The question was complicated, though it shouldn’t be. “Brandt is my manager, technically. I manage the kitchen and the floor staff, but I haven’t been able to help the servers like I need to for a long time.” I rubbed a palm down my face, sighing, and pinching at the hair along mychin. “That’s a big part of why you’re here. Brandt is… busy. So I’m stuck with a lot of what he would usually do, and the back-of-house stuff has been taking up most of my time.”
Crew scrunched his nose. “That sounds like a lot. Willow said she knows the owner.”
I made myself busy with computer work, finishing the documents. “Matt, yeah. He isn’t around all that often.” I was trying not to scare Crew too much this early on. Maybe I should just be honest, but what good would that do? With the tasks I planned to give him, he probably wouldn’t notice most of the chaos. “He’s also very busy.”
“Yeah, you all sound very busy.” Crew snorted.
I turned my computer off with a fake smile plastered on my face and popped some gum into my mouth. It’s the old, nostalgic shit that I used to get as a kid with the bright yellow paper and a taste that faded in five seconds flat. “Let’s hop to it. The cooks will be in soon to prep, so I’m going to show you how to look over the inventory real quick. Starting tomorrow, you should probably wear shoes with a better grip.”
Clipboard in hand, I led Crew through our fresh foods and spices. He seemed to do well with numbers or at least liked them enough to seem engaged. On our way to the walk-in, I noticed the stations slowly being filled with cooks.
Layla looked up from her cutting board, squinting at Crew. I threw her my best intimidating glare, taking pride in how quickly she looked back down. Callum, however, was never taught that staring was rude. He paused his work and flashed a huge, gleaming smile our way. “Who’s that?” He stupidly pointed with the tip of his knife, something he knew never to do.
“If you don’t wise up, he’ll be your replacement,” I quipped smoothly. Callum had always been fun to fuck around with, and he knew it was in good fun. Hopefully.
Per usual, he only smiled wider. “’Sup. I’m Callum. I’d shake your hand if I wasn’t covered in meat juice.”
Crew’s lips curled upwards. “Thanks for not doing that, I guess.”
I laughed a bit at his expense before straightening up. “Layla, Callum, this is Crew. He’s helping me out around the place. He won’t be serving or cooking, though I meant what I said. Fuck around enough, he just might suddenly be qualified enough to take your place.”
“I’m getting better, I promise,” Callum whined. He was one hell of a mess and got on every last one of my nerves. At least he was trying. I messed with him a lot. He was young, inexperienced, and one of the clumsiest people I had the pleasure of knowing. To me, he looked twelve. He struck some sort of brotherly nerve within me despite never having a brother of my own. Callum was barely twenty-one and had admitted time and time again that he didn’t know what he was doing in life. The passion he had for cooking reminded me much of myself, though his talent lacked greatly.
I was still mildly upset with Layla. She pressed her lips together, trying to pass it off as a smile before saying a quick hello.
The only saving grace she had from receiving another one of my glares was the door swinging open to the newest member of our team. “Tobias, right on time.”
Tobias paused in the doorway, his eyes wide as he looked around the room. Poor guy always looked slightly terrified. This time, he looked downright petrified as he looked at Crew. The color drained from his face, leaving a ghostly-white complexion. His glasses fell down his nose an inch, but he didn’t move to fix them. He stood there, his tall and lanky frame frozen in time.
“Uh, this is Crew.” I gestured between them vaguely. “I was just introducing him to the team. He’s not going to be working directly with you guys, but you’ll see him around pretty often.” Were his cheeks turning green? “Tobias is a master on the grill. But let’s keep going, shall we?”
Hoping our absence would somewhat diffuse the awkwardness, I brought Crew to the walk-in. I waited for the door to close before turning towards him, whispering, “Is he one of your clients or something?”
Crew shivered, most likely not used to the air. He looked to the side, scrunching his nose. “Wow, you really haven’t heard of me, have you?”
“I’ll pretend your disbelief isn’t an insult.”
His eyes rolled, a move he seemed to use often. “What am I supposed to think? I can’t be the only hooker you’ve picked up. At least ninety percent of the men I fuck know each other by association.”
“If you truly thought I was a part of that ninety percent, then why did you agree to the job?” Crew looked away again, a gorgeous red blushrising on his cheeks. The color reminded me of ripe strawberries, juicy and ready for picking. “And don’t say because of Willow. You could’ve told her I was a client and she never would’ve pushed you.”
There we go. His shoulders bunched together, and his chest puffed out slightly. “I haven’t agreed to shit yet but whatever. The point is, you don’t fit my reputation, and Tobias sure as hell doesn’t either.”
My clipboard clanked against a metal rack. The cold was slowly seeping into my bones, the chill on the metal piercing through my clothes. I tried to push it away, keep from shivering as I encouraged Crew to continue. “Oh? Do tell me, Mr. Hayes, what is your reputation?” I never acted like this around anyone else, and I knew that. If I did, it was fake. With Crew, it wasn’t fake. Not in the slightest, and that fucked me up more than I cared to admit.
His arms crossed over his chest, and he looked straight into my eyes. I watched him transform before me, much like I did for work every day. His posture and tone changed, an air of false confidence swimming around him. When I looked into his eyes, though, I could see him.
The real him. The act he put on was just that—an act created to hide and maybe protect himself. Crew could smart off and brag all he wanted, and just like I thought before, his eyes would expose him every time. Beneath the freezing ocean, there was a prison cell. A cage wrapped with locks.
A scared, kind man hid behind the bars Crew had built for himself. I was infatuated with the man in there. I wanted to be there with him, planning his escape.
Then he spoke. “I’m the slutty little twink who only messes with big, macho men with a penchant for slapping boys around. Fuck, I love me a DILF that’ll tear me in two.” It wasn’t him. Crew wasn’t speaking. It was the clients talking, repeating what he’d heard and what they forced him to believe. “The bigger the hands, the better. I don’t want it if you can’t leave a mark. I like ’em twice my age, a nice little mustache and reeking of cigarettes.”
He faltered. If only for a moment, getting lost in something I couldn’t see. A twitch began below his eye, the same side that had a scar in the eyebrow above it. His hands pulled into fists, clenching and shaking. He blinked, looking into my eyes once more.
Crew was lying.
Not just to me.
