Where-I took over our office coffee order and canceled one $7.45 latte that had been charged to the company card every morning for three years. My coworker demanded I put it back, then told everyone I was on a power trip. When she dragged me into our boss’s office, I didn’t argue. I simply handed him the invoices. He scrolled through them for a long time. Then he looked up, stared at her, and asked one question that made her face go completely pale.

I TOOK OVER THE OFFICE COFFEE ORDER
AND MY COWORKER’S LATTES STOPPED

PART 1 — THE UNEXPECTED ADD-ONS

I work at a small marketing firm, about 22 people, and every morning we get coffee delivered from a café down the street. It’s a standing order: two big carafes, oat milk, regular milk, and a box of pastries on Fridays. It goes on the company card, and honestly, it’s one of the only perks we have.

For three years, the order had been handled by my coworker Serena. She sits across from me. She set it up back when the office reopened, and nobody ever questioned it because, I mean, coffee shows up. Why would you?

Then last month, our office manager quit, and my boss Carl split her responsibilities between a few of us. I got vendors, which meant I got the coffee.

Carl said, “Just move the account over to you so the café calls you if something’s wrong. Serena’s got enough on her plate.”

Fine. Easy.

I called the café. The owner is this sweet older guy named Lewis. I asked him to switch the contact to me.

“Sure, sure,” he said. “And you want to keep the add-ons?”

“What add-ons?”

He kind of paused.

“The lattes. Large vanilla oat, extra shot. $7.45 every morning, delivered separate.”

I’ve been in that office every morning for two years. I’ve never once seen a latte come in with a carafe. I asked where it got delivered, and he said the front desk, in a bag with a name on it.

I asked what name.

“Serena.”

So I just sat there for a second.

“Is that on the same card?”

“Same order. Same card since she set it up.”

There was more he told me on that call, but I’ll get to it.

I told him to drop the add-ons. Just the carafes and the Friday pastries, like the approved list said. I didn’t tell anyone. Honestly, I figured maybe Carl had okayed it at some point, and I’d find out.

PART 2 — “IT’S ONE COFFEE”

The next morning at 9:15, Serena walked over to my desk holding her phone.

“Hey, did something happen with the coffee?”

“No. The carafes came. They’re in the kitchen.”

“No, I mean my order. It didn’t come.”

“Oh. Lewis said there was a latte on the company account. I took it off because it’s not on the approved list.”

Her face did this thing like she was doing math.

“Okay, but that’s, like, mine. That’s been there forever.”

“I know. Lewis said three years.”

“So just put it back. It’s one coffee.”

“It’s not really one coffee, though, right? It’s one every day.”

She laughed kind of sharply.

“Wow, okay. Do you want me to Venmo you seven dollars? Is that what this is?”

“No. I just need Carl to sign off on anything that goes on the card, because it’s under my name now. If finance asks, I’m the one who answers for it. If he’s fine with it, I’ll call Lewis back today.”

“You don’t need to bring Carl into this.”

Which, I mean, kind of told me everything.

The rest of the week, she was cold. Not rude exactly, just… conversations stopped when I walked into the kitchen.

Then Thursday, my friend Valerie from accounts pulled me aside.

“Serena’s telling people you took away her coffee because you’re on a power trip since you got vendors.”

A couple of people apparently agreed with her. Like, it’s a latte. Let her have it.

So I did the math, too: $7.45, five days a week, about 50 weeks a year, three years, plus the 20% tip she’d set up. It came out to about $6,700 for one of them.

I didn’t say any of that to anyone. I just kept ordering the carafes.

Then Monday, Carl called me into his office.

PART 3 — THE MEETING AND THE SECOND LATTE

Serena was already there, arms crossed, looking at the wall.

Carl said, “So Serena says there’s some tension about the coffee. She says you cut something she was told she could have.”

I looked at her. She didn’t look at me.

I asked Carl, “Did you tell her she could have it?”

“Have what?”

Serena jumped in. “It was understood. I’ve done that order for three years for free. It was basically the perk for handling it.”

Carl said, “Handling what? It’s a standing order. You don’t do anything.”

She didn’t say anything to that.

So I pulled up the invoice history on my phone. I’d asked Lewis to email it to me that first day, just in case. I handed the phone to Carl and pointed at the line.

He scrolled for a really long time. Then he looked up at her.

“This says two.”

“Yeah,” I said. “The second one goes to her sister’s salon on Fourth Street.”

