“Brea, where can I find a good cup of coffee?” he asks, stepping up to her desk and feeling the same way he did when he first met her mother.“I�...�ll go get something for you,” she offers. “Anything in particular you like?”“No, Brea,” he says, holding up his hand to stop her. “I can get my own coffee unless you happen to be looking to make a trip.”“Well, I wasn’t going until my break,” she says.“Well, I’m sort of the boss, at least in this department,” he informs her. “I’m also your boss, so how. Why? What's wrong?" My mind was awhirl. What indeed? There was no way Chantelle could have forgotten to tell me. "She just hadn't mentioned it, that's all." "Chantelle plays her cards close to her chest, Sir. I wouldn't worry about it. And anyway, they're not exactly on speaking terms." I could hardly think straight. "I'm not sure if I understand." "Well, there's a bit of history there, Sir," she said, leaning up on her elbow. "They were lovers." "No way. So, the plot thickens," I said, sitting. More

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