Mr Garcia, page 1
Mr Garcia
T L Swan
Copyright © 2020 by T L Swan
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Gratitude
Mr Garcia
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Mr Masters Excerpt
Afterword
Also by T L Swan
Acknowledgments
There are no words meaningful enough to
thank my wonderful team.
I don’t write my books alone. I have an army.
The best army in the world.
Kellie, the most wonderful PA on Earth.
You are amazing. Thank you for all that you do for me.
Keeley, not only are you an amazing daughter, but you’re now a wonderful employee. Thank you for wanting to work alongside me. It means a lot.
To my wonderful beta readers: Vicki, Am, Rachel, Nicole, Lisa K, Lisa D, Nadia, and Charlotte. Thank you. You put up with a lot and never whine, even when I make you wait for the next chapter. How I got so lucky to have you come into my life, and to be able to call you my friends, I will never know.
To Rena, you came into my life like a breath of fresh air and somehow adopted me.
Thank you for believing in me. You’re the Ying to my Yang, or the Ting to my Tang.
Vic, you make me better, and your friendship is so valued.
Lindsey & Linda, thank you for everything you do for me.
It is so appreciated.
To my motivated mofos. I love you to bits.
You know who you are.
To Linda and my PR Team at Forward.
You have been with me since the beginning and
you will be with me until the end.
Thank you for everything.
To my home girls in the Swan Squad.
I feel like I can do anything with you girls in my corner. Thanks for making me laugh every single day.
This year I’m adding someone new to my list.
Amazon.
Thank you for providing me with an amazing platform to bring my books to life. I am my own boss. Without you, I wouldn’t have the job of my dreams.
Your belief and support of my work this last year has been nothing short of amazing.
And to my four reasons for living, my beautiful husband and three children.
Your love is my drug, my motivation and my calling.
Without you, I have nothing.
Everything I do is for you.
Gratitude
The quality of being thankful; readiness to show
appreciation for, and to return kindness.
I would like to dedicate this book to the alphabet.
For those twenty-six letters have changed my life.
Within those twenty-six letters,
I found myself
and live my dream.
Next time you say the alphabet
remember its power.
I do every day.
Mr Garcia
Disclaimer
Sebastian Garcia is not the “sweet kind of guy”.
If you are not into strong willed men, you will be by the end of this book.
Enjoy!
Xo
1
April
The whirl of the traffic spins past at a deafening speed.
People, like ants, conform as they rush along the congested sidewalk.
Morning rush hour in London is always hectic. A fast-paced mecca filled with the busiest of the busy people, and I’m no different, I’m rushing to get to my job at a coffee house.
I’m late, as usual, after studying into the early hours of this morning.
I really need to get a High Distinction on my test this afternoon. Getting a full scholarship for my law degree was amazing but living on the other side of the world from my family and friends now is not.
If I get enough HDs, I’m hoping to transfer back to the United States and study there. At least then I’ll have my family, and being a broke student won’t be so fucking lonely.
I stride up to a busy four-way intersection. It’s packed, and a lot of people are waiting for the lights to change to cross the street. I stand up against the row of shops, waiting, only to glance over and see a man on his knees, disheveled and shoeless. He sits on his knees holding a cup out, asking for spare change from those around him. I take out my purse, damn it, I don’t have any cash on me.
My heart constricts as everyone pretends not to see him, like he doesn’t exist or matter—a stain on society.
How did we become so numb to the homeless and poor? It’s just assumed he’s an addict. That’s how these people justify ignoring him. They think that if they react, then they will be feeding his addiction. They think you have to be cruel to be kind.
I don’t get it; I really don’t.
I exhale at the thought of our depressing reality. One filled with brand names and social media. Everything this poor man is not.
From the corner of my eye, I see a man stop in front of him.
He’s tall, wearing an expensive suit. He looks cultured and wealthy, with black hair and a handsome face.
He stands and looks down at the man.
Oh no, what’s he going to do? Is he going to kick him off the street for begging?