Carl stopped scrolling. He looked at me, then at Serena, then back at the invoice.

“Her sister’s salon?”

Serena finally looked away from the wall.

“It’s not what it sounds like.”

Carl set my phone down on his desk.

“I don’t actually know what it sounds like yet, so explain it.”

She uncrossed her arms.

“My sister works right down the street. Sometimes I send one over there. It’s not some huge thing.”

“On the company card?”

“It’s coffee, Carl.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

She sighed like he was being deliberately difficult.

“Yes, technically. But it’s been part of the order forever.”

Carl picked up my phone again and scrolled through the invoices.

“How long is forever?”

Serena looked at me instead of him.

“I don’t know. A while.”

I said, “Lewis said the second drink has been there almost as long as yours.”

Her head snapped toward me.

“You asked him all of this?”

“He told me when I asked what the add-ons were.”

“No, you went digging.”

“I asked why there were charges on an account I’m responsible for now.”

Carl raised one hand.

“Stop. Serena, you came in here saying she removed one latte you were told you could have because you handled the coffee order.”

“That’s basically what happened.”

“No. Apparently, there are two lattes, and one of them gets delivered to a business that has nothing to do with us.”

“My sister has helped me out before.”

“With what?”

Serena blinked.

“Things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t keep a list every time my sister does me a favor.”

Carl leaned back.

“Has she ever worked for this company?”

“No.”

“Has she ever been a contractor?”

“No.”

“Has she ever invoiced us?”

“No.”

“Then why are we buying her coffee every morning?”

Serena’s face went red.

“It’s one coffee.”

“It’s one coffee every weekday for years.”

“She’s my sister.”

Carl looked genuinely confused.

“I know who she is. That still doesn’t tell me why my company is paying for her vanilla latte.”

That was the first time Serena had nothing ready.

She looked at me again.

“You really calculated this, didn’t you?”

“I calculated yours after Valerie told me you were saying I took it away because I’m on a power trip.”

Carl looked at me.

“How much?”

“About $6,700 for one latte over three years, assuming the current price, five days a week, around 50 weeks a year, plus the automatic 20% tip.”

Carl slowly looked back at the invoice.

“And there are two.”

Nobody said anything for a second.

Then Serena laughed.

“You’re making it sound like I stole $13,000.”

Carl said, “I haven’t said that.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“I’m thinking I need to know why two personal drinks were attached to a company account without anyone approving them.”

“It wasn’t hidden.”

Carl actually laughed at that.

“I didn’t know it existed.”

“You never asked.”

The second the words left her mouth, her face changed.

Carl stared at her.

“So because nobody noticed, that made it okay?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

Serena rubbed her forehead.

“I handled the coffee for three years. If it was late, I called. If they forgot oat milk, I fixed it. If the café needed something, they called me. I thought the latte was basically the perk for doing it.”

Carl said, “It’s a standing order. You spent maybe five minutes on it when something went wrong.”

Serena’s jaw tightened.

“And even if I accepted your latte as some unofficial perk nobody approved,” Carl continued, “what was your sister’s perk?”

“Nothing.”

Finally, she said, “Sometimes I would send mine to her.”

I spoke before I could stop myself.

“There are two every day.”

Serena turned toward me.

“Can you not?”

Carl said, “She’s right.”

Then he looked at me.

“Email me the invoice history Lewis sent you.”

“Okay.”

Serena pushed her chair back.

“Oh my God. Are we seriously doing this over coffee?”

Carl rubbed both hands over his face.

“Ten minutes ago, I thought I was mediating an argument because she canceled your latte. Now I’m finding out we’ve been paying for two personal drinks, one at an outside business, for years. So yes, I’m going to figure out what happened.”

“This is humiliating.”

“I imagine it is.”

That shut her up.

Carl looked at me.

“Can you give us a few minutes?”

I stood. Serena didn’t look at me as I left.

Valerie messaged me from accounts almost immediately.

“Coffee summit?”

I wrote, “You have no idea.”

She replied, “Try me.”

I didn’t.

About 20 minutes later, Serena came out. Her face was blotchy, and her eyes were bright. She walked past her desk, then stopped beside mine.

“Hope you’re happy.”

I looked up.

“I didn’t ask Carl to call that meeting.”

“No, you just pulled three years of invoices and handed them to him.”

“You brought me into the meeting.”

“You could have put the latte back, and none of this would be happening.”

That sentence stayed with me.

Not “I shouldn’t have charged it.” Not “I should have asked first.” Just: “You could have kept letting me do it.”

