My Least Favorite Person (girlxgirl)

Chapter 1

I pushed down the street, taking long strides and stepping around people to push through the throngs faster. The lunch rush! What was Old Scratch thinking, sending me out on the lunch rush? I could barely even bend over with how crowded the streets were.

Still, I got there in record time, checking my phone. 1:12. I'd have plenty of time for my pitch before Clara showed up.

Well, before the cat shifters. Who knew which one of them they'd send. But when I thought about the cat shifters sending a representative, all I could think of was that smug, self-righteous bastard Clara. I could see her strutting in already, that swagger like she owned the place, ready to screw up our negotiations. I wasn't about to let that happen.

I knocked on the door fast and hard, and for a place that wasn't open yet, the door opened pretty fast. The woman who answered it—the owner, I assumed—was younger than I'd expected, probably early twenties, dark skin and an Afro with a floral headband. She looked me over and I got in a word before she could.

"Hi, I'm Violet Fletcher, with Instinct Corporation. Are you the owner?"

All of a sudden she was all frowns and wary looks. "I am... yes. Margaret. Come in."

It looked cozy enough on the inside, a rustic Italian eatery. There was a huge brick oven, and honestly? That was really all it took to get me to like a restaurant. Two cooks worked in the kitchen, looking like they were just testing things out.

"I'd offer you a meal," Margaret said, "but you know, we're not open for business yet. I can get you a coffee, if you'd like, though."

"I'd love that."

She disappeared into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a little demitasse. Oh. This was real Italian style, and by "coffee" she meant a shot of espresso. Well, if it was real Italian style, I wouldn't mind.

We sat down at a table by the window, the shutters closed, and I breathed in the odd scent of cleaning chemicals and fresh dough mingling.

"I don't like any of you," Margaret said first thing after we sat down.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. "A bunch of predators all trying to stake their turf, using you as a battlefield—makes you feel like a spoil of war instead of the business owner you've put all the effort into becoming, right?"

That took her off-guard. I always liked to pre-empt them, meet them where they already were and lead them from there. She crossed her arms on the table, forming a barrier between her and me, and said nothing. I drank the espresso, first sipping the crema and tasting the body, and then downing the rest, savoring the way it weighted on my palate.

"It's good coffee," I said. "Thank you."

"I'd like to not get into an agreement with any of your conglomerates," she said. "I just want to operate for myself."

I nodded. "With no assistance from any of the conglomerates, keeping all your revenue for yourself, right?"

She still looked wary. I guess she'd gotten the good cop speech enough to be careful about it. "So if you're asking, I'm going to say no."

"Now, I understand how you feel, so that's why I've come up with a different kind of arrangement. One outside the usual structure."

She shook her head. "I'm not buying into your sales tricks."

I flashed another sympathetic smile. "I understand you must be tired of sales tricks. I can only imagine with all the contracts you have to sign to get a place like this up and running how many times people have tried pulling a fast one on you."