for guests and college kids working summer jobs. That was my future.
At least that had been the plan until Elliot’s past caught up with him. It would have been great if he’d let us know bad guys were after him. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Stan. Poor Elliot, he couldn’t say anything as he was in witness protection. And combined with the man’s now-husband G’s sleazy baby daddy and cop, Damien, who just so happened to have worked for those bad guys. It was a perfect storm with me in the middle. Literally, and I had the bump on my head to prove it.
That last day at the plantation was still a blur. I remembered the big bad boss, his muscle men, Elliot, his goat Nanny, G and his young daughter, Rosalie.
Damien, who was a proper scumbag, had hit me on the head with his gun. Maybe it was a blessing ‘cause things apparently got crazy after that. I’d only heard it third-hand as Elliot, G, Rosalie, and Nanny had been whisked off to a new life afterward, and the bad guys, including Damien, were in jail. It sounded like the police drama I streamed on my tablet each week.
Another spell in the hospital followed by a long stint at home gave me plenty of time to think about the future. My broken foot had been nothing compared to a freaking whack on the head. Some memories were vivid and appeared unannounced, while I clawed to remember others. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to fit the pieces together.
For weeks, I didn’t recognize myself, and though my therapist assured me that was to be expected, I was freaked. The physical injury healed far quicker than my emotional scars.
It was while I was watching one TV program after another from my bed or the sofa and sleeping a huge chunk of the day that I made a decision.
Much as I enjoyed the corporate life, it wasn’t for me. Or perhaps it suited the former me. But the new me—the one who’d witnessed violence up close and had stared death in the face—wasn’t up to it.
Reaching a conclusion about my future was hard enough, but having to fess up to Abrar was another. He’d placed his trust in me and laid out a career path which ended with a fancy corner office and company perks.
But it wasn’t just that. He cared about Stan, the omega, not just the employee. And I had to do right by him. No email or phone call. Face-to-face with a long-ass explanation.
And I was meeting him in less than an hour. I stared into the mirror and examined the hollows under my cheeks. Turned out extreme trauma caused a loss of appetite. Food had no taste and I had to force myself to eat. Not to mention the nightmares. Waking up in the middle of the night, drenching in sweat, my face rigid and mouth open in the shape of a silent scream.
One deep, hopefully calming breath and I was out the door. Abrar had invited me for lunch at his home. From our chats on the phone and his visits to my apartment, he understood I wasn’t ready to face the staff in the office or even my old stomping grounds at the coffee shop, so he’d invited me to his place. His husband was at work and the kids were at school so it was the dog who bounded out and greeted me when my boss opened his front door.
Having a wet tongue licking my face was the perfect way to avoid awkward small talk. I wandered into the house with the dog clambering for a treat and was met by the most amazing aroma. “Wow! Smells like you’re quite the chef.”
“Hope you like paella,” Abrar said as he handed me a soda. I’d used a ride-share but alcohol didn’t go well with my state of mind, so I was a teetotaler, or should I say a coffee-totaler for the moment.
“Sounds good. I’m starving.” Shit! I am. I’m actually hungry. Making a decision had cleared some of the clutter from my head, but now I had to spit it out. “Before we eat, I need to tell you something,” I said as I carried a salad and crusty bread to a table on the patio overlooking a pool and the lush garden.
He paused and studied my face, and I was certain he could see what was inside my head. “Sure, but we can eat and talk at the same time.” He ladled paella on my plate, and my mouth watered.
I stuffed a spoonful of rice and seafood in my mouth, hoping my boss couldn’t hear my heart hammering. The distinctive flavors of saffron, shrimp, and lemon flowed over my tongue, and it was glorious. “This… this is delicious.”
“Glad you like it,” he said as his dark eyes studied my face.
“I need a change, Abrar—at work, I mean.”
He paused, a spoon halfway to his mouth. “Take as much time as you want, Stan. What you experienced was… horrific.”
“It’s not that. Well, no, it is. Turns out getting walloped on the head with a gun makes you see the world differently.”
Abrar sipped his soda. Even though he was at home and could have had a beer or wine, he chose a non-alcoholic drink like me. “I can only imagine, but time is a great healer, as well as the sessions with the therapist.”
I’d been told by the nurses at the hospital that my boss had been by my bedside that first night while the doctors ran tests, and his was the face I’d seen after I woke up. I owed him so much and hated to disappoint him, but I had to do what was best for me. “I can’t thank you enough for being so patient, Abrar. You’re not just a boss, you’re a good friend, which makes this so hard to say.”