AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes!” I jumped up in the air, mustering some courage and offering my open palm for Rhyland to shake.
He stared at it dispassionately, not making a move. “No thanks, sweetheart. Touching you is not on my agenda. I like my limbs exactly where they are.”
Tucking my crusty cupcake hair behind my ear, I said, “I won’t let you down. I promise.”
“I won’t let you in.” Row marched toward Rhyland, fury rolling off him like vapor. “She isn’t hired.”
“I’m vetoing this one, Sir Frowns-A-Lot.” Rhyland clapped Row’s shoulder. “You need employees, and I need you off my back. Fair trade-off.”
“Row, can I speak to you alone, please?” I pretzeled my fingers together. I didn’t want this opportunity to go to waste. Plus, we’d been at each other’s throats ever since I had gotten here. If I was going to worm my way back into Dylan’s life, I needed to patch things up with him regardless of my potential employment.
“No,” he said, point-blank.
“Ambrose Rhett Casablancas, where are your manners?” Zeta shrieked.
“The trash?” Dylan guessed.
“Buried twenty feet under, next to radioactive waste?” Rhyland suggested.
“Maybe he left them in the womb before you pushed him out,” Dylan theorized, picking frosting from her split ends.
“What happened? You used to be fond of her.” Zeta wiped her forehead with her elbow, a smear of spaghetti sauce running across it. “Give the girl the time of your day.”
“Last time I gave her the time of my night, she ruined it.” He bared his teeth at me.
I turned crimson red thinking about the night he had taken my virginity. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” I asked hopefully.
“Stop saying bye and gone without leaving.” Row’s scowl deepened. “You’re giving me false hope here.”
“Please be reasonable.” My voice was low and steady. I was beyond qualified, and he needed the help. Couldn’t he look past his dislike for me?
“On the contrary, I’m very reasonable. I’m reasonably sure you and I are not going to get along as coworkers. Look, it’s a small town, and I will probably run into you, but by God, I’m not going to actively let you into my goddamn sphere.”
Sensing the urgency of the situation, I flung myself over to his corner of the room, pressing my hands together and bending my knees. My fingertips accidentally brushed his muscular forearm. A shock of electricity shot through my spine at our fleeting touch. “Row, plea—”
He pulled away fast, hissing as though my touch wounded him.
“Jesus Christ, get off me.” Get off him? I had barely touched him. A look of pure panic must’ve shown on my face because I flushed hot, and cold shivers ran through me at the same time. Worse still, I felt my eyes stinging with tears. You’re not going to cry, girl.
Not over a boy, and not over a job.
“Fuck.” His fingers caught the back of his hair, and he tugged roughly on the velvety strands. “You’re hired.” He pulled away from me like I was literal fire, rubbing at the spot where we’d touched like he wanted to clean himself. “Happy? You start tomorrow. Bring comfortable shoes and an entirely different personality. And don’t—I repeat, do not get anywhere near me. The kitchen is off-limits, you hear?”
“Ambrose.” Zeta put a hand to her heart. The overlapping chatter stopped, and everybody was staring at him as though witnessing something greatly tragic.
“You.” Row ignored her, turning to Rhyland. “Send her a contract and our menu to learn. If she fucks up once, she is gone. If she fucks up real bad, you pay out of pocket for whatever she breaks. Understand?”
Rhyland saluted him using only his middle finger.
“I won’t let you down.” I cleared my throat. But Row didn’t hear me, still laser-focused on Rhyland.
“If you come onto her, I will kill you. If you make me regret it, I will resuscitate you, then re-kill you. If she screws anything up, I’m killing both of you. I want her out of my sight, out of my mind, and out of my fucking way. Capiche?” Row continued.
Rhyland flipped him off with a smile, then curled his middle finger and gave him a thumbs-up. “Clumsy me. Yeah, got it.”
He turned to me now. “No verbal diarrhea, no offensive attire, and no arguing. Got it?”
“My attire is not offen—” I started protesting, before thinking better of it. “Right. Right. Sure thing, boss.”
