Page 74 of The Don’s Omega

“This isn’t about my self-esteem. I’m being realistic,” he snaps. “No one is going to hire me without a degree.”

“I’d hire you.”

He bugs his eyes. “What?”

“You heard me.” I hold his gaze.

He curls his lip. “Under the table?”

“No. I’d hire you legitimately.”

“Bullshit,” he grates out.

I laugh. “I’m serious, Elio. With all the on-the-job experience you have, I’ll bet you’d know exactly how to lay out a restaurant, so that the service doesn’t get fucked up because a bartender has to cross the room for ice during a dinner rush. You have practical, hands-on experience. You don’t learn that shit in school.”

“Nobody cares about that.”

“I care,” I rasp. “I value hands-on experience in my employees far more than people with no experience who have a degree.”

His eyes flicker. “Well, you’re a rarity.”

I ignore that pessimistic response. “You didn’t just work at Duffy’s, right? You must have worked at other places.”

“Yes. I… I worked at some really nice bars over the years. But Duffy’s was the only one that could give me fulltime. It was a dive and it was depressing to work there, but it was also a godsend in a way.”

“You did what you had to do to survive. That’s fine. But if you’ve worked at different types of bars that means you’ve experienced all different types of restaurant and bar designs and management. You have experience on what works well and what doesn’t.”

“Even if everything you’re saying is true, and I highly doubt it is, it doesn’t matter.” He exhales tiredly. “It’s too late for me to try anything new. I’m twenty-eight.”

“So?” I frown. “You’re acting like your life is over. You know, when your three years is up with me, you’ll be rich, Elio. You can be anything you want to be.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, Marcello.” He shakes his head.

“If you’d stop being hard-headed, you’d realize I’m right. In three years, you’ll be rich and able to do whatever you want. But you don’t even have to wait three years to do that. I could use your help right now.”

He scowls at me. “Doing what? Rearranging the furniture in your bedroom?”

I grit my teeth, holding onto my patience. “No, smartass, I mean consulting for me on a project I have going.”

He hesitates. “What kind of project?”

“There’s a waterfront development I’m working on,” I say. “Hotel, restaurants, event spaces. It’s not built yet, but the architects have already started sending over concepts. If you want to be involved, I could use your help.”

Elio stares at me as if I’ve suddenly begun speaking another language. “You want me to help you on a project for real?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.” I grimace. “I’m really good at a lot of things, but reading floorplans isn’t one of them. I looked at one of the restaurant layouts yesterday. It’s beautiful on paper, but something about the layout feels wrong.”

“Can’t you just tell whoever drew up the plans you want them changed?”

“Sure, but I don’t know what I want changed. You could probably look at them and tell me what it is I’m seeing that’s bothering me.” He doesn’t argue, which I take as a positive sign. “If I had you on my team, you could help me with stuff like that.”

He grimaces. “Marcello, there are far more qualified people than me out there.”

“Maybe, but I’d like to give you the opportunity. Not some stranger.”

He looks less angry and more curious now. “I don’t know…”

I feel him weakening, so I press on. “This isn’t just for you. It’s for me too. I need someone on my team who understands hospitality from the inside. Not someone who went to college and learned design theory. Not glossy magazine nonsense. Someone who knows what happens when the room is full, everyone is impatient, and one badly placed service station turns the entire evening into a war zone.”