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A free meal is a free meal.
I open the container, and taking the plastic fork from the bag, I shovel some spaghetti and meatballs into my mouth.
While I eat, my thoughts revolve around Mr. La Rosa as if it’s stuck on spin cycle.
Dario.
I like his name.
And the way the man fills a suit. Yum.
His tousled hair makes my fingers itch to find out if the strands are as thick as they look.
And his eyes. Boy, do those eyes possess a magnetic pull that’s hard to resist.
I wonder what his reaction would be if he found out I’m a janitor and not a professional ballerina.
The man is so far out of my league we might as well be from different solar systems.
That fact alone should be enough to deter me from ever crossing paths with him again. Never mind that he’s my boss and so high up the food chain, I’m not even privileged enough to eat his scraps.
I use the fork to break a meatball in half and shove a piece into my mouth.
Jaden put too much tomato paste in the sauce again. It’s the last time I’m taking the spaghetti and meatballs. The man, who’s the only cook at the diner, makes a mean cheese and bacon burger, though, but I can’t eat that every day.
Putting the rest of the food away, I drink some water straight from the faucet by the sink before pushing the cleaning cart into the hallway. I mop everywhere, then retrieve the floor polisher from the supply room.
I put my earbuds in and press play on my playlist before I switch the machine on. With the handle vibrating in my grip, my thoughts keep straying, and I find myself thinking way too much of Dario La Rosa.
I’m pretty sure he also feels attracted to me. At least, the version of me he’s seen dancing in the studio.
I let out a snort when I think about how quickly he’d lose interest if he had to see me now.
The thought isn’t upsetting, because I don’t waste time wishing for things I can’t have. I focus on my reality, and the fact that I’m able to pay my bills is all that matters.
I might be poor but things can always be worse.
Thinking of worse. I haven’t seen Mandy, my birthgiver, in a long while.
My eyebrow lifts for a moment, but I seriously couldn’t care less about the woman.
Movement catches my eye, and when I see Mr. La Rosa exiting one of the offices, I frantically glance around for a place to hide.
Not wanting to draw his attention, I duck my head low and hope to all that’s holy he doesn’t take notice of me.
He walks toward me, but the stars are on my side when he heads up a hallway toward the entrance of the building.
Thank God for small mercies.
Pushing the floor polisher forward, I peek up the other hallway and drink in the sight of Mr. La Rosa’s broad shoulders.
Forget about the man, Eden. It’s a waste of time.
After my shift at the diner, I open my front door and step inside my apartment. My eyes instantly lock on the busted windowpane that’s been jimmied open. A crowbar lies on the floor, and it has anger pouring through me like hot lava.
After a grueling day at work, this is the last thing I have energy for, and I know who the culprit is.
“Mandy,” I shout, and not seeing the pain in my ass in the living room or kitchen, I rush in the direction of my bedroom. “Mandy!” Not finding her there, I head to the bathroom, where I find the god-awful woman passed out on the floor with an empty bottle of cheap rum lying beside her.
