She pulls a messenger bag over her shoulder, gives me a smile that could light up the entire borough, and heads out the door.
I sit there long after she leaves, staring at the lunch bag like it’s a live grenade.
10
Sophie
When Rocco finally slouches into the restaurant, I don’t need to check the clock to know he’s late. He swaggers in like he owns the place, plucks a meatball from my carefully arranged plate, and slaps my ass so hard I drop my knife.
A tiny ball of rage explodes in my brain.
“Rocco!” I slam my palm on the counter, rattling the metal pans of prepped vegetables. “Do not touch me like that. Ever.”
I feel rather than see his smirk as he pivots to stand behind me. When he drapes himself around me and reaches for another meatball, I trap his hand against the counter with the flat of my knife.
“You’re pissed I didn’t want to go to that party with you last night, right?” His breath is damp on my neck. “Aww, babe, come on. You know we’re not dating. Just fucking, remember?”
He nuzzles into my neck, and everything in me recoils. Last night, Vin stood behind me in this exact position but with the exact opposite effect.
I shrug him off and whirl to face him, knife still in hand. “You’re half right. We are not dating. But we are also not fucking anymore either, Rocco. We hooked up twice in the past, and the past is done. If you want to keep working here, show up on time, do not touch me, and do your job.”
Rocco leans theatrically through the pass-through window, scanning the empty dining room. “Because we’re so busy, right? If I’m not here to do my job, what happens? That one lonely bastard out there has to wait an extra three minutes for his lasagna?”
He laughs in my face, and I set my jaw. “Rocco. Go home.”
A sneer immediately replaces his grin. “What the fuck did you just say to me.”
It’s not a question. It’s a threat. I straighten up to my full height and point at the back doorway leading to the staff break room, but when I open my mouth to speak he grabs my jaw and pushes his face into mine. “Think carefully before you speak.”
I wrench free from his grip, tasting coppery blood. “You’re right about one thing. We don’t need you. Especially if you’re not going to work. Go. Home.”
He grabs my face again, squeezes harder, menace in every fiber of his body, then slaps me. Hard. I gasp and hold my cheek.
“You think you’re better than me because you own this pile of shit?” Venom drips from every syllable. “This shitty restaurant is circling the drain, and when it goes under, you’ll be out on the street. We’ll see who’s on top then.”
From the other side of the pass-through window, my waitress Lisa clears her throat nervously. I don’t turn until Rocco is out of the kitchen. He slams the door to the staff room, and I sigh.
“What is it, Lisa?”
“There’s a customer. He’s, um, he’s not happy with the menu. He’s demanding to talk to you.” Her voice trembles. She’s only 19, sweet and gorgeous, but she always gets nervous around Rocco for some reason.
“A customer?” I glance at the clock then turn toward her, keeping Rocco in my peripheral. We’re not even open yet, and the one party we have scheduled isn’t due for another hour. “Is it Mr. Cavallari?”
She shakes her head, glossy black hair swinging. “No. I’ve never seen him before. Oh and….” She ducks her head, looking up at me through her lashes. “That big party today? They just called to cancel. I’m sorry, Chef.”
I toss the half-rolled meatballs back into the tray with more force than necessary when a man’s voice cuts in.
“Why isn’t the pesto from last night on the menu?”
FRIG! I almost jump out of my skin. Vin’s standing at the pass-through, filling the window with his broad shoulders, eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
“What are you doing here?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Wow, nice customer service. No wonder this place is empty.”
I scrunch my nose at him, turning slightly away from him in case my cheek is as red as it feels from Rocco’s slap. “I’m busy, Vin. Do you need something?”
“I have a better question,” Rocco interjects, coming to stand beside me and glaring at Vin through the pass-through. “What the fuck is he talking about ‘last night’? You told me you were going to a party, not serving pesto to random men.”
