“What I need is to not get fired,” I said slowly. “Which gets significantly harder when he’s lurking around watching me work like I’m about to pocket the silverware.”
“He doesn’t think you’re stealing. He’s just protective. Of Lily. Of everything, really.”
“Protective is one word for it.” I took a sip of coffee and immediately regretted it. Way too strong. “Controlling and emotionally unavailable are a few others.”
“He’s been worse lately,” Gianna admitted, her usual brightness dimming a little. “Since his last trip. Mom says he barely eats, works until like three in the morning. She found him asleep at his desk twice last week.”
Something uncomfortable stirred in my chest. I pushed it away. Sympathy for Hector Valdez wasn’t on my agenda.
“Maybe running fourteen restaurants is finally catching up with him,” I said.
“Maybe.” Gianna shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just easier to work than to deal with everything else.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then, because I couldn’t handle heavy topics for too long, I straightened up. “Anyway, you need to stop scheduling me during his home hours. Seriously. Who needs enemies when I have you?”
Gianna grinned. “You love me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even remotely.”
She laughed, and I felt the tension from earlier finally start to ease. Then, because apparently I couldn’t leave well enough alone, I set my mug down and dropped my voice low.
“You want to know how it went in his office?” I squared my shoulders, making my face as blank as possible. “I don’t care about your commute, Ms. Tinsley.” I kept my expression completely flat, mimicking Hector’s perpetual lack of emotion. “I care about consistency. Lily needs consistency.”
Gianna started laughing, but then her face changed. Froze.
“What?” I said.
She wasn’t looking at me anymore. She was looking behind me.
Dread dropped into my stomach like a stone.
I turned around slowly.
Hector stood in the kitchen doorway, empty coffee mug in hand, face completely expressionless.
Every word I’d just said replayed in my head at maximum volume. The impression. The mocking tone. The absolutely unprofessional imitation of my employer who could end my career with a single sentence.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look directly at me. Just walked past like I was furniture, set his mug in the sink with that same deliberate precision, and walked out.
The second he disappeared, I whipped around to Gianna. “How much did he hear?”
Her face said everything. “All of it.”
“All of it?”
“Every single word.”
“Oh my god.” I pressed my hands over my face. “I’m so fired.”
“Maybe he thought it was funny?”
“Does that man look like he finds anything funny?”
“Okay, fair point.”