She grabbed her purse and left.

Carl came out a few minutes later and asked Valerie to come into his office. Serena didn’t return that afternoon.

PART 4 — THE REAL TOTAL

The next morning, Serena was at her desk before I arrived. She didn’t look at me.

I put down my bag, checked my email, and went to the kitchen. The coffee had arrived: two carafes, regular milk, oat milk, nothing else. I poured a cup.

Mason from Creative was standing by the fridge eating yogurt.

“So we don’t do individual drinks anymore?”

I looked at him.

“We never did.”

He laughed.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, actually.”

He lowered his voice.

“Serena said you found out she had one latte on the account and turned it into this huge thing.”

Of course she did.

I stirred my coffee.

“There were charges that weren’t part of the approved order.”

Mason shrugged.

“It’s like seven bucks.”

“Okay.”

That answer seemed to annoy him.

“You don’t think that’s a little petty?”

“I’m not asking anyone to do anything. I removed an item I couldn’t approve. Serena took it to Carl.”

He nodded like he didn’t completely believe me. I took my coffee and went back to my desk.

Thursday afternoon, Valerie rolled her chair over to my desk.

“You’re being weirdly calm.”

“I’m working.”

“I know. That’s what’s weird.”

I looked at her. She lowered her voice.

“Carl had me total the add-ons.”

I knew what she meant.

“How bad?”

“Over $13,000.”

Even though I’d already done the rough math, hearing the real total made my stomach drop.

“Seriously?”

“Prices changed over time. There were holidays. All that. But yes: two drinks, delivery fees, 20% tip. More than thirteen grand.”

I leaned back.

Valerie shook her head.

“I thought it was one drink, too. So did everyone. She is still telling people you’re trying to get her fired over seven dollars.”

“I know.”

Valerie looked across the office toward Serena’s desk.

“She’s leaving out a pretty important seven dollars.”

“Apparently.”

“Are you going to tell people?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to spend the next month campaigning about coffee.”

Valerie smiled.

“That is annoyingly reasonable.”

“I’m not being reasonable. I’m tired.”

The next morning, I stopped at Lewis’s café before work. Not for the office. For myself.

I bought a large latte with my own debit card because the carafe coffee had started tasting like conflict.

Lewis was behind the counter. He saw me and gave me a tired smile.

“Everything okay over there?”

“Depends who you ask.”

He grimaced.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I feel like I started trouble.”

“You asked whether I wanted to keep an item on an account I’m responsible for. That’s not starting trouble.”

He nodded, then looked toward the kitchen.

“Serena called me yesterday.”

I stopped.

“What did she want?”

Lewis looked uncomfortable.

“She was upset that I sent you the old invoices.”

“She knows?”

“She guessed. She said I had no right to discuss her personal order with you.”

I stared at him.

“Her personal order on the company card?”

“That’s basically what I said.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Then she told me we’d been doing it that way for years, and I should have called her before I changed anything.”

There it was again: “We’ve been doing it for years.” Like enough time could turn permission into a technicality.

I asked, “Did she mention her sister’s drink?”

Lewis hesitated.

“She said I had no reason to tell you where her sister’s coffee went.”

I actually closed my eyes.

Of course she did.

“There was another call, too,” Lewis said.

I opened my eyes.

“From Serena?”

“No. Her sister.”

That got my attention.

“She wanted to know why her coffee stopped.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That the office account had changed contacts, and the new contact removed the individual drinks.”

Lewis leaned his hands on the counter.

“She said Serena told her the company gave Serena two drinks a day because she managed the coffee account, and that she could send the second one anywhere she wanted.”

“So her sister thought it was allowed?”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

He paused.

“When I told her she could keep the same order if she gave me another card, she said, ‘Wait, Serena’s company has been paying for this?’ Then she hung up.”

I paid for my latte and left.

PART 5 — HER SISTER SHOWS UP

When I walked into the office, Serena saw the cup immediately. She looked at it, then at me.

“Oh, nice. So you can have one.”

Her voice was loud enough for several people to hear.

I put my bag down.

“I bought it with my debit card.”

She gave me a little smile.

“Convenient.”

I still had the receipt in my coat pocket, so I pulled it out and placed it next to my keyboard.

“Do you want this?”

Her expression changed. Mason suddenly found his monitor fascinating.

Serena said, “Normal people don’t keep receipts to prove they paid for coffee.”

“I bought it fifteen minutes ago.”

She walked away.

