Chapter Text
Maomao has been working at The Emperor’s New Brew for three weeks now, and she’s pretty sure she’s about to be fired.
This doesn’t shock her even a little bit. In fact, she’s kind of surprised that they’ve kept her on this long at all.
Her track record with working retail is’t exactly stellar. She’d waitressed for a week and a half before losing that job, and before that, she’d only lasted two days at Dairy Queen.
It’s not that Maomao isn’t a hard worker; on the contrary, when she dedicates herself to something, she sees it through as diligently as possible.
There are, however, two major problems.
The first is that she is simply not interested in working retail. It’s incredibly difficult for Maomao to focus on something that doesn’t enchant her wholeheartedly, and sweeping floors and serving customers unfortunately does not fall under that umbrella.
She’s well adjusted enough to pretend though, and even when she gets distracted, she’s actually managed to be pretty damn good at her job.
Then there’s the second problem, which is, unfortunately, the biggest one: the customers.
It isn’t that Maomao isn’t good with people.
Well.
Actually, let’s rephrase that as elegantly as possible:
It’s simply that Maomao isn’t good with people.
She’s quite capable of being polite in respectable company (when the situation requires it), but she doesn’t appreciate being treated badly for no good reason, and she doesn’t care to understand the nuances and fake niceties of customer service.
And so it is that, when the next customer arrives on her line, she fixes them with her coldest stare and says “What can I get you” in the most deadpan of voices.
What does she care? She knows her manager is already planning on firing her later today.
And anyway, this customer looks like a douchebag. He’s tall, with flowing purple hair and clean features that make him look fairly androgynous.
He’s also wearing a turtleneck. It’s the middle of fucking summer. What an asshole.
Undeterred by her less than welcoming greeting, he smiles at her, and she tries to resist the urge to glare back.
Another part of the job she dislikes is the looks the customers sometimes give her. She knows she isn’t attractive by any means, but she’s learned that men can be relentless when it comes to harassing female service workers, regardless of whether they’re actually pretty or not.
This man is very obviously trying to charm her.
Fuck that, actually.
She stares him down until he awkwardly clears his throat and looks away.
“I’d like an iced vanilla cappuccino please. But with far more milk than coffee.”
Maomao blinks at him.
“So you want a latte.”
“What?”
“A cappuccino is equal parts espresso and steamed milk. A latte is a little bit of coffee with a bunch of milk. You want a latte.”
For the first time in this interaction, the customer frowns.
“No,” he says, “I want a cappuccino. With extra milk.”
Maomao’s eye begins to twitch.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes I do!” The customer insists, pouting his lips.
The man is attractive, no doubt, and this look would probably have most people of any gender swooning over him. But Maomao has been immune to such things for a long time now, and so she just looks at him again.
For a moment, he seems surprised, like he really thought the pouting would work. He’s quick to change tactics though. “How about this,” he says, “You give me my cappuccino with extra milk, and I give you my number.”
He says this triumphantly, like he’s certain he’s finally gotten through to her. Maomao is sure he expects her to blush, but instead, she laughs. Loudly.
The customer looks completely and utterly flummoxed. Clearly he’s never gotten a response like this to a flirtation before.
“What….what’s so funny?” He asks, confusion lacing his every word.
“I’m sorry,” Maomao says, not sounding very sorry at all, “It’s just that you expect me to believe that you’d want to give me your number? Or that I’d even accept it??? You thought that would work?”
The customer now looks somewhere on the verge of terrified. It appears Maomao has shattered his entire world view.
“I….of course I would…why wouldn’t you accept it???”
Maomao rolls her eyes. “Because I don’t know you? Because this is where I work and you’re bothering me?”
“Is that any way to talk to a customer?”
Curiously, the man says this with a bit of a humorous undertone, instead of the usual indignation she might expect.
“Frankly,” Maomao says, “No. That’s not the correct way to talk to a customer. Unfortunately for you though, I’ve reached my limit on being polite today. It’s been a long shift.”
“How long?”
“About thirty five minutes.”
This time, it’s the customer’s turn to laugh. His face changes when he laughs openly; it’s much different from the fake smile he’d bestowed upon her before.
He leans casually on the counter, gazing at her with curious eyes. “You’re not very good at this job, are you Maomao?”
