She glares at me. “You gave them a discount. Remember?”
We don’t cater a lot of off-site events, but this wedding is for one of my brother Franco’s friends. I tried to cut him a good deal. I can see I cut deep into my profits in the process.
“Right,” I sigh. “Okay, so what are our options? I can’t hire six chefs, and unless I close Benito’s for the night…”
She tosses her pencil on the table dramatically. Thankfully, there are no customers close to us, but Jas is behind the bar and she’s staring at Mags with her mouth open.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“You want me to work a fucking miracle, Benny, but I can’t do this.” She looks up, and her cheeks are red, her eyes glassy like she’s near tears. “I know you don’t like letting anyone near your books, but I don’t know what we can afford or what we can’t. We need six people minimum to manage this wedding, or we need to close the restaurant. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
I stand up from the table, nearly tempted to grab the papers from her and throw them right in her face. But I’m the boss. It’s my name on the front of the restaurant. Instead, I point to the papers and jerk a thumb toward my office.
“My office,” I seethe. “Now.”
I turn and storm away, Mags close on my heels.
Once we’re in my office, I can’t help myself. I slam the door and start yelling. “What the fuck, Mags?”
She yells right back at me. “Fuck what, Benny?”
I take a moment, compose my thoughts, and stomp toward my desk. “Mags,” I say. “I don’t know what’s gotten under yourskin. But I’m not going to accept ‘It’s fine’ for an answer. What is wrong, and what can I do to get us back on track?”
Mags paces the far side of my office, looking stressed and angry. “I haven’t been happy here for a long time, Benny.”
This is news to me.
But I don’t interrupt. I listen.
“When you hired me, I was so proud to work here. So proud. Benito Bianchi, king of Italian cuisine, saw something in me.” The way she’s saying it, it does not sound like a compliment.
Though my blood is boiling, I stay silent.
“But no matter what I do, you never take me seriously. There’s no room to grow, Benny. You don’t grow. You don’t change.” She waves a hand around accusingly. “This place has the same shitty carpeting you had when you hired me. Six years, Benny. Do you know how many times the carpet should be changed in a business like this? With the traffic we get, we should be doing updates constantly. Improvements, repairs.”
Now that she’s started, she’s on a roll. “We have the same menu, the same vendors. The same servers.” She gestures angrily toward the door. “Do you realize Rita is like eight hundred years old? Half the time, she can’t hear the customers when they ask for a high chair or to be seated on the patio. And Sassy—”
I hold up a hand, trying hard as fuck to keep my hand from shaking. She has no right to talk about my staff, their age, or their performance. None. “Maggie, this is not about Sassy or Rita. I need to ask you to leave the team out of this. Just tell me aboutyou.”
She points at the grant application on the desk. “We need a new roof. You won’t let me help with the books. You don’t take any of my ideas seriously, so I don’t even know why I’m here.”
I draw in a deep breath through my nose. This conversation is going to be real fucking hard to come back from. I’ve brokenup with a lot of women and have been dumped by many more. I can see the writing on the wall. So, I know I need to tread carefully. “So why are you still here, Mags.” It’s not a question, and I say it as calmly as I can.
Her lower lip trembles as she admits, “Because you’re the best. Everybody knows it. I can’t apply to work anywhere else because everyone in town is going to ask why the hell I would leave Benito’s. I’m stuck.” Her voice rises, but then she seems to realize she’s close to shouting and calms down. “I’m stuck here with you, and you don’t give two shits about the things that are important to me. You don’t give two shits about me. So, what? I’m supposed to rot here until I’m Rita’s age because there’s no place else to go?”
I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that this is not a lover’s quarrel. Mags and I have never so much as hugged a little too long. This is about work, and I need to keep my cool. No matter how my ego and my anger are firing at a rolling boil.
“Mags, I’m going to say a few things, and I’d like you to sit so I can say them to your face, not your back.” I motion to a chair in front of my desk. “But if you don’t want to sit, I’m not going to beg.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me, a sad, hurt frown on her face. But then, as if she realizes she’s backed me into a corner, she nods and drops into a chair. “Yeah,” she says, brushing the hair back from her face. “Okay. Go ahead.”
I choose my words very, very carefully. “Mags, you and I have worked together a long time. And I understand that you feel some attachment to this place. I rely on you like a business partner even though you’re not. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry if I created an expectation in you that you would have more authority over this place. I don’t know how we got here, but here’s where we’re going.”
I meet her eyes, my stare cold but kind. At least, I hope it is. “Hear me on this, because I’m not fucking around. This is my business. My place. Everything from the shit carpeting to the employees you may think you’re better than.”
She opens her mouth to interrupt me, but I hold up a hand. “Please,” I say firmly. “Let me finish. I’ll let you have your say, but I need to get this out.”
She swallows hard and leans back in the chair, arms still tight over her chest.
