“My response remains the same as when you asked me out the last two times you were here. No, thanks.” Not in this lifetime, or the next, or the one after that.
“I’ll show you a good time.” His eyes drop to his crotch. “We’ll redefine why New York is the city that never sleeps… if you know what I mean.”
I’d rather plunge both hands in the deep fryer in the kitchen.I shake my head.
“You’re breaking my heart.”
Time to put an end to this idiocy. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check up on my other tables.”
I ready myself to turn around, but a hand grabs my wrist.
I lower my eyes to the hairy fingers before lifting my gaze to shoot daggers at the man who thinks he has the right to touch me. “Let. Go.”
“Dude, let it go,” suit number three says.
Suit number one nods. “What he said.”
“I can’t, guys.” Mr. Asswipe places his other hand over his heart and flutters his eyelashes at me. “I’m in love.”
And I’m about to barf.“Let go, or I’ll get my manager.”
A devilish glee flickers in his hazel-brown eyes. “Your boss and I are real good friends…” The implication hangs in the air.
I yank my wrist away from his iron grip. The momentum sends me stumbling backwards and into someone.
“Crap,” the person says.
I glance over my shoulder in time to witness a coworker holding a tray weighed down with plates of food lose her balance. A loud clang booms in the dining area as a clutter of dishes hit the floor before tomato sauce splashes everywhere.
My gaze drops to my uniform.
My white shirt resembles a poor man’s Jackson Pollock painting.
A woman lets out a piercing scream that makes my blood run cold.
Patrons gasp.
I turn around.
My eyes meet horrified blue ones and my mouth drops open.
The woman’s white suit is covered in spaghetti bolognese.
Fuck my life.
Chapter 2
A Twisted Obsession
Kazimir
Awaiter carrying a tray lined with cocktails weaves with a colleague carrying a tray of martini glasses decorated with skewers punctured by green olives. In doing so, the men engage in a masterful dance that’s no doubt been performed many times already today.
I lean into the table. “The only reason I’m sitting here is because Grazie Mille’s owner is related to one of Max Keller’s cousins. The guy is doing much better after his heart attack, but his doctor forbids him to travel to New York. Max asked me to step in.”
“I see.” My best friend nods. “You flew in overnight from Brazil with Max on his jet. You didn’t want to give it a day? The nearly-thirteen-hour flight must be killing you.”
“Even if I was flying back from outer space, nothing would prevent me from being here today.” I lower my voice. “According to the owner, the manager—who he suspects of foul play—won’t be working tomorrow’s lunch hour. I didn’t want to miss him. I want to check him out before I take him down.”
