Chapter 8
Me: Tara, please. I can’t pay this. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. Just come back.
“Come with me,” the server ordered. She moved behind me, herding me through the restaurant like a stray dog.
My heart pounded. Shame crawled up my spine. I’d just enjoyed the most delicious meal of my life–one I’d anticipated paying for with the little money I had left, and here I was treated like some kind of thief.
She led me down a hallway and told me to wait in a corner. I watched her disappear and then my brain went into overdrive assessing my options.
I considered making a run for it. If I started right then, I could’ve probably made it down the street before she realized I was gone…
I couldn’t do that, though. I wasn’t a thief.
I may have had a little debt, but so did plenty of other students.
My moral compass wouldn’t let me blatantly steal–even if most of that bill should never have been my responsibility.
The unmistakable sound of a door creaked.
Goddamnit, what was going to happen to me?
The server returned with a hand resting on her hip, her face twisted in a satisfied smirk. She stepped aside. And that’s when I noticed the figure approaching behind her.
Broad shoulders. Sharp cheekbones. Dark hair and muscular arms inked in tattoos that wound into the sleeves of a black chef’s coat.
It was his eyes, though, that sent an unexpected wave of heat through my nervously shaking body.
They were a dazzling gray-blue that pierced through the stiff air between us, scorching as they took me in.
He eyed me up and down frostily. It made me suddenly aware of how thin the material of my slip dress actually was.
“Bianca told me you don’t want to pay your tab.” His voice was low, gravelly, and free of any pretense.
Seriously?
I glanced at the pretty waitress, feeling the sudden urge to flip her off. Bianca needed to chill the fuck out as far as I was concerned.
“No.” I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts. It was hard to do when his eyes felt like they were searing through my skin, like he could see every breath I took.
His brow furrowed. “Was there an issue with your food or service tonight?”
“No,” I said again stupidly before rambling, “It was all great. I just…I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”
“So, the food was great,” he interrupted, “but you won’t pay for it? I didn’t realize I was running a goddamned soup kitchen here.”
My jaw dropped.
How dare this guy?
I steeled my jaw. “I came here with my friend. We got into an argument and now I’m stuck here. I’ll get you the money, don’t worry.” I was trying to sound amicable, but frustration burned in my throat.
He crossed his arms, scanning me from head to toe. I felt my cheeks blush deep–both from embarrassment and the stony intensity of his eyes.
“Do I seem like I’m worried?” he finally asked.
Great. Now I offended him.
“What the hell do you want me to do?” I scowled. If he didn’t want to be polite, then I wouldn’t be either.
He looked me up and down with a stare that could form glaciers. “Nothing. Get the hell out of here and don’t come back.”
Bianca looked like she’d been struck. “She needs to pay her damn tab!” Her voice popped as she looked directly toward me. “Unless you want to wash dishes tonight.” Sarcasm dripped off her tongue.
“Now that’s an idea,” he grumbled, already turning back around.
My jaw clenched. I hated washing dishes, but I’d forgotten that for the moment. I was already pissed off, and nothing made me angrier than someone insinuating I wasn’t capable.
“Done. I’ll do the dishes.” My mouth fired off before my brain had time to stop it.
He shifted backward, his eyebrow lifting. “You’re gonna wash dishes in those?” He pointed at my heels.
“Yes,” I snapped defensively. My ankle wobbled a little, but I straightened it out before I thought he noticed.
A dark chuckle escaped his lips. He turned to Bianca. “Well, that sounds entertaining.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Bianca scoffed. “The tab is worth hundreds. She’d have to work the dish-pit for a month to pay it off.”
God, I was starting to really hate this bitch.
“Like I said, I’ll get you the money. Just let me wash the dishes tonight to prove I’m good for it.” I tried to keep my voice steady and my head straight. I wouldn’t let either of them intimidate me. I’d been through enough tonight as it was.
“We’ve been short a dishwasher for weeks.” He eyed Bianca. “Unless you’d like to help?”
Bianca snorted and walked away, shooting me a final sideways glare.
The chef turned back to me, his wide shoulders making the hallway seem small and narrow. “What’s your name?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Lucy Conrad,” I managed to choke out. He was so fucking tall.
“Dax Ferraro.” He extended a large, tattooed hand toward mine, and I reached for it timidly. Warmth spiked through my veins as his hand shook mine. “If you can make it through the rest of the rush tonight in the dish-pit, then I’ll consider your debt paid.”
I blinked, dropping my hand from his. “Seriously?” I’d seen how much that bill cost. I didn’t like Bianca, but she wasn’t kidding when she said it would take a month to pay it off.
He extended his hand again. “Do we have a deal, Luce?”
I wasn’t sure why he said it like that. Loo-Chay. It didn’t matter. He was offering me an out and if he wanted to mock my name, who cared? I took his hand again, goosebumps climbing from my fingers to my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Yes, Chef,” he corrected with a smirk that made my heart beat fast in my chest, heat shooting straight to my center.
What the hell did I just get myself into?