“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” he said.

She sighed. “Fine, fine. It’s coffee. But organic free-trade coffee.”

“The bet,” he said, “was to give up all caffeine. You owe me ten bucks.”

“Fine. Add it to my tab,” she replied. To me she added, “God, I always lose. You’d think I’d learn to stop betting.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to this, so I looked over the necklaces for another moment before saying, “So . . . are you still hiring?”

“No,” she replied. “Sorry.”

I glanced at the sign. “But—”

“Okay, maybe I am,” she said. Behind her, the vitamin guy coughed loudly. She looked at him, then said reluctantly, “Yes. I’m hiring.”

“All right,” I said slowly.

“But the thing is,” she said, picking up a nearby feather duster and busily running it across a display of bracelets, “I hardly have any hours to offer. And what I can give you is erratic, because you’d have to work around my schedule, which varies wildly. Some times I might need you a lot, others hardly at all.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

She put the duster down, narrowing her eyes at me. “This is boring work,” she warned me. “Lots of sitting in one place while everyone passes you by. It’s like solitary confinement. ”

“It is not,” Vitamin Guy said. “For God’s sake.”

“I can handle it,” I told her as she shot him a look.

“It’s like I said, I’m a one-woman operation,” she added. “I just put up that sign. . . . I don’t know why I put it up. I mean, I’m doing okay on my own.”

There was pointed cough from the vitamin kiosk. She turned, looking at the guy there. “Do you need some water or something?”

“Nope,” he replied. “I’m fine.”

For a moment they just stared at each other, with me between them. Clearly, something was going on here, and my life was complicated enough. “You know, forget it,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

I stepped back from the kiosk, hoisting my bags farther up my wrist. Just as I began to walk away, though, I heard another cough, followed by the loudest sigh yet.

“You have retail experience?” she called out.

I turned back. “Counter work,” I said. “And I’ve cashiered.”

“What was your last job?”

“I delivered lost luggage for the airlines.”

She’d been about to fire off another question, but hearing this, she stopped, eyes widening. “Really.”

I nodded, and she looked at me for a moment longer, during which time I wondered if I actually wanted to work for someone who seemed so reluctant to hire me. Before I could begin to consider this, though, she said, “Look, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t delegate well. So this might not work out.”

“Okay,” I said.

Still, I could feel her wavering. Like something balanced on the edge, that could go either way.

“Jesus,” Vitamin Guy said finally. “Will you tell the girl yes already?”

“Fine,” she said, throwing up her hands like she’d lost another bet, a big one. “We’ll give it a try. But only a try.”

“Sounds good,” I told her. Vitamin Guy smiled at me.

She still looked wary, though, as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Harriet.”

“Ruby,” I said. And with that, I was hired.

Harriet was not lying. She was a total control freak, something that became more than clear over the next two hours, as she walked me through an in-depth orientation, followed by an intricate register tutorial. Only after I’d endured both of these things—as well as a pop quiz on what I’d learned— and had her shadow me while I waited on four separate customers did she finally decide to leave me alone while she went for another coffee.

“I’ll just be right here,” she said, pointing to the Jump Java outpost, which was less than five hundred feet away. “If you scream, I’ll hear you.”

“I won’t scream,” I assured her.

She hardly looked convinced, however, as she walked away, checking back on me twice before I stopped counting.

Once she was gone, I tried to both relax and remember everything I’d just been taught. I was busy dusting the displays when the vitamin guy walked over.

“So,” he said. “Ready to quit yet?”

“She is a little intense,” I agreed. “How do her other employees deal with it?”

“They don’t,” he said. “I mean, she doesn’t have any others. Or she hasn’t. You’re the first.”

This, I had to admit, explained a lot. “Really.”

He nodded, solemn. “She’s needed help forever, so this is a big step for her. Huge, in fact,” he said. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of small pill packs. “I’m Reggie, by the way. Want some free B-complexes?”

I eyed them, then shook my head. “Ruby. And um, no thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “Yo, Nate! How those shark-cartilage supplements treating you? Changed your life yet?”

I turned around. Sure enough, there was Nate, walking toward us, carrying a box in his hands. “Not yet,” he said, shifting to slapping hands with Reggie. “But I only just started them.”