IMPORTANT: I am perfectly aware that I have several J / K longs to continue and I will not abandon any of them, of course.

I simply put them on stand-by, at least until May, to dedicate myself to the BlossomByBlossom challenge and all the new ideas that it is bringing me, like this story, absolutely not foreseen.

The first and only AU story that I write about this fandom.

Disclaimer: I don't write for profit and I don't own anything or any of the characters, and if they hadn't prompted me for an AU coffee shop (along with other prompts from the 'Blossom By Blossom' Challenge, which I will mention later) this idea would never have come to me.

Chapter I: Against the rules

"So, has it been a good month? Can we finally breathe a little?" asks Jessica, sitting on the counter with her long, toned legs crossed, perfectly wrapped in a pair of ripped light blue jeans.

"Are you kidding me? If possible, it went even worse than the previous month. Customers are starting to run out and suppliers seem to have raised the price of each product for us, " informs Reva, the only one among her waitstaff who also handles accounting.

"Shit!" Jessica curses. She is the owner of Alias Cocktails, which she unwittingly inherited from her parents, who died in a car accident.

Unwittingly, because as much as she loved her mother and father – which made their loss very difficult to bear – she had never been interested in that business when they were alive.

Jessica had always been very inclined to study; before that tragedy, she was in the first year of a Sports Science degree, having always had a body very suitable for athletic activity. But then she had to face that bitter reality.

After figuring out that she could no longer afford the university tuition, she gave up her studies and dedicated herself to Alias Cocktails, learning the trade in a short time to provide for her and her brother Phillip, who is a few years younger than her.

Jessica then made a virtue of necessity to that profession towards which she had always been so hostile. She was incredibly passionate and devoted, studying to broaden her knowledge and creating highly respectable cocktails, so much so that in the space of ten years, she won that place the title of Best Pub in Manhattan.

This has also led her to drinking a lot, but Jessica doesn't think it's a real addiction, she knows it's something she can control.
She is fascinated by it, but she is not dominated by it.

And it is for this reason that no one is surprised if she is gulping down a few sips of whiskey, straight from her personal bottle, even though it is only ten in the morning.

After all, she has every reason for doing that, that record that Alias Cocktails has achieved in recent months is being put at risk.

"I have had a special deal with local suppliers for years and all of a sudden things change? Fuck, no, of course it can't be a coincidence! " the girl mumbles, taking another large gulp. "Pryce Cheng of Cheng Drinking, I'd stake my spleen that he's the fucking responsible of that, I can sense his evil little hand all over this!"

"You're right, Jess!"

Just at that moment Trish, Jessica's best friend, bursts into the pub.

They've met precisely at that university course that, just like Jessica, she too has abandoned, partly out of solidarity with her friend, partly due to the constant pressure of her mother , who insisted on telling her that the study would lead her to nothing and she had better pursue fame and success rather than waste time studying books.

In short, the exact opposite of what parents usually teach, but Dorothy has always been a very sui generis mother.

However, Trish works part time at Alias Cocktails in order to pay for acting courses; despite her true attitude it seems to be more and more journalism, shedding light on the truth, highlighting the injustices suffered by people.

Difficult to recognize her at the moment, as Trish, instead of her usual trendy clothes, wears a black onesie and a red wig that covers her natural blonde hair.

"I stalked that scoundrel, disguised, in case he recognized me when he saw me," She explains, taking her wig off. "Not only did he not see me, but I saw him, as I was perched on a branch, bribing one of our suppliers to ask us for a higher price. And if he did it with one, he must have done it with everyone. " she says, furious.

"Great job, Trish. If Hollywood people don't take you as the next Bond Girl, they don't understand shit! " is Jessica's way to compliment, putting the bottle away.

"Exaggerated!" chuckles the budding actress, before going to change.

"I hate dishonest people," snaps Robyn, another of the waitresses, "Do you want to compete with us? Fine, but at least be fair!"

The young woman's gaze is made even more glacial by those blue eyes so glassy as she rolls up one of her reddish locks with a thoughtful attitude.

"I could provide some of his hair or a shred from his clothes and make a Voodoo ritual," She plots in a very disturbing way.

"A Voodoo ritual would be more useful for our customers to settle their bills," Reva comments, observing the turnover, with both hands among the lush curls. "See what you get for giving them too much freedom, Jess?" lectures her.