I thought that would be the awkward moment of the day.

It wasn’t.

Around 10:30, a woman came through reception and walked straight toward Serena. I recognized her from a birthday dinner once: Tessa, Serena’s sister. She owned the salon.

Serena stood so fast her chair rolled backward.

“What are you doing here?”

Tessa held up her phone.

“You’re not answering me.”

“I’m working.”

“So am I.”

Everyone within fifteen feet suddenly became extremely interested in their screens.

Tessa kept her voice controlled, but barely.

“Did your company know they were paying for my coffee?”

Serena looked around.

“Can we please not do this here?”

“That’s a no. You told me it was a work perk.”

“It was.”

“Lewis says the new person handling the account removed it because it wasn’t approved.”

Serena lowered her voice.

“Can we go outside?”

Tessa didn’t move.

“You said your company gave you two drinks a day because you handled the order.”

“I did handle the order.”

“You said they knew.”

“I never said Carl personally knew.”

Tessa stared at her.

“Oh my God.”

Serena reached for her arm. Tessa stepped away.

“No, don’t do that. I have three years of coffee from your job showing up at my business address.”

“It’s coffee.”

“I don’t care if it’s breath mints. You told me it was allowed.”

Then Serena did exactly what I knew she would: she pointed at me.

“This only became a problem because she took over the account.”

Tessa looked at me, then back at Serena.

“Did she add my salon to the company card?”

Serena said nothing.

“Did she tell me your company was paying for my drink?”

Nothing.

“So why are you pointing at her?”

I almost liked Tessa immediately.

Serena said, “You don’t understand the whole situation.”

“I understand enough.”

Tessa put her phone back in her bag.

“Do not put anything for me on your work account again. Ever.”

Then she left.

Nobody said anything for maybe ten seconds. Serena sat down. Mason cleared his throat and walked out of the room.

By Monday, the office mood had changed. Not because I told anyone, but because there are only so many ways to keep a second daily latte delivered to a salon secret after the salon owner walks into the office and demands to know why the company was paying for it.

Nobody called me power-hungry anymore.

Serena still came to work. She still sat across from me. She barely spoke to me. I assumed Carl had decided not to fire her, and honestly, I was relieved.

I didn’t want to be the person everyone associated with somebody losing her job over coffee. If Carl wanted repayment or whatever else, that was between them.

I just wanted to do my actual job.

PART 6 — SERENA LOOKS FOR PAYBACK

For about a week, things were quiet.

Then Serena changed tactics.

She started watching me. Not dramatically, just enough that I noticed. If I picked up a package from reception, she looked over. If I called a courier, she asked who it was for. If I ordered food for a client meeting, she somehow knew the amount before the receipt made it to Valerie.

Finally, Valerie rolled over one afternoon and said, “She’s trying to catch you.”

“At what?”

“Anything.”

I laughed.

“I’m incredibly boring.”

“I know. That’s going to make this difficult for her.”

Two days later, Serena thought she had something.

We had a client strategy session that ran through lunch. Carl told me to order food for the room. I ordered sandwiches, salads, drinks, and cookies for eight people. The bill was just under $200.

After the meeting, there were leftovers. I took one sandwich to my desk because I hadn’t eaten.

Serena watched me unwrap it. She smiled. Not a friendly smile.

The next morning, Carl forwarded me an email with one line:

“Can you clarify this?”

Underneath was a message from Serena:

“Since we are apparently reviewing personal purchases now, I think we should be consistent. Yesterday, there was a food order for almost $200 under her name, and I watched her take food back to her desk afterward. I don’t understand why some employees get questioned over $7 while other people can spend hundreds.”

I read it twice, then laughed.

Valerie looked over.

“What?”

I turned my monitor. She read it.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“That was Carl’s meeting.”

“Yes.”

“He ate the lunch.”

“Yes.”

She covered her face.

“You almost have to admire the commitment.”

Carl called me into his office. He looked embarrassed.

“Obviously, I know what the lunch was.”

“I assumed.”

“Did you take food back to your desk?”

“Yes. One turkey sandwich from the leftovers.”

He sighed.

I said, “If it helps, I can reimburse one-eighth of a sandwich.”

He laughed despite himself.

“No.”

Then he got serious.

“Has Serena been doing anything else like this?”

“Watching me? Yes. Reporting me? Not that I know of.”

“Tell me if it becomes a problem.”

“Okay.”

When I came back out, Serena looked at me. She lasted maybe thirty seconds.

