“Oh good, you’re here.”
“And working. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Torre, wait a minute.”
“Nope. You see how busy Mike is? I’m helping him, which doesn’t mean standing around listening to some bullshit story from you.”
Frisco paled, then reddened. “Can I get a table?”
It gave me unholy satisfaction to answer him, “We’re booked.” He peered over my shoulder, but I didn’t lie. I arched a brow. “Sorry.”
He raised his own. “Not sorry? Okay. I’ll take a seat at the bar, then. Can I get a plate of pasta there?”
“Why are you here?”
He unzipped his sleek leather jacket. Everything about him reeked of elegance and quality, and I had to assume he enjoyed slumming it with the regular people, especially someone like me, who’d made it easy for him.
“I don’t know,” he replied, and that might’ve been the first honest thing he’d said to me since we met. He waited, and despite my annoyance and initial reluctance to give him another chance, I caved.
“Take a seat, and I’ll see what the kitchen can make for you.”
With a brilliant smile, he swung his long body onto a barstool and ordered a Negroni. I shook the stars out of my head—which had me ending up going home with Frisco and having him fuck me all night long—and rubbed my hands over my face.
“Fuck it,” I muttered and pushed my way into the kitchen. “Jasper,” I yelled to one of the cooks. “Make me a plate of fettuccini, please.”
“Okay.”
While waiting, I put together a quickie lemon, white wine, and broccoli sauce. I’d just lowered the flame when I heard Jasper cry out.
“Damn it. Oh, shit.”
I spun around to see him grabbing his hand, a bright-red rivulet of blood streaming down his arm. “What the hell happened?”
Mike was already by his side with a towel and ice. “Shit!”
“I’m sorry, Mike. The knife slipped while I was chopping up more onions.”
“Don’t apologize.” He took a closer look. “Looks deep. You’re gonna need stitches. We gotta get you to the hospital. C’mon. I’ll go with you. Torre, can you cover the kitchen for us?” He pulled out his phone and called for a car.
“Sure, but who’s gonna wait the tables? Val went home an hour ago.”
“Mike, don’t worry,” Jasper protested and stood, then turned pale and swayed. “I don’t feel so good.” Mike slipped his arm around Jasper’s waist to hold him up, and any reservations about my ability to handle the situation vanished.
“He’s going to faint. Get him out of here and to the hospital now.” I pushed them out the door. “I’ll figure it out.”
With a sinking heart, I watched Mike help Jasper to the waiting car, leaving me with one waiter, a busboy and, more importantly, one line cook. And me.
Shit.
I faced the crowd and took a deep breath. If I had to crawl on my knees, I wouldn’t fail Mike. Not when this was his time to shine.
“What’s wrong?” That deeply sensual voice sent a shiver through me.
Not tonight, Satan.
I stiffened and drew away. “Nothing.”
Skepticism filled Frisco’s eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