"What the fuck was I supposed to know? I wanted everyone here to feel like a big family and no one in the family constantly pesters you for money. Besides, I liked the idea of them being asked to put on their account, which foreshadowed those customers would be back, "Jessica replies, perhaps a little too naively.

"You're right, they do come back, they just keep not paying us!" acts as a Jiminy Cricket Reva.

"Well, Jess, that damn Cheng may have bribed all the other suppliers, but Jeri, the strong drinks one, will never ask us for any price increases," informs Pam, the waitress who goes to complete her staff. "We... err, we have a very, very special deal." She struts, mindful of their last fiery meeting at the back of the pub, during the last delivery.

"That's good to know, but... shit, what I don't understand is... of course bribing suppliers means Cheng must pay them maybe even double, so this son of a bitch must be filthy rich," Jessica mulls, stepping off the counter to wander back and forth. "So why on earth would he be bent on making me fail?" She groans, snorting hard enough to lift the bangs of her silky, black hair, as dark as her current mood.

"Well it seems obvious to me. He doesn't want to be second, being second just sucks." Robyn replies. "I am a twin and even though I am the eldest in my family there seems to be only Ruben, but I love him so much too that I can't be angry with him."

But Jessica is not the type to be easily softened

"Well, if that bastard wants to try to be the first, he definitely chose the wrong town!" she reiterates boldly. "We can still give him a lot of trouble and ..."

"I am sorry to contradict you, Jess, but considering the increases in suppliers and all the customers you have given credit to ... at most we can still get by three or four months before we declare bankruptcy. " Reva bites her lip.

"Oh shit, is it really that bad?" the owner of that club frowns, but then comes back to fighting. "Then it will be four months in which we will fight like lionesses!" She perjures, motivating all the others, who incite her.

"And now that we are about to open the bar, let's try not to get credit from anyone," she mutters, while the waitresses prepare to welcome the customers at the tables.

In the lastest years Jessica has chosen not to limit Alias Cocktails to being just a night Pub, but she has changed menus and timetables to incorporate a more diurnal type of clientele into her target audience.

Jessica takes the opportunity to retire to her office.
Well , not really an office, mostly a very minimal closet, with a chair, a desk, a computer and, in case of an emergency, a bottle of whiskey that she keeps in the bottom drawer

- Shit, this is an emergency! - she mulls, opening the drawer. - I played strong and cool with the others, but the truth is that I am terrified at the thought of failing - she ponders, taking a few sips. - I need a miracle! -

******** ********************** (In the meantime)

"Simpson, I'm afraid I didn't understand correctly, repeat if you have the guts!"
Kevin growls on the phone, as the driver of his Land Rover whizzes through the streets of Manhattan.

"Quite the contrary, you heard me right, Thompson, " snarls Will, the booker of I.G.H. (Iconic. Glamor. Hot), the most popular modeling agency on the continent.

"Most of those models owe their fame to me and my fashion shows!" Kevin reiterates, pulling the fluffy coppery red tuft from his forehead.

He's so enraged that the large-rimmed red glasses slide over his nose.

Red, like the shirt that dresses him, of a translucent fabric, highlighted even more by the bright sunny yellow suit that he wears with the attitude of someone who knows he's just perfect.

"You're right, Kevin, you've done a lot for my agency," Will admits, but Kevin knows him too well and senses his mocking tone. "And that's why I can make an exception to the rule to help you and give you Hope. " he grants him, or rather, he pretends to pass it off as a favor.

"Do you mean Shlottman? Oh, please, I'd rather be a model in my own show, for sure I would have more charisma!" Kevin retorts, disgusted. "Latest news, the athlete model is not this big news you think. I just find her unsuitable, dull and rather boring, keep her as far from me as you can!" he hangs up, dissatisfied.

"It didn't go well, I guess," mutters Malcolm, his manager, sitting not far from him in the back seat.

"No, not at all, but no wonder, that damn Simpson always hated me ! " snorts Kevin, putting the phone in his pocket. "In a little over a month my collection will be released. I can turn a blind eye to the secondary models, but the top model, I can't settle for any mediocre one, I expect the best. I deserve it!"