For a second, she wonders how he knows her name, before realizing that she’s wearing a name tag. Indignation rises up within her.
“I am extremely good at this job,” Maomao says. “I learned how to use the espresso machine within a day of being here. There is no drink I cannot make to absolute perfection.”
The man raises his eyebrows. “Except, apparently, a cappuccino with extra milk?”
Employment be damned, Maomao is going to punch this man. She’s going to punch him, and she’s not only going to get fired, but she also might go to jail.
Her father does not have enough money for bail. Shit.
While she’s thinking about this though, the man laughs again.
“I believe you’re good at drinks. But let’s be honest, you suck at customer interaction.”
He’s got her there. There’s nothing for her to do but shrug at that.
He drums his fingers on the counter. “Tell you what Maomao,” he says, “If you make me the drink I want, I’ll tip you two hundred percent.”
Maomao’s eyes gleam.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” the man says, flourishing a hand, “If you make me my extra milk cappuccino, I’ll tip you two. Hundred. Percent.”
Maomao eyes the man a little more closely. He seems well groomed, and she can tell the shirt he’s wearing is probably designer. He’s most likely serious when he says he can afford it, but…
Maomao retrieves a napkin and a pen and begins writing on it.
“What is this?”
“A contract,” she says, “It stipulates that, if I give you a drink with espresso and extra milk, you will tip me two hundred percent, no matter what.”
The man’s eyes are sparkling as he considers this deal.
“Fair,” he finally says, and signs the paper.
He watches her as she busies herself behind the counter, the idea of the extra money about to line her pockets making her unable to keep the smile off her face.
She doesn’t even mind that he’s effectively staring her down. She's used to customers standing over her like vultures, like if they don't watch her every move they’re never going to get their drink, or the world might explode, or something of equal import.
After what Maomao would consider to be an impressively short amount of time, she presents the drink to the beautiful customer with a flourish.
“Your vanilla cappuccino, sir,” she says, “ Extra milk. Just for you.”
The man raises an eyebrow and then reaches out a well manicured hand to take the cup. Maomao watches with anticipation, already planning what she’s going to buy for dinner with this extra money.
He raises the cup to his lips and then licks them in a frustratingly distracting way. But nothing can truly distract Maomao from the next few words to come out of his mouth.
“It’s perfect,” he says, and she outwardly smirks at him, arms crossed.
“I told you I was good at my job.”
“Yes,” he says, “I’m happy to see it. Anyway, compensation.”
He hands her an envelope, presumably full of her money, and she practically dances with glee.
She barely even hears the man as he throws “Tell Gaoshun Jinshi was here” over his shoulder before he leaves.
Another customer who claims to know her manager. Sure.
She’s about to open the envelope when the man himself walks through the door to the back.
“Who was that, Xiaomao?” Gaoshun asks. He’s a good man, and he’s been better to her here than she deserves.
She waves a hand dismissively. “Just some douchebag. Asked for a vanilla cappuccino with extra milk. I gave him a latte. Idiot.”
Gaoshun looks at her and sighs. “Was this man, by any chance, ridiculously pretty?”
“Huh? Oh, I guess,” Maomao says, “Why?”
It’s at this point that Gaoshun appears to notice the envelope in Maomao’s hands. “What’s that?”
“Uh…”
“Open it.”
Something about the way he talks to her makes her want to listen, so she grumbles and rips open the envelope, hoping he won’t make her share the extra few bucks.
A veritable flood of cash pours out. Without even counting, Maomao can tell this is at least one thousand dollars. What the fuck .
Gaoshun smacks a hand to his forehead.
“I suppose we aren’t firing you today then,” he says, and she can’t tell whether he sounds relieved or disappointed.
Maomao just looks at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What-”
“The man you served today,” Gaoshun says slowly, “Is named Jinshi. You must have treated him well, because he clearly deemed you worthy.”
Maomao thinks back to how awful she was to the man.
“Well, what does he have to do with-”
“Maomao,” Gaoshun says, “Jinshi is the son of the CEO.”
“The CEO of…”
“Of this coffee chain,” Gaoshun says.
“The..the one with dozens of stores across the country-”
“The very one,” Gaoshun says, “He was testing you. And, apparently..” He pinches the bridge of his nose like he can’t believe he’s about to say this, “You passed.”