The Solid Grounds Coffee Company Page 4

“Wait a second. You work for me—”

  “No, Mr. Mason. I work for your father. A man who will be very displeased to find you spending time with underage escorts who should be home studying for their chemistry finals.”

  Mason looked like he was about to argue, but she stilled him with a look. “Now that all the children are out of the room, I’m going to buy you an excellent meal and we’re going to discuss the ground rules for our business relationship. Which, by the way, does not include after-hours calls unless you’re in jail, about to be put in jail, or imminently facing a TV crew.”

  He cracked a smile. “Morgan told you about that.”

  “Morgan is too polite to tell you that you’re being an arrogant, juvenile tool.”

  “But you’re not too polite?”

  Ana knew her smile looked cold, if not downright predatory. It was a practiced expression she could drag out on cue. “I’ve been accused of many things, Mr. Mason, but that’s not one of them.” She glanced up and put on a much more welcoming smile. “Here comes our server with our drinks. If you don’t mind the suggestion, they serve a delicious rib eye.”

  For the next two hours, Ana outlined her expectations for his behavior and went through the opportunities that she’d lined up for him earlier this evening—one, volunteering at the grand opening of a new free clothing store for the homeless in Five Points; and two, mentoring minority business owners through a new SBA program.

  “You’ve got an undergrad degree from Harvard and an MBA from the London School of Economics. There’s no reason for you to be currently unemployed. Play it my way, repair your reputation, and I’ll have you in a six-figure consulting position by the end of the month.”

  Mason studied her, a glimmer of respect surfacing for the first time. “Okay. If you think you can do that, I’m on board.”

  “Good. I’ll be in touch with the details on Monday. I fully expect this to be a pleasant and productive month.”

  They finished their meal and Ana paid, escaping out to the valet stand. Her car had just been brought around when a message from Lionel buzzed through her phone. How did dinner with the frat boy go?

  Ana cracked a smile. Good. I put him on a short leash and appealed to his greed. He’s going to be too busy to be trouble.

  I knew you could do it. This is why I assigned you to this account and not Ryan.

  Thank you for the confidence. I’ll keep you posted.

  Ana put her car in gear, preparing to pull into traffic. Then she stopped. She was supposed to head to Rachel’s, where she’d normally spill all the ridiculous details about her latest ridiculous client. But suddenly she didn’t have the heart for it. This whole situation made her feel dirty, as if managing the creep had somehow rubbed off on her. There was nothing funny about it.

  She texted Rachel and Melody: Sorry, guys, I’m not going to make it. Rain check? I’m still coming to supper club tomorrow, no matter what.

  Rachel: We understand.

  Melody: Whew. That’s good. I already ate your eclairs.

  Ana smiled to herself and pulled into traffic for real this time, but the momentary surge of happiness didn’t last. She’d been awake for eighteen hours already. Her eyes were practically crossed with exhaustion, and the balls of her feet ached from a full day in shoes that had been designed for looks and status, not comfort. By the time she pulled into the parking structure beneath her Lower Downtown condo building, she ached for nothing more than her soft bed. A shower could wait until morning. Heck, pajamas could wait until morning.

  She rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor, made a beeline to her front door, and punched her code into the smart lock. It unlatched with a click and she pushed her way through with a sigh of relief.

  Her oasis. Small by most standards, but spacious by LoDo’s, it was twelve hundred square feet of elegant design and calming colors. Herringbone hardwood floors. Upholstery in velvet and satin. Muted antique oriental rugs. It might seem like it was orchestrated for show, but she rarely had guests, even her best friends. This was all for her own pleasure. It was just a shame she had so little time to enjoy it.

  A flashing red light drew her attention to the marble-accented kitchen, and she dropped her bag beside the phone before dialing voice mail. She knew before the message began who it would be—she only kept a home line because her mother refused to call her cell phone while she was at work. And she was always at work.