"Nobody doubts about this," the manager nods. "For models with a less important role there are a thousand other agencies to turn to, for the rest, you'll see, you'll find a solution, maybe another model gets free from I.G.H . "

"I don't think so, but now I have other priorities. I need a drink to cheer me up."

Malcolm looks at him puzzled.

"At ten in the morning?"

"It's not a problem, if you know where to look," the stylist smiles slyly, before his gaze falls on a black sign in the distance, where there's the image of a stylized cocktail in a beautiful bright purple color

Purple has always been Kevin's favorite color, actually he made it a real trademark in most of his creations.

Probably that must be a sign.

The man presses the button to lower the glass that divides him from the driver.

" Justin, do you see that cocktail sign at the end of that intersection? We're headed there. " he orders, peremptorily.

"Right away, Sir." his chauffeur diligently pleases him.

Malcolm, Kevin and Luke, his bodyguard, get out of the parked car.

As soon as they cross the threshold of Alias Cocktails they are greeted by a smiling female staff

"Welcome, guys, take a seat, I'll be right down." an attractive blonde with sparkling aquamarine eyes walks up to them.

Malcolm doesn't know if he has dreamed it or not, but he has the feeling that she has winked at him.

The girl keeps her word and she's back to them to take their orders.

"So, what can I bring you?" She takes out her notebook.

"A coffee, the strongest you can make." Luke takes the floor first.

"Anything, if you bring it to me, is more than welcome," Malcolm flirts openly with her.

She barely hides a smile, before turning to the last man, which is rather showy not because he's the only white man at that table, but for his excessive and eccentric elegance.

"And what can I bring to you?"

"A Bourbon, the best you have." Kevin replies, phlegmatic.

"Uh, sorry, we only serve alcohol in the evening, until 6pm we are just a coffee bar." clarifies the waitress.

"It's not my problem. If I asked you for a Bourbon, I'll have a Bourbon, so try to make yourself useful." Kevin retorts, his tone made more glacial by the red lenses through which he looks at her, as he taps his fingers covered by showy rings on the table.

"Uh, I.. I'll be right back." She leaves desolate, a little taken aback.

"Kevin, come on!" his manager rolls his eyes. "I can understand that you are still pissed about the issue of the I.G.H., but that does not justify you from blaming those who have nothing to do with it!"

Saying it, he gets up, walking towards the unfortunate woman.

"Hey, don't mind at him. Usually my client is more friendly to people, but he's had a bad day," he informs her. "You know what stylists are like, don't you? When they want to be a drama queen! " He makes her smile.

"Actually, I know more about what directors are like, but I guess there aren't such substantial differences." she shrugs. "I'm Trish. Trish Walker. Maybe someday you will hear a lot about me." she holds out her hand and he shakes it happily.

"Malcolm. Malcolm Ducasse. " he smiles back. "For what it's worth, I already consider you a Hollywood star." He flatters her.

"Nice to meet you, Malcolm. Are you in fashion too, then? "

"Well, yes, in a certain sense, I am."

"Model?" she guesses, seeing the slender and athletic figure of that handsome AfroAmerican boy that his total black suite enhances.

"Uh! No, I'm just a manager, but ... thank you! " he gloats.

"Malcolm, look, I'm not paying you to woo the ladies!" Kevin croaks from the table.

"Today he is particularly intractable, I'd better go." He snorts, returning to the table.

Trish also returns to the other colleagues, exposing her problem.

"If there's one thing I can't stand, it's the bullies!" Robyn mutters, making her way to the indicated table.

"Hey, you, dude, I heard what you tried to do with my friend, but know that ..." she starts her rant really over-loaded, but the words die in her throat, as soon as she focuses on whoever is in front of her. "But ... you are Purple Man, I mean, Mr. Thompson!" She gets excited, completely changing his attitude.

Kevin smiles: he knows very well that this is a nickname that fans have affectionately given him for the considerable use he makes of the color purple in his clothing lines.
When purple cannot be the absolute protagonist, there is always a detail, even if it is an internal seam, to keep that rule honored.

"What is it that I should know?" he enjoys putting her in trouble.

"Uh, no, I mean... I mean... I need to know one thing: how do you prefer Bourbon? Smooth or on the rocks? " Robyn saves herself at the very last second, by giving up her own moral integrity.

"You shouldn't even have asked this question. Ice in Bourbon is a crime. " he informs her, dismayed.

