The man standing across from him…was a different story.
Everything about him was sharp, crisply cut. From his suit to his hair, to the rigid way he was clenching the muscles in his angular jaw. His hands were empty, and even though the maintenance guy looked like he could have easily just retired from a life of UFC, his fingers twitched like he was aching for a fight. Two silver rings, one on each hand. And a pair of fucking diamond-studded cufflinks—I kid you not. I bet he came from a wealthy background, had a large house, and even employed hired help.
I was guessing the town car was his.
“Look.”
I could have sworn I saw the man’s eye twitch beneath his heavily tinted sunglasses.
“I’m not trying to make waves, but I was already parked by the time you pulled up behind me. It’s not your spot!”
“Already parked?” A pair of work gloves was hurled to the ground. “Already parked, my ass! You swerved up out of nowhere and took my spot!”
Mr. Ralph Lauren just calmly smiled. “You can have the spot in five minutes. I’m just running in for a quick coffee.”
“Think I’m going to let you out, you stuck-up shallow prick?” he shouted. “I’ll block your car in. I’ll make you late for work. What are you going to do? Call a tow truck? I’ll fuck you up, asshole!”
An ongoing dispute over a parking space? Seriously? I needed to step in. A fight like this could go from 0-100, real quick.
The maintenance guy was on the verge of total system failure. As a health-care professional, I was worried the throbbing vein in the side of his neck might actually explode. Either that or he might just run up and take a bite out of rich boy’s face.
Both interesting possibilities, from a “my first fight” perspective. But both definitely implied me being late for work. The boring pacifist in me kicked into gear, and before they could launch into some serious sixth-grade name calling, I stepped in between.
“Hey, hey there! Calm down!”
Perhaps it was how ludicrously underwhelming my little bird-like frame must have looked, holding up two twiggy arms to either of their chests, but both men took one look at me and took a giant step back. A rush of satisfaction warmed my blood and it was all I could do not to smile. Or perhaps it was how fucking badass I was!
Keep it together, Bex. Here’s where you come off all cool and heroic.
I pulled off my sunglasses with the gravitas of a seasoned detective. “Now what seems to be the problem here?”
The rich man started to speak, but I turned deliberately to his opponent. The maintenance man—Barry, I saw his tag now—had turned the color of boiled shellfish.
“The problem is, this guy cut me off with his damn town car!” Barry said.
“Not me.” The man held up his hands and blew out a long breath. “My driver. Listen, I would love to chat about this more, but I’m late for a very important meeting.”
“Your driver?” Barry took another threatening step forward. “I swear, you rich son of a bitch. I have half a mind to—”
“Listen,” I cut him off soothingly. A bit of a crowd had begun to gather and I was suddenly worried that when the fun was over, they might start pouring into my coffee shop and I would never get to work on time.
Another maintenance worker stepped next to his buddy. “Nothing says, ‘I’m a prick’ like a town car and a sixty-dollar haircut.”
There was a muffled reaction next to me, but I ignored it.
“I hear you,” I said, trying to calm both of them before a riot broke out. “But let me tell you what, why don’t we get inside and I’ll buy Barry an espresso—just for keeping the peace?”
I threw in a wink for good measure and watched as Barry’s coloration returned to normal.
“Make it a double,” he muttered, but he marched obediently inside.
I defused a bomb! She shoots, she scores! First no dark circles, and now this? I’m on a roll today!
The crowd around me cheered. I took a small bow, and a man let out a long whistle. Was this what fame felt like?
“Way to go!” a woman shouted. “That was so sweet of you!”
“Paying it forward,” another man said.