Is he going to call the police? Or worse…
He drops to one knee in front of the homeless man, and my heart constricts.
The lights change, but I’m too worried to walk across the street. I need to see what this guy is going to do. He’d better not drag him to his feet, or I’ll lose my shit.
He’s harmless. Leave him alone.
I get a vision of me kicking the handsome man in the balls in the beggar’s defense.
Stupid, rich twat.
The man in the suit says something, and the homeless man nods. I watch as he reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve his wallet, pulls out a fifty-pound note, and he hands it over.
What?
He asks the homeless man a question, and the beggar smiles up at him as though God himself has just bestowed a sacred gift. The homeless man puts his hand out to shake the handsome man’s hand, and he shakes it with no hesitation.
With a kind nod, the rich guy stands, completely oblivious to anyone around him, and he bids him goodbye before he turns and crosses the street.
I watch him walking away, and I smile to myself, my faith in the human race restored.
Wow, that was unexpected. I continue on my way with a spring in my step. I finally cross the street and make my journey via two streets before I walk two blocks, and I catch sight of the man in the suit up ahead again. I crane my neck to look ahead to see him, he disinfects his hands with a small bottle of hand sanitizer that he has pulled out from his pocket.
My heart swells. He waited until he was out of the homeless man’s sight to clean his hands.
Thoughtful, too.
I stop still and watch him, he’s handsome and possibly in his mid-thirties.
I wonder who his wife is, lucky bitch. I bet his kids are kind, too.
He disappears around the corner, and I turn and walk into my coffee shop, listening to the bell over the door ringing out.
Monica looks up from her place on the register. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I smile and walk past her, out the back to put my bag in a locker.
The café is packed with every seat occupied. Damn it, I was hoping for a slow morning. I need to save my energy for my exam this afternoon.
“Hey, chick,” Lance says as he carries a box of cups out the back door.
“I thought you were working tonight,” I frown.
“I got called in.” He sighs. “So not in the mood for this fucking shithole today.”
“Join the club.” I put my black and white apron on and tie it at the back before I walk to my place at the cash register. “I’ll take over.”
I bump Monica out
“Good,” she mumbles, “I’m dying of Bourbon-itis.”
“Bourbon is bad. That shit will kill you,” I whisper.
The next person in line steps forward.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Do you have goat’s milk?” the trendy-looking woman asks.
“Umm.” I glance behind me to ask Monica but she’s disappeared. I’ve never heard of goat’s milk before.
“I want a goat’s milk turmeric latte, thank you,” the customer says.
“Let me go check.” I quickly dart out the back to find someone to ask. Lance is cutting up boxes. “Do we serve goat’s milk turmeric lattes?”
Lance screws up his face. “Who the fuck would want to drink that shit?”
“This nut out there.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters dryly. “People are trying too hard to be trendy. Goat’s milk turmeric. Now I’ve heard it all.”
“So, that’s a no?”
“Hard no.” He smashes a box up. “This is a goat free milking zone.”
I giggle. Monica walks past us, out the back door and into the ally. “Going to the bathroom. I feel sick.”
“You okay?” I call, watching as she runs for the door.
“What’s wrong with her?” Lance asks.
“Hungover. Bourbon.”
Lance winces. “Nasty.”
“Cover the coffee machine for me, will you?” Monica says as the door bangs shut behind her.
I go back to the front of the shop to see I now have a huge line waiting. Great. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any goat’s milk turmeric.”
“Why not?” the customer asks.
“Because we don’t stock it. I’m sorry.” I fake a smile. “This is a goat milk free coffee house.”
“That’s not good enough. I want to see the manager.”
Oh, fuck off, bitch. I’m not in the mood for you today. There isn’t even a manager on duty.
“Now!” she demands.
I fake another smile. “I’ll just go get him.” I march out the back to Lance. “She wants to see the manager.”
“Who does?”
