“How many times have I told you, Ella?” Nate drawls, leaning forward with a slow smile that makes Ella blush from head to toe. “Call me Nathaniel.”
“Out!” I point towards the kitchen door as Ella dives past me, her face scarlet. I hear a giggle, and my temper rises.
“If you’re not going to help with the lunch prep, thenget out,” I snap. “And stop distracting my staff!” I swing around with a glare, and the huddle of waitresses behind me breaks apart rapidly as they scatter across the kitchen.
Nate pouts, but he slides down from his seat.
“I can help!” he protests as I shepherd him towards the private elevator that connects the restaurant to our penthouse.
Rolling my eyes, I hit the button to call it down.
“You have a job today,” I remind him. “The Alexei Monroe shoot.”
His eyes widen. “Damn. That’s today?”
Thrusting the cup at me, he dives into the elevator, jabbing the button to take him up to our space. Rolling my eyes, I take the cup back with me into the kitchen, handing it to Ella.
“At least try and contain yourself,” I say wryly, and she giggles.
“I can’t help it,” she says with a sigh. “He’s just so…”
Yeah, I know. Good job my ego doesn’t need stroking, or I might feel a little deflated at the way my staff preen over Nate. But then, doesn’t everyone? His face is currently decorating a hundred foot tall billboard across the street, all smoldering eyes and messy bed head as he leans against a wooden bedpost in his underwear.
Waving Ella off, I point towards the rest of the trash, grinning at her dramatic wince.
“Consider it your penance,” I smirk, and she groans as she heads over, lifting up the bag with a wrinkled nose.
I’m head down over the schedule for the rest of the week when she reappears, eyes wide and face pale as she yanks my sleeve.
“What is it?” I ask sharply. Nate reappears in the doorway, his hands smoothing down the slightly crumpled white shirt as he glances between us. For once, Ella doesn’t even look in his direction.
“There’s agirl,” she says rapidly. “In the dumpster!”
I’m on my feet before she can finish, brushing past her as I dive for the back door. Nate’s smoky, charred scent is close behind me as I jump down the steps and lift the lid on the giant dumpster.
“Fucking hell,” I hiss, staring down. A small, undeniably female shape is curled up, dark hair spilling out across the filthy bags. “Nate, hold this.”
He’s already climbing in, boots squishing in the muck as he jumps down with a wet squelch and a grimace.
“She’s unconscious,” he says hoarsely, holding his fingers to her pulse. Bending down, he gently scoops her up, holding out his arms to me to take her.
She’s light as a damn feather in my arms, and my pulse races as I lay her down to the floor.
“Is she dead?” Ella whispers. I glance up, seeing the faces clustered by the door.
“Hud,” Nate murmurs. Her eyes are starting to flutter, small noises slipping out as she turns her head, pushing it into my hand.
“Everybody inside, now,” I announce. “Ron, get Ella a hot drink and make her sit down.”
My sous chef doesn’t argue, gently wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulders and leading her inside.
The girl stirs again, her dirty face moving from side to side as Nate and I wait.
“Should I call someone?” he asks in a low tone, and I shake my head as her eyes flutter open.
She blinks blearily, sooty eyelashes sweeping over huge deep blue irises as she focuses on me and Nate. A pure shot of full-blown omega terror hits us like a brick. My spine locks up as Nate lets out a growl of recognition.
“It’s you!”
