Free Breakfast with Mia by Jordan Bell Page A

coffee.”
    Damian leaned back in the wobbly wooden chair, hand-crafted
by artisans in the Catskills, according to an advertisement on the wall, and
took another a deep, uninhibited bite.
    “Really? Twenty times? Guess that’s why you’re name’s on the
building. Since coffee and pastries are all I can afford, indulge me.
You can buy me an excessively expensive car as a Christmas bonus, which I will
never drive, but I’ll show off to all my girlfriends.”
    “Deal.” Damian waved at the pastry I still hadn’t started
eating yet. “What’s today’s chef-d’oeuvre ?”
    “Not sure. I’m guessing something nutty and savory. Want to
take a guess before I begin my sinful affair with its fragile crust?”
    “You know nothing about the world, Mia. It’ll be something
thick, like pudding, delicately sweet to pair with the topping. They wouldn’t
waste strawberry dust and white chocolate on something savory. Go on, life’s
short and you’re wasting it on your breakfast.”
    I watched my boss wax poetic about life being short then
inhale the last of his bear claw without savoring a single bite of it. That’s
how it was, I guessed, when one could afford a do-over.
    It was now or never then, and I carefully took the square of
dough in one hand and lifted it to my mouth. Crust bits broke apart at my touch
and when I took one slow, perfect bite, a wave of sweet white chocolate cream,
more decadent than I could have imagined, swept through me. It was orgasmic. I closed my eyes, ran my tongue through the sweet cream, felt the tiny bursts
of strawberry as the dust ignited on my tongue.
    It took five bites to finish and with each, the pastry
dissolved its shape until I was licking white chocolate and filo crumbs from my
fingertips. With the last bite, I glanced at my boss who stared like he’d
caught me photocopying my ass in his office. I licked the sticky residue from
my lips and he handed me a napkin. Both of us looked a little guilty about the
whole thing.  
    “That was inspired,” he mumbled. “Feel better?”
    I blushed, feeling strangely like some kind of foodie
exhibitionist. “Much. And you were right. The inside was white chocolate cream.”
    Damien stood suddenly, inspected his shirt and I handed him a
napkin from the ones he’d given me and he dusted himself off. He looked good as
new, like a million bucks.
    “I am always right, Mia. That’s why my name is on the
building.”
    I gathered the remains of our breakfast, tucked my coffee in
the crook of my elbow and followed him to the door. I tossed the evidence of
our breakfast into the trash, he held the jingle bell door open for me, and
followed me out onto the sidewalk. The Town Car revved to life and inched
forward to meet us because it was insane to make Damian Vaughn walk two feet. I
opened the door for him so he could slide in first. I followed.
    “Well Mr. Vaughn,” I said when he was comfortable. “Let’s go
make you a million dollars. What do you think?”
     
     
    Two
     
    The partners called her “The Dragon” because she walked into
a meeting in her two inch stilettos and every man before her fell defeated at
her knees. She took companies over like they were the nerdy kids on the
playground and she was the bully who’d hit puberty early. She made Vaughn &
Marley a disgusting amount of money.
    The staff called her “The Dragon” because her face was
shaped like a snout, all points and bones, because she never ate anything and
spent four hours a day on a stairmaster. She lashed her staff with a wicked,
ungrateful tongue and when she was feeling particularly spunky, ripped their
souls out with her bare hands and ate them. Corrine Aquirre was a predator and
everyone on the flowchart beneath her was simply the bones she cleaned her
teeth with.
    The Dragon was in particularly good form that morning, snapping
insults at me like I’d just tried to sleep with her husband. I hustled in late
behind Mr. Vaughn even though it was his fault he’d