“So? Did Carl talk to you?”

“Yes. And he remembered the client lunch he told me to order for the meeting he attended.”

Valerie coughed into her hand. Serena’s face went blank.

“I was just asking for consistency.”

I nodded.

“Good looking out.”

She stopped speaking to me after that.

That should have been the end. She had kept her job. Carl had not publicly embarrassed her. The office had moved on. Her sister was angry, but that was between them.

All Serena had to do was stop.

Instead, she decided I needed to fail at something.

PART 7 — THE CANCELED PRINT ORDER

About two weeks later, we had one of the biggest pitches our firm had done that year. A regional home-goods company was considering moving all its digital work to us.

Carl was obsessed with the meeting. Creative had built mock campaigns. Strategy had worked on the deck for weeks. We were having presentation boards and leave-behind booklets printed by a local shop we used all the time.

I handled the order.

I sent the final files four days early and confirmed delivery for Thursday afternoon. The client meeting was Friday morning.

The printer was a guy named Patrick. Serena knew him, too, because she’d coordinated a few print jobs before our old office manager took over that stuff. So nothing about her contacting him would have looked strange on its own.

Thursday at 3:00, the materials still hadn’t arrived. At 3:30, still nothing. I checked my email: no delivery update.

So I called Patrick and gave him our company name.

He paused.

“Oh, I thought that got canceled.”

My stomach dropped.

“What got canceled?”

“The presentation package.”

“No, it didn’t.”

There was a longer pause.

“I have an email saying the client moved the meeting.”

I stood up.

“From who?”

He clicked around.

“Serena.”

Everything around me suddenly felt very quiet. Her desk was empty. She was in one of the small meeting rooms.

“When did she send that?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Can you forward it to me?”

“Sure.”

It hit my inbox less than a minute later. From Serena’s company email:

“Hi Patrick, you can cancel tomorrow’s delivery. The client pushed the presentation and we won’t need the materials this week. Please hold the files and we’ll circle back when we have a new date. Thanks, Serena.”

I read it three times.

There was no misunderstanding. She didn’t change a quantity. She didn’t move a delivery window. She told the printer the client had postponed a meeting that was still happening.

I walked straight into Carl’s office. He was on a call. I stood in the doorway holding my laptop until he looked at my face.

“I’m going to have to call you back.”

He hung up.

“What happened?”

I put the laptop on his desk. He read the email. His face changed completely.

“Why is Serena emailing Patrick?”

“I was hoping you knew.”

He read it again.

“Was the client meeting ever moved?”

“No.”

“Was moving it even discussed?”

“No.”

“Can Patrick still print?”

“I haven’t asked yet. I called you first.”

Carl stood up.

“I’ll call him.”

For the next two hours, Serena barely mattered. We just needed the materials.

Patrick saved us. The files were still loaded. He pulled two people onto the job, ran the whole package late, and sent everything by courier just after seven.

I stayed at the office waiting for it. Carl stayed, too.

When the boxes finally arrived, we opened every one. Boards, booklets, everything. Carl picked up one of the booklets and exhaled.

“Thank God.”

Then he looked at me.

“Go home.”

“What about Serena?”

“I’ll deal with Serena after the client meeting.”

That made sense.

The next morning, the pitch went well. Really well. The client didn’t sign on the spot, but they asked for a revised proposal and another meeting. In our world, that was a win.

When we got back to the office, Serena was at her desk.

PART 8 — WHY SHE LOST HER JOB

Carl asked Serena to come into his office. She looked at me before she went in. The expression on her face told me she knew.

The door closed. They were inside almost forty minutes. At one point, her voice got loud enough that we could hear it through the wall.

“I thought the meeting changed!”

Then Carl said something too low to hear.

A few minutes later:

“I was trying to help!”

More quiet.

Then:

“This is all because of her!”

Valerie looked at me. I stared at my screen.

Finally, the door opened. Serena came out crying. Carl followed.

She walked to her desk and started putting things in her bag. The office went completely still. She unplugged her charger, picked up a framed picture, stuffed a cardigan into her tote.

Then she looked at me.

“You got what you wanted.”

I stayed seated.

“I didn’t want this.”

Carl said, “Serena.”

She ignored him.

“You couldn’t let one stupid coffee go. You went through years of receipts, dragged my sister into it, made everybody think I’m some thief, and now I’m losing my job.”

Carl stepped closer.

“You are not being terminated because she removed a coffee.”

Serena turned toward him.

“Really? None of this happens without her.”