  Flora Sanchez’s familiar Manila-accented voice poured through the speaker in her usual combination of Filipino and English. “Ana, this is Mom. Can you call back? Gusto ko malaman kung uuwi ka para sa birthday ng Daddy mo sa May. Da-dating din ang mga kapatid mo, gusto ka nilaang makita.” I want to know if you’re coming home for your dad’s birthday in May. Your sisters and brother will be here. They all want to see you.

  Ana deleted the message and dug in her bag for her planner. Under Monday’s date, she jotted Put in vacation request. She had plenty of time to plan, since her dad’s birthday was after Mason would no longer be her problem. She should be able to steal two days to fly home to Southern California for a birthday party. As soon as she confirmed her time off, she’d call her mom back and book her flight.

  Then her eyes alighted on the grid at the bottom of her page—her daily habits. Everything from Scripture reading to making her bed to flossing her teeth. The only box left unchecked for today was exercise. Thanks to Mason, she’d missed the hot yoga class she’d scheduled before dinner.

  It’s late. Go to bed and do it tomorrow.

  But that empty box glared at her, and she knew the blank space in an otherwise-filled week would eat at her. She hadn’t achieved her toned, size-zero figure by skipping workouts just because she was tired.

  She dragged herself to her bedroom with a deep sigh, traded her suit for a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and climbed onto the treadmill positioned in front of the wide-screen TV. She inserted the flat plastic key and pressed Start.

  “Five miles, Ana. You can do this. It’s only five miles.”

  And one more box checked to keep up her six-month streak. Just one more box for a perfect day.

  Chapter Two

  BRYAN SHAW HAD ALWAYS viewed Denver as a mid-tier city, smaller than the suburban sprawl of Los Angeles or the compact metropolis of New York, just large enough to offer the conveniences of urban life. But as he looked out the rear window of his Uber crawling through the gridlocked city, it felt as if he’d been catapulted into the distant future.

  There were changes, of course. Development had sped along in his eight months away, building projects completed in his absence, others just beginning. But mostly it was his perspective that had changed. Colombia had crept into him—the countryside with its lush green foliage and relentless rainy season, the cities that were a shocking mix of old and new, the people with their welcoming attitudes and unhurried pace.

  The city he’d grown up in felt slightly alien by contrast. But he couldn’t deny it was good to be home.

  “You can let me out here,” he told his driver, pointing to the high-rise building ahead. The driver double-parked, something that would have elicited a barrage of horns in Bogotá, but here the traffic just flowed around them. “Thanks for the ride.” He levered the door open and climbed out, dragging his battered nylon backpack with him.

  The familiar marble foyer felt equally strange as he punched the Up button to call the elevator to the ground floor. What did it mean that his first stop after a long absence wasn’t his home? What did it mean that he wasn’t sure where home was even located?

  Bryan rode the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where he emerged and knocked at one of the four penthouse suites. A minute later, the door swung open to reveal a tall, dark-haired man about Bryan’s age.

  “Hey, Alex.”

  “Bryan?” Alex Kanin blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “You’re back. Why didn’t you call?”

  “Sorry. Is Rachel here?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.
Come in.” Alex swung the door wider, still seemingly stunned. Bryan dropped his bag on the polished concrete as Alex shut the door. And then his friend pounded him into a hug.

  “Okay then,” Bryan said, returning the gesture before carefully extricating himself. “It’s nice to see you too, bro.”

  Alex laughed. He was Bryan’s oldest friend, practically a brother, especially considering Alex had lived with the Shaws their senior year of high school while his parents taught at a university in Russia. He was maybe the only person who knew who Bryan truly was. Suddenly, his destination didn’t seem so strange.

  “Grab a seat,” Alex said. “Want something to drink?”

  “I’ll take a pop if you have it.” He settled himself onto the hard, modern sofa while Alex retrieved a can of Coke from his refrigerator. He tossed it to Bryan, then sat in the adjacent chair and waited.

  When Bryan didn’t volunteer anything, Alex said, “Are you going to make me drag it out of you? Where have you been?”

