10. Booth
CHAPTER TEN
booth
I’m a pretty good judge of character.
I can tell when someone is ingenuine or manipulative.
Then again, I get along with most people.
Not to blow my own trumpet but I make friends easily, and most people like my low-maintenance, no-shits-to-give attitude.
Not Alessandra .
She has also proven that I’m a terrible judge of character and a moron.
I’m frozen in my seat, scouring my brain for any warning signs and come up empty handed.
The intense expression she wears never breaks.
Not a single crack in her stony mask.
I blink slowly, hoping to make sense of everything, then a torrent of emotions hits me with each second that passes.
Confusion . Disbelief .
Denial .
And finally.
Anger.
Florence will never let us live this down when she finds out our mysterious benefactor is, in fact, a woman.
I’m never going to live this down because I’ve been flirting shamelessly with her, desperate for a morsel of attention, when behind closed doors, she’s been making my life a living hell.
She never once led me to believe I stood a chance.
But did I listen? No .
Fuck my I -love-a-challenge nonsense.
I hate them now.
Especially when they come in the form of a silver-eyed she-devil.
“You.” It’s not a question.
More of a claim.
“Me,” she replies casually.
“B-but, you’ve been here for weeks. How did no one know?” I’ve reverted to a state of confusion as I wrack my brain for any clues about her true identity.
Nothing. Then I remember the flare in her eyes when I introduced myself at the fair, the way they widened a fraction.
“That doesn’t matter. I’m here now. I’ve got a very good memory, and I do not recall signing off on any menu changes. I could handle the obvious attitude via the emails Larry forwarded, but?—”
“ My attitude?” Interrupting her isn’t smart.
My mood bounces around the office like a ping-pong ball.
Scratch that, a bowling ball.
That’s about to smash me in the face as my anger resurfaces.
“You’re forgetting I’m your employer.”
“I don’t even know you.” My tone is gritty, as if I’ve swallowed a mouthful of dirt.
“ How can you expect us to take you seriously when we have zero clue who you are or what your intentions are?”
“You say us, but I’ve had no issues with Patrick , Johanna , Graham , Claire , or George .” She pins me with an accusatory look as she ticks each name off on her fingers.
“ Only you.”
My dentist is going to lose her mind when I rock up with half my teeth shattered from clenching my jaw so hard.
“ Are you even surprised? We’ve been waiting around for months, anticipating the arrival of some corporate scumbag who probably hasn’t stepped foot in a kitchen a day in his life.”
“So you were expecting a man?” She motions down her torso.
“ Sorry to disappoint you. I’m very much a woman.”
Yes, you fucking are.
One that I’ve been chasing for weeks and now despise myself for.
The reality of what’s happening slowly sets in.
One dreaded drop of truth at a time.
This is who owns my family’s restaurant.
She’s loathed me from day one.
My balls will not be intact by the end of this conversation.
I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut.
I’d been skeptical the moment we all unanimously agreed to hand over the keys.
I understood we needed the help, otherwise risk Our Place disappearing, but my agreement was given with a hell of a lot of cynicism.
The crack of my knuckles echoes between us as I grip the arms of the chair.
“ I wasn’t expecting anything. That much has been clear since you took over. Why now? After months of throwing orders at us behind closed doors, why show up now? What’s your end goal?”
If I wasn’t staring at her so intensely, I’d miss it.
Her severe exterior cracks.
A hairline fracture she covers quickly.
She straightens, her body language unreadable again.
Of all the eight billion people in the world, the owner had to be a raven-haired siren whose thick mane of curls I’ve been looking out for on every street corner.
“As an ex- employee, my end goal is no longer any of your concern. It’s obvious I can’t trust you—past or present. How do I know you haven’t undermined me at every turn? I wasn’t made aware of the restaurant working the Fall Fair . You changed bread suppliers without consulting with me. You didn’t consult with me about the new menu. You just did it. ”
Shit, Quinn .
Graham will kill me if this screwed with her business.
Panic seeps into my veins.
“ Fine . Fine . Fire me. But leave the bakery out of it. Quinn has worked her ass off and she’s relying on us as a customer.”
Her silence is unnerving, but when she speaks, I miss it.
“ I didn’t flat out reject changing suppliers— I simply asked we understand Ms . Jackson’s business strategy before confirming anything. Had you asked about switching up the menu, I would have backed the changes and told you my favorite dish is tuna tartare. The same for the Fall Fair . I don’t say no because I can, but you didn’t respect my position or my rationale. The restaurant has only just made it out of the red—spending money thoughtlessly would be irresponsible.” She barely takes a breath, and I can’t seem to catch mine.
“ What else have you done behind my back?”
The door flies open, and I spin to find a concerned-looking Patrick and Johanna in the doorway.
“Hmm,” Alessandra hums. “ I was curious how long you were going to eavesdrop on us. May as well join the meeting.”
Meeting my brother’s stare, I shrug.
“ She says ‘meeting,’ but she means ‘dismissal.’”
“Not happening.” Patrick steps up behind me, with Jo on his heels.
“ You don’t get to waltz in here and fire our staff. You may hold some power, but I draw the line there. You want to make those types of changes, that’s a discussion you can have with my mother and George .”
Patrick is a good guy; reliable, caring—but he will not see the people he cares about being stomped over.
The seconds tick by as we wait for Alessandra to rise to the challenge.
The only sound is the nervous tapping of Jo’s foot and the blood pumping in my ears.
With an intimidating calmness, she nods.
“ Eight a.m. Tomorrow . Here . We can discuss”—her gaze drags to mine—“disciplinary action then.”
“I knew this was a bad idea.” Johanna gnaws at a hangnail nervously.