“You charged personal purchases to the company for years without approval.”

“Coffee?”

“You sent company-paid deliveries to someone who doesn’t work here.”

“My sister!”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Serena shook her head. Carl continued.

“And after we specifically told you not to interfere with vendor accounts that were no longer yours, you contacted a vendor and canceled materials for a live client pitch.”

“I thought it changed.”

“No, you didn’t.”

She stared at him.

Carl said, “Your email says the client pushed the meeting. Who told you that?”

Nothing.

“Who told you?”

She didn’t answer.

Carl’s voice stayed calm.

“That is why you’re leaving.”

Serena looked back at me.

“I hope you’re happy.”

I could have listed every decision she’d made: the lattes, the salon, calling Lewis, trying to turn the office against me, reporting the client lunch, emailing Patrick.

Instead, I said, “I didn’t cancel the print order.”

That was all.

Her face changed. Not because it was clever, but because there was nothing she could do with it.

She picked up her bag. Carl walked her out.

Nobody spoke until the elevator doors closed.

Then Mason said, “Okay.”

Valerie looked at him. He raised both hands.

“I was wrong.”

Nobody celebrated. Honestly, it was mostly uncomfortable.

Serena had worked there for years. She remembered people’s birthdays. She was funny. She organized a collection when one of the designers’ dogs needed surgery.

People are almost never awful in every direction. That was what made the whole thing so strange.

She’d started with something small enough to explain away: seven dollars. Then she did it every day. Then another seven dollars went somewhere else. Then enough years passed that the benefit started feeling like something she owned.

The minute somebody stopped it, she acted like something had been taken from her. And every time she got a chance to stop making it worse, she chose another fight.

Carl gathered us that afternoon. He didn’t give details. He said Serena no longer worked at the company and asked everyone to be respectful.

That was it. No ethics speech, no public shaming.

We went back to work.

PART 9 — THE NEW COFFEE POLICY

The following Monday, coffee arrived at 9:15: two carafes, regular milk, oat milk, no lattes. Nobody mentioned Serena, at least not around me.

A week later, I stopped at Lewis’s café because there was a small billing issue with Friday’s pastry box.

He saw me and asked, “Quiet over there?”

“Finally.”

He nodded.

“Tessa opened her own account.”

“Serena’s sister?”

“Yeah. Same vanilla oat latte.”

I laughed.

“On her own card?”

“First thing she gave me.”

“Good for her.”

Lewis smiled. Then his expression changed.

“Serena came in, too.”

I stopped.

“When?”

“A couple days ago.”

“What did she want?”

“She asked me to tell Carl that I thought the drinks were approved.”

I stared at him.

“What did you say?”

“I told her I didn’t know who approved what. She was the account contact. She asked me to add drinks. I added them. That’s exactly what happened.”

“She didn’t like that answer.”

“I imagine.”

Lewis folded a receipt in half.

“She said you ruined her job.”

I sighed.

“Apparently, I have a lot of power for someone who just wanted coffee delivered.”

He laughed. Then he said:

“She asked if I was hiring.”

I looked at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

Lewis gave me an apologetic little shrug.

“I told her no.”

“Were you hiring?”

He paused.

“Technically.”

I laughed.

“Lewis?”

He held up both hands.

“What? I need someone I can trust with the register.”

I didn’t feel sorry for her. Exactly. I also didn’t want her ruined. I hoped she found another job.

I just understood why Lewis didn’t want to be the next person responsible for deciding which purchases were apparently “understood.”

I paid the pastry invoice, the exact amount. He handed me the receipt.

“Keep that.”

“Believe me, I keep everything now.”

A month later, we hired someone new. His name was Ben.

On his third morning, he walked into the kitchen while I was checking the coffee delivery. He looked at the carafes, then at the café menu taped to the refrigerator.

“Can we add individual drinks?”

Valerie was standing behind him. She looked at me. I looked at her. She turned around immediately because she was already smiling.

Ben looked confused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said. “You can order whatever you want from Lewis.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

He pointed at the menu.

“So I can add a vanilla latte?”

“Absolutely.”

He smiled.

“Nice.”

Then I said, “Just use your own card.”

Valerie made it out of the kitchen before she started laughing. Ben looked at me like I’d said something weird.

I poured coffee from the carafe.

“It’s a long story.”

And that’s basically the coffee policy now: two carafes, oat milk, regular milk, pastries on Fridays. Anything else? You can have whatever you want. You just have to pay for it.