  Bryan popped the top and took a long drink of his Coke before answering. “Would it be too dramatic to say I met Jesus in Colombia?”

  “Coming from you, a little.”

  Bryan turned the can around in his hand thoughtfully. “That’s kind of what happened, though. God got my attention in the most dramatic way possible.”

  Alex just stared.

  “Vivian came while I was climbing in Suesca, slept with me before she told me she was engaged to Luke Van Bakker, and then proceeded to almost kill herself on a route that was way out of her ability range. You’re a writer. You can probably extrapolate what happened next.”

  “I can imagine Luke wasn’t particularly forgiving of either of you.”

  “Enough to get Vivian home, I guess. Me . . . it didn’t take him more than an hour to email the notice of termination.”

  “So what then? You became a yoga teacher in the mountains of Colombia? Joined a Benedictine monastery?”

  “Not quite. I bought a coffee farm.” Bryan enjoyed the look of disbelief that crossed Alex’s face, the way he was trying to decide which question to ask first. He decided to end his friend’s suspense. “You ever hear of Café Libertad?”

  Alex shook his head.

  “They help coca farmers transition to coffee. I originally signed on temporarily as a translator, but then . . .” Bryan broke off while he figured out how to explain the change that had begun inside him. “All that quiet, it gave me a lot of time to reflect on my life and how far I’d strayed from my values, from God. It’s easy to creep away one step at a time . . . and then one day you realize you’re calling yourself a Christian, but no one would ever be able to tell the difference.”

  Alex nodded thoughtfully. “What about climbing?”

  “In the past now. I didn’t plan on buying a coffee farm, by the way. The owners were aging without family to take it over, and I didn’t want the land to revert to cocaine production. So I bought it.”

  “So you’re what? A coffee farmer? An importer?” Alex seemed like he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation, and Bryan couldn’t really blame him. The last time Alex had seen him, he’d been renting a room in a townhome with three other guys, month-to-month. The very idea of putting down roots or committing to anything more than a climbing clinic a few weeks ahead had been laughable.

  Alex’s expectant expression made him realize he hadn’t answered the question. Not exactly. “The harvest will yield a few thousand pounds, and green coffee beans are a lot less lucrative than you’d think. We’d barely be breaking even if I wholesaled it.”

  “So what then?”

  “I’m opening a roasting company.”

  Silence stretched a long moment, and then Alex cracked a smile. “You had me going there.”

  “It wasn’t a joke. I just spent two months in Oregon learning how to roast. As soon as I get funding, I’m going to set up my operation. Hopefully before four thousand pounds of beans arrive on my parents’ doorstep; I had to use them as my permanent address.”

  “I take it you haven’t told them yet?”

  Bryan shot Alex a look.

  “Right. I would love to be able to help, but my money is all tied up in these condos. At least until we sell Rachel’s place. Then we can pay off the loans for both units and start banking some cash.”

  “I would never ask you to do that anyway,” Bryan said. And he wouldn’t. He was already putting his entire life’s savings at risk; he wasn’t going to ask his best friend to do the same, especially in light of his impending marriage. “How is Rachel, by the way?”

  Now Alex’s face softened into a genuine smile. “She’s good. Busy with Bittersweet Café, her and Melody.”

  “And planning a wedding?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure how much she’s actually doing. As soon as we set a date, Melody and Ana completely took over. Which is well enough, because Rachel has expanded the Saturday Night Supper Club to a weekly event at the café. They’re sold out through October.”

  “Impressive,” Bryan said. He’d been at the café’s opening, but that felt like a lifetime ago now. He chugged the rest of the soda and set the can on the table. “Well, no more stalling. I guess I should go tell my parents I’m back.”

  “Are you? Back?”

  “Like it or not.”

  “Good. Then you can be my best man.”

  Bryan pushed himself off the sofa. “Naturally. I didn’t realize that was in question. Wish me luck.”

  Alex walked him to the door. “Good luck. Hey, drop by the café for supper club tomorrow.”

