“Miss M,” I say in a low voice. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Her eyes go wide. “Damiano.”
A lady’s workplace isn’t the proper venue for asking her out on a date, but I don’t have many options. “Please. Give me your phone number.”
“I—”
“Madison, we need some help in here,” a woman calls out from the tent.
“Be right there,” she calls back, giving me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just?—”
“Please—your number, bella.”
She recites a string of digits and I dutifully copy them into my phone.
“Thank you.” I want to lift her hand in mine, to kiss it, but she’s clutching her tray like it’s a buoy and she’s adrift in the sea.
Her gaze goes past my shoulder and she pales. “I shouldn’t—I should go.”
In the time it takes me to look over my shoulder and see Seth glowering at us, she disappears into the tent.
Swearing under my breath, I go to confront my friend.
MADISON
I dodge the curious looks of my coworkers. None of them ask me questions outright. Of course they don’t. It would require interacting with me. Speaking to me.
I wish I knew what made them hate me from the start. I’ve wasted so much time thinking about it already, though, that I refuse to prod the question again. All I know is that my first few days on the job, nobody went out of their way to help me. Nobody went out of their way to befriend me. When I asked about plans after work, thinking I’d invite people out for drinks to bond, I was coldly informed that they already had plans.
Those “plans” were a standing arrangement for drinks at a local bar. All of them.
One year working here, and have I ever been invited? Nope.
It hurts, but I’m used to it. Maybe I thought the job would bring friendships, even casual friendships, but I was wrong. And that’s not the purpose of a job, anyway. I’m supposed to work. Get paid. Use the money for rent and food. Never have anything left over. Pray to the gods of capitalism that I don’t have an emergency or health scare.
We finish cleaning up, stacking dirty trays onto our carts to roll into the vans. I work side-by-side with Jaclyn. I can tell she’s dying of curiosity about Damiano, but she keeps her lips stubbornly pressed together.
Thanks to her, I haven’t had a day off in over a week, so fuck her curiosity.
Jaclyn and I grab the last two carts and exit the tent.
“Miss M.” Damiano appears, standing in the middle of the cobblestone path in his fine suit. “Madison. May I speak with you?”
Jaclyn shoots me a dirty look. She wants to get out of here. Glinda’s nephew, Raleigh, is throwing a party and everyone else is already on their way.
“I can’t talk right now.” I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he volunteers.
I widen my eyes at him, trying to signal that this is a very bad idea. Jaclyn is too nosy. I don’t want to give her or any of my other coworkers more reasons to dislike me, or gossip about me, or whatever the fuck is going on in their petty little heads.
“I understand.” He touches my shoulder lightly, but I feel a zing of pleasure all the way down to my toes. “I will call you later.”
Jaclyn clears her throat. She’s reached the van and she’s waiting for me to unlock it. If she scowled any harder, she’d hurt herself.
I give Damiano a little wave. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He leans forward and kisses my cheek, surprising me. And leaving no doubt in my head that he isn’t seeking friendship. He wants more of what we did last week.