Robyn slips away, without adding a word and Trish, who witnessed the scene, crosses her path.

"But how? Weren't you supposed to tell that cocky bastard off? " she reminds her in shock as they go behind the counter.

"And I would have done it with anyone else, but ... you don't understand, it's Kevin Thompson!"

Trish looks at her even more perplexed.

"Who?"

"What do you mean with 'who'? Kevin Thompson, the trendiest and most chic British stylist of the moment. With his latest clothing line, Persuasion, he has really outdone himself! " Robyn tries to share her enthusiasm, but with poor results.

Even Pam, although busy serving another table, witnessed the whole scene and as soon as she delivers the orders, she decides to take action.
She walks up the stairs to Jessica's office, where Jessica has locked herself in piles of bills and receipts, trying to make ends meet.

Pam takes a little courage and gets ready to knock.

"I'm not there for anyone!" Jessica barks, her head buried in the papers.

"I know, Jess, I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important." the waitress insists.

Jessica gets up to go and opens the door for her.

"How important?" She snorts, questioning the blonde with his eyes.

"They're serving alcohol to a customer, even though it's morning." Pam reports promptly.

"What the fuck? Are we kidding? It is unheard of. Alcohol in the early morning. Who does this person think he is ... me? " grumbles the owner and Pam does her best not to let out a giggle.

"I don't know, Jess, he's like a very famous stylist or something."

"I don't give a shit, he can also be the President of the United States himself, but in my pub there are specific rules." she replies, following Pam downstairs.

She doesn't even need Pam to point him out to her, that garish outfit makes it clear even from meters away.

Jessica rushes towards her target, who's busy enjoying his drink.
He's exhibiting it almost like a trophy.

"Listen to me, subspecies of Harlequin on acid!" Jessica begins, definitely catching his attention. "I don't know who you are nor am I interested in knowing, I just know that there is a distinction between coffee bar and pub, so if you want an alcoholic do me the favor of showing up during the hours we serve them, even if honestly I hope not to see you again in my pub. So enjoy your drink and the little battle you won, but then get your branded ass out of here! " she blurts out, before emphasizing the concept with a thirsty fist on the table.

Luke, for the role that belongs to him, immediately places himself in front of Kevin to protect him, but then realizes that the girl with such a heated temperament does not intend to resort to physical violence and returns to his place.

Kevin, for his part, does not seem worried in the least, nor does he fear for his physical safety.
He is just busy observing the young woman in front of him, enraptured, without missing a single detail of her body language, of the way her raven locks frame that perfect face, of the fire she has in those eyes so big and bewitching, where the hazel is invaded by an iridescent green.

"You are a vision!" He exclaims, giving her a little applause.

Jessica is doubly baffled.

"What the fuck?"

"Well yes, of course you are raw, there will be a lot of work to do ..." He mumbles, mostly to himself, giving her a quick overview of how she is dressed.

"Who the fuck did you just call raw, you, glittery asshole?"

Luke is ready to intervene again, but fortunately once more the violence is only verbal.

"Raw, indeed," reiterates Kevin, taking off his glasses to be able to scrutinize her better with his big eyes of an intense brown.

Jessica wasn't expecting such a deep look, she feels almost naked.

"Will you stop doing the x-ray thing?" She snorts feeling uncomfortable and she doesn't even know why.

"Your energy, your strong personality, your determination, as well as your almost perfect body: you are the top model I was looking for." the stylist draws up his verdict.

"But how many drinks did they bring you? Tell me, are you drunk? What the fuck are you babbling about? If it's a sneaky flattery because you're such a dirtbag you don't want to pay, I'll offer you the drink, but at least don't waste my time." She snaps, about to leave, but Kevin gets up quickly grabbing her by the wrist.

"No flattery, my darling, I couldn't be more serious than that. And of course I'll pay, even with big tips," he interrupts, to motion for Luke to go to the cashier. "To your waitress, for the speed of service, to you, for the entertainment." He comments, pushing the tip of his tongue against his teeth in the last part.

Jessica tugs to free herself from his grip.

"I don't fucking entertain anyone. Make sure you pay, then get out of here! " She counters, before hurrying up the stairs.

Kevin watches her from afar, even more amused.

TBC

Notes:

If you like it, votes and comments are the best way to show me...