9. Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Lucy
The next few days dragged by while I waited for Friday to arrive.
I tried to keep myself busy, even though the footage continued to reel constantly through my brain.
I knew I needed to call my parents. They’d be leaving for their trip soon, and I’m sure they thought it was weird I hadn’t reached out to them in a few days other than a couple of texts.
I was too afraid if I heard their voices, I’d break down and tell them everything that happened.
I couldn’t do that, though. Not only would it worry them, but Tara’s story wasn’t mine to share.
I’d also barely talked to her since she left, and she still had no idea about the bizarre arrangement I’d made with Dax.
I didn’t know what she would think of it, and frankly, neither did I.
He never offered to help me, didn’t even ask if I wanted his help.
Instead, he took charge and made my vendetta his own.
I supposed I was doing the same thing for Tara—but it made sense for me.
I was there with her that night, and she was my best friend.
If the roles were reversed, I genuinely believed she would do the same for me.
Dax was a different story. Sure, it was his restaurant, but what did he personally have to gain by pursuing this with me? I would have happily taken the footage and handed it over to Tara the moment she was ready to go to the police—if ever.
She made it so clear to me she didn’t want to do that, yet I went back to that restaurant anyway. Terrifying as it was, he was giving me a way to take them down without her needing to come forward. A way to make them pay. It was a non-offer I couldn’t resist.
Then, there was the job thing. Why the hell did I ask him for that?
Spending my summer in the dish-pit at Bellissima wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for a job, but for some reason it felt like it was where I needed to be.
I didn’t know why he relented when I cried, but there was something so intense in the way he dried my tears I hadn’t stopped thinking about since.
Thursday morning, I decided I needed to occupy my time with something before my thoughts imploded my physical body.
I ventured to my favorite coffee shop a few blocks away from the apartment, paying for an overpriced Americano with quarters from my change jar.
I appreciated it when the barista didn’t blink twice as I handed her the coins and sat in the small lounge area on a worn leather couch to scour SFUD’s internship board online.
One in particular caught my attention.
Echelon Developments is seeking architectural design student intern for Fall and Spring semester.
Opportunity to transfer into a paid, permanent position post-graduation.
We are a vertically integrated architect-led development firm, with a portfolio spanning the United States.
We are looking for a skilled student intern for our San Francisco office to assist with drafting, development, and design. Please apply no later than June 18th.
I glanced at the corner of the screen on my laptop.
Shit.
That was today. I hastily pulled up my email and typed an introductory message about myself, attaching my resume and a link to my small online portfolio. I knew there was a slim chance I’d get the internship, but I hoped I’d at least have a shot at securing an interview.
I hit send and snapped my laptop shut. I knew I should’ve applied for more, but my focus was waning. My first official shift at Bellissima was tomorrow night, and while I was much better prepared for it than the last time, I was still on edge.
As I finished my Americano, a prickly chill crept up my neck.
It was happening again. A peculiar sense I was being watched.
My eyes shot around the warm café, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
It wasn’t exceptionally busy, but my eyes trailed out the window and across the street.
There stood a man. Tall build. Light brown hair.
Built muscles that reminded me of someone else I met recently.
His face was turned directly at the café—toward me.
He must have caught me staring because he abruptly turned and started walking down the street.
What the hell?
I couldn’t decide if I was being paranoid, or if that guy had definitely been watching me through the window. Either way, it made me uneasy. I sank into the couch and decided to stay at the café a little longer.
Nervous energy flickered through my system as I walked through the doors of Bellissima. The chances of Chad and Gabe showing up here again were slim, but I knew I wasn’