“ This is all my fault. I should have talked you out of it. You’re too pretty to make smart decisions.”
Quinn floats over with a tray of drinks, joining my brothers, Johanna , and me.
We’re all squished around a table in Just Brew It , overflowing with anticipation over how the meeting between our parents and Alessandra is going.
And my fate.
“YoYo,” I mutter, using the childhood nickname Patrick coined for her.
“ There’s never talking me out of anything. You should know that by now.”
“I still can’t believe the owner has been living right above the bakery all this time.” Quinn glances warily at the ceiling.
“ Am I supposed to hate her? What if she comes in for a coffee?”
Graham takes the tray from her hands, passing everyone their hot beverage and ushering Quinn to sit down.
“ Act normal. The last thing we need is her having more reason to be angry with us. Booth has done a stellar enough job as it is.”
“You liked the new dishes!” I protest.
“I’m not talking about the menu,” Graham grumbles.
“ I’m talking about you chasing her down like your next conquest. Now she not only thinks you’re insolent but an insolent sleazeball.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. She brought as much fight to our face-offs as me.” I don’t mention that day in the office.
Or how the air between us was one spark away from combusting .
He sighs, and Quinn rubs his shoulder.
“ Shit . Sorry . I know. I just hate that none of us are there. Within five minutes of making herself known, she was trying to kick you to the curb.”
Graham is great for advice; a rational brain to bounce ideas off.
Both my brother’s opinions hold a lot of value to me, and as I turn to Patrick , who stews silently in his thoughts, my anxiety increases tenfold.
I appreciated him standing up for me yesterday.
But the longer he remains quiet, the more I suspect he’s pissed off at my antics.
The last thing I want to do is let people down.
“Shit.” I wince, thinking back to how freaked out Florence was over my little stunt.
“ Has anyone told Flo about the meeting?”
“Nah, she’s out of town until tomorrow. Why ?” Patrick questions.
“She got upset thinking the menu change would stir trouble and was worried about us losing the restaurant.” My head falls into my hands.
“ I’ve completely screwed this up. I’m sorry.”
Someone slaps the bill of my cap, and when I tug it up, Graham is staring me down.
“ Enough of that. We all knew about it. Therefore , if she wants to fire you, she can fire us all.”
Before I can respond, a chilly gust of wind blows through the bakery.
It’s not the below-freezing temperature from outside sending a chill down my spine.
It’s the pair of gray eyes drilling holes into my skull.
“I think I have a girl crush,” Quinn whispers as she watches Alessandra saunter into the bakery before shutting the door closed behind her.
In a pair of black pants, a black blouse, and shiny black heels; she’s dressed for a funeral.
Mine .
We’re all speechless.
I’d expected my mom and George to show up.
Not her.
She takes us all in.
The odd thing about her is that she doesn’t look down her nose at us, just studies us closely, a sprinkling of curiosity there.
“I appreciate you all hanging back while the meeting took place. Claire and George are at the restaurant if you want to head over.” Her interlocked hands rest in front of her as she stands there motionless.
After a beat, a stampede breaks out as we all rush to throw on our coats.
My arm is halfway through my parka when she speaks.
“Booth. A minute.”
We all freeze, sharing glances to gauge the situation.
Quinn , who was clearing our cups, swaps the tray for her coat and follows everyone else toward the door.
She presses the keys to the bakery into my hand.
“I always liked you. I’ll miss you.” She’s 100 percent serious.
Graham hooks an arm around her shoulders, leading her out into the street with Patrick and Jo .
They all peer at me sympathetically through the frosted window.
Once we’re alone, me with my hands stuffed into the pockets of my jeans and her still standing stoically, the trepidation deep in my gut builds and builds.
After what feels like an eternity, I blurt, “ What did the jury say? Are you washing your hands of me?”
“Let’s sit.” She waves toward the abandoned table, and with gritted teeth, I lower into a seat.
“ Your mother and George put up quite the testimony on your behalf. It wasn’t lost on me that they practically insinuated everyone would leave if I did indeed fire you.”
There’s no hiding my reaction.
My shoulders collapse with relief.
“ You’re not firing me?”
“Yet,” she warns.
I inhale deeply, holding it while I wait for the ultimatum.
“Christmas is days away and it would be foolish of me to get rid of you now. This isn’t how I planned my introduction to everyone. You might not know or like me, but I am in charge, Booth .” She holds up a dainty finger.
I notice it isn’t tinged with paint like the first time we met.
“ One chance. That’s it.”
My breath sticks in my throat.
If I let it out now, I’ll spew all the ire I’m holding in.
“You’re talented. Apparently , people enjoyed the additions to the menu, so they can stay. I won’t have you break the contract with Quinn either.”
I exhale loudly.
Fuck my job if it means Quinn suffered.
“Thank you,” I say curtly.
“Don’t pull anything like that again.” She pauses.
“ Your loyalty to your friends and family hasn’t gone unnoticed, so at least I respect one thing about you.”
“Now that you’ve stamped your authority and made yourself known, I guess you’ll be on your merry way?”
Shut up, Booth .
She narrows her eyes.
“ Au contraire , pretty boy.”
I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve interacted, and despite my better judgment, there aren’t enough hands in this town to count the number of occasions I’ve wanted to see her smile.
The lift of her lips isn’t what I imagined.
This isn’t a warm, happy, or amused smile.
It’s filled with promise.
“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” She rises, steely gaze dancing with dangerous amusement.
“ After what you said yesterday, I plan on making up for all the months I didn’t show my face .”
The promise in her smile is an oath to make my life a living hell.
Challenge accepted, Silver .