“Oh, I remember you, all right.” His gaze is heated and makes me squirm in my seat. I suddenly remember that I bent over and basically exposed my entire almost-naked ass to him.
Desperate to change the mental image in both our heads, I say, “If it makes you feel any better, I got written up at work because of the ice cream incident. And my dad lectured me for an hour about being a representativeof his company.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s right. Kalani told me your dad owned Ottavio’s, so getting written up doesn’t mean much. You could’ve done a tap dance on the counter while cussing me out and you would’ve been fine.”
My dad made me wash the floor three times each night before closing my first month there because I didn’t do it to his standards, when the other workers barely even move the chairs out of the way. He makes me count, balance, and close the tills without using a calculator when everyone else gets to plug their numbers into the spreadsheet and be on their way. I’m always expected to pick up shifts when people call in even if I have other plans. He definitely doesn’t let me slack off because I’m his daughter, and he’s probably trying to teach me a bunch of lessons about working hard, but Jay’s right that I enjoy a certain level of privilege and protection with my dad as my employer.
“There might be a mutiny if I did that and still got to keep my job, but I see your point,” I tell him honestly. “That was my very first time doing something that got me written up.”
I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m serious,” I defend myself. “Apparently, I only risk getting in trouble at work when a jerk who threatened to throw me off a cliff comes into the bakery and purposely gets on my nerves.”
That earns me a cocky smirk. “I’m nothing but charming.”
He’s got as much charm as a pop quiz on a Monday morning.
“Do you have a job?” I ask.
“I’ve been at Delphine Chophouse for just over two years. Started as a busboy when I was fifteen years old and worked up to serving.”
That’s a really pricey steakhouse and one of the most popular restaurants in town. He must make really great tips from working there, but he also must deal with way more snobby people than I do at the bakery.
“Have you ever done something like what I did? Pour gravy on a rude customer? Knock a drink over in their lap?” For some reason, I’m genuinely curious about the answer. He threatened to throw me off aclifffor simply existing within his vicinity, so I think there’s a good chance he’d snap at an obnoxious table.
Jay raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m a Black teenager from the lower-middle class that got a job at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town. I can’t afford to risk my job like that.”
He’s right. I didn’t think about that when I asked the question or when I acted out at work. I sink a bit lower in my seat, feeling like an asshole and ready to apologize, then Jay says, “But therewasthis one time . . .”
I perk up, immensely interested. “Do tell.”
Jay’s lips curl up in the corners, like he’s trying to fight off being amused by my reaction. “Last year, I was training a new server, Imani. It was her first job, and she was young and shy and very grateful to get a server position—Delphine usually prefers their servers to be at least twenty-five years old, but we were short-staffed and needed good people.” Jay pauses, likely thinking about his trainee as he adjusts the menu lying on the table in front of him.
“I’m not sure what it is exactly, but something about her reminds me of my little sister; they even hold a pen in the same weird way and only wear that one aggressively bright shade of pink nail polish. Imani has a good head on her shoulders and is really sweet, and it turns out she grew up only a few blocks away from me. She wants to be a veterinarian and has a spreadsheet calculating how many shifts she needs to afford that amount of schooling.” A smile begins forming, but he drops it just as quickly.
“The first shift she had by herself was on a fully packed lunch, and our sections were on opposite sides of the restaurant. She was mainly responsible for a group of seven senior guys from your school, celebrating some asshole named Preston Whitmore’s birthday— and I only remember his name because I couldn’t make up a more pretentious one if I tried.” He adds the last part quickly, like he’s justifying why he bothered to remember the guy’s name.
I immediately recall the tall athlete who graduated last year. He’d walk in the middle of the packed hallway and expect people to jump out of his way, not caring if he hit them with all his lacrosse equipment. He and his friends were jerks, and I hated sharing a lunch period with them because they were so loud and obnoxious in the cafeteria.
“That guy is the worst,” I confirm, and Jay sends me a look that saysobviously.
“They were all being assholes to her. Dropping stuff on purpose to make her pick it up. Loudly complaining about dirty utensils that were perfectly clean. Purposely intimidating her and then laughing when she stuttered because she was nervous. Just general Oakwoods douchery.”
“It’s not anOakwoodsthing, it’s aPreston and his friends are assholesthing.” I can imagine exactly how Preston and those guys would sneer and laugh at the poor girl just trying to do her job. The whole lacrosse team is terrible. Preston’s teammate is the one who called Kalani fat in front of everyone at that ninth-grade orientation.
Jay clearly disagrees but continues his story instead of arguing with me. “I found Imani crying in the walk-in freezer, where she told me everything. I marched over to their table and barely even got a word out before they demanded the bill. Apparently, they had Leafs tickets for round two of playoffs and needed to leave to make it in time for puck drop.”
I lean forward in my seat before realizing what I’m doing and stop. I’mtotallynot drawn in by his storytelling or his deep, hypnotic voice. No, of course I’m not. I’m merely being a polite conversation partner. “What did you do?”
“I told them, ‘Of course, I’ll be right back with that,’ then made myself scarce for half an hour. When I brought the bill, Preston whipped out his card, and I took another twenty minutes to bring over the machine.”
I can imagine Preston and his friends hemming and hawing over being late to the hockey game. “I hope they missed the game, but at least you didn’t dump soup on their heads or something.”
Jay shakes his head. “No. But when I came back to run his card, I didn’t actually swipe it and loudly told him his card declined. Did it a few times, too. His face turned all red, and it didn’t help when his friends started in on him.”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. “He must have been so embarrassed.”
Jay smirks as he says, “He was. And maybe it wasn’t my proudest moment, but then I also very loudly told him if he was having trouble affording things I could get him a job, but he’d have to have an IQ higher than a squirrel to work there, so I didn’t think he’d qualify. Hereallydidn’t like that. And before things could escalate any further, my manager heard the commotion and came over. He properly ran the card, and the table of assholes were on their way, too late to cause more problems.”