  “I thought you said it was sold out?”

  “Friends-and-family night last Saturday of the month. I’ll even spring for your ticket since you’re a broke small-business owner.”

  Bryan grinned. “Had I known it was that easy to get you to pick up the tab, I would have started a business years ago.” He hoisted his backpack and opened the door. “Don’t tell anyone but Rachel I’m back. I want to make a grand entrance.” Before Alex could reply, he gave a salute and strode to the elevator.

  That had been easier than he’d expected. Then again, Alex had always had his back. He wasn’t so sure he would get the same reception from his parents.

  * * *

  Bryan grabbed his backpack from the backseat of his second Uber of the day and gave his driver a wave of thanks as he closed the door. Late-afternoon sunlight poured down on him, casting shadows across the brick pillars of the wrought-iron gate. When he’d left Colorado, it had been summer. Now, patches of snow clung to the wall in the shady spots, evidence of a winter that he’d missed and the newly minted spring that was about to start the process all over again. Eight months away. Eight months of climbing, making mistakes, and rebuilding his life into something new in Colombia and Portland. And now he stood just outside his parents’ Capitol Hill mansion, preparing to beg for forgiveness, for both the silent absence and the things that had caused it.

  In all the years he’d read about the Prodigal Son in the Bible, he’d never really cast himself in that role. He could only hope that his father was in a similarly forgiving mood.

  Bryan punched his code into the keypad by the gate and waited for the click of the lock to admit him to the manicured grounds. He’d grown up here, but the 1920s behemoth hadn’t always been a showplace—when his developer father and decorator mother had bought the property, the house had practically been crumbling to the ground. His earliest memories involved construction; he’d learned to write his ABCs in the layer of plaster dust that settled on every surface. Since then, Mitchell Shaw had become one of the biggest developers in Colorado and could easily afford a 10,000-square-foot estate in Cherry Creek, but they stayed here to demonstrate his dual commitment to preservation and revitalization.

  His father wasn’t in the habit of casting off things that held personal meaning.

  He was just stalling now. Bryan squared his shoulders and made his way up the circular drive, where he let h
imself in the front door. An empty foyer, punctuated by oriental rugs and a round table holding a flower arrangement, greeted him with silence.

  “Mom? Dad?” he called. “Is anyone home?”

  Nothing. And then the tap of footsteps in the upstairs hallway drew his attention to the staircase. His mother halted at the top of the steps, her expression as shocked as if she’d seen a ghost. “Bryan?”

  “In the flesh.”

  She scrambled down the steps and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe. “You have no idea how much I missed you. And now that I see you’re alive and well, I’m going to kill you. Tagging me on Facebook every few weeks is not a replacement for a phone call!”

  Bryan chuckled, even though he sensed it was not entirely a joke. “I missed you too, Mom. I’m sorry. I needed to get my head straight, and I couldn’t call until I did.”

  “Then it must have been really skewed if it took you eight months to come home.” She stepped back and studied him closely. “I never thought I would say it, but the beard suits you.”

  Bryan felt the bushy growth on his chin self-consciously. “Yeah, I haven’t decided whether to keep it or not.”

  “I like it,” Kathy said. “I don’t, however, like the ponytail. You look homeless.”

  “I kind of am, Mom. I let the townhome go while I was gone. Not even really sure where my stuff is, except for my climbing gear. I don’t suppose you might let me stay here for a while?”

  “Do you have to ask?” Kathy tipped her head in the direction of the kitchen. “Come get something to eat. I’m going to call your father. He’ll want to know you’re back.”

  Bryan nodded uncomfortably and followed his mom through the expansive living room into the equally large kitchen. Kathy bustled around, pulling bread from the pantry, deli meat from the drawer of the large Sub-Zero refrigerator. Only when she’d fixed an enormous sandwich and pushed it his way on a stoneware plate did she pick up the phone in the kitchen and dial his father.

  “Mitchell, you need to come home. Bryan is back.”