“The goat chick.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. Fucking goats! Get out there.” I march back out to the register. “He won’t be a moment.” I smile. “Can you please step aside so I can serve the next person?”
She glares at me and crosses her arms, she then steps to the side and waits.
“Can I help you?” I ask the next man.
“Hi.” He grins. Oh God…. not you. “It’s me, Michael.”
“Yes.” I cringe. “I remember. Hi, Michael. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the usual.” He winks.
I take his order and the bell rings over the door to tell me someone else has entered. “That will be four pounds ninety-five,” I say coldly.
I take Michael’s card and swipe it through the card machine. I can’t make casual conversation with Michael because he’s way too flirty.
“I want goat’s milk,” I hear the woman demanding.
“Well, we don’t have any,” Lance replies. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he isn’t in the mood for this crap today, either.
“I want you to put it on the menu immediately.”
I glance over to Lance. His face is murderous, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
“Look, lady, if you want goat’s milk, you’re going to have to go somewhere else. We are not into milking goats.”
“You’d rather milk a cow?”
“Or kick them out of my coffee shop,” Lance mutters dryly. “Either, or.”
Jeez… I drop my head to hide my smile.
“Did you just call me a cow?” the woman gasps.
Shit, buzz off, bitch. Enough with the dramatics. Just leave already.
“Can I help you?” I ask the next customer and look up at the queue.
Big brown eyes stare back at me, and I step back in surprise.
It’s him.
The guy from the street.
“Hi.” I smile bashfully and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
He’s wearing a perfectly fitted dark navy suit and a crisp white shirt. He looks like he may be European or something.
“Hello.” His voice is deep and husky.
I feel my cheeks blush and I smile nervously. “Hi.”
We stare at each other. Fuck me. This guy is completely gorgeous.
A trace of a smile crosses his face as if reading my mind.
I smile goofily over at him and hunch my shoulders.
He raises his brows. “Do you want to know my order?”
“Oh.” I pause. “I was waiting for you.” I lie. Fuck, I’m acting like a star struck teenager. Get it together, stupid. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have a double macchiato, please.”
I twist my lips to hide my smile. Even his coffee is hot.
“Would you like anything else?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrow. “Such as?”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
He smirks, realizing he has me completely flustered.
Oh, hell, act fucking cool, will you?
“A muffin?” I reply. “They’re delicious.”
“All right.” His eyes hold mine. “Why don’t you surprise me, April?”
I stare at him as my brain misfires. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your apron.”
I scrunch my eyes shut. “Oh… right.” Please, Mother Earth, swallow me whole. Way to bimbo it out. “Ah, excuse me. I’m not with it today,” I stammer.
“You look completely with it to me.” He gives me his first genuine smile, and I feel it to my toes.
It’s official: this man is delicious.
“And your name?” I ask, holding my pen to his cup.
“Sebastian.”
“Mr. Sebastian?”
“Mr. Garcia.”
Sebastian Garcia. Even his name is hot. “Would you like another coffee for your wife?”
“There’s no wife.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.” A smile crosses his face once more. He knows I’m fishing for information.
Our eyes are locked, and the air crackles between us.
The man behind him in the line sighs heavily. “I’m in a rush, you know.”
Oh, get lost. I’m trying to flirt here.
Dickhead.
Mr. Garcia steps to the side, and I bring my attention to the man behind him. “Can I help you?”
“I want a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, and you’d better make it quick,” he barks.
“Of course, sir.” Fuck, why is every asshole in London in my café today?
“Excuse me.” I hear from the side.
The man and I look up to see Mr. Garcia has taken a step toward us.
“What?” the asshole snaps.
“What did you just say?” Mr. Garcia raises an eyebrow, clearly annoyed.
The man shrivels, taken aback. “I’m in a rush.”
“No need to be rude.” Mr. Garcia’s eyes hold his. “Apologize.”
The man rolls his eyes.
“Now.”
“Sorry,” the man mumbles to me.
I press my lips together to hide my smile.
Mr. Garcia steps back to his place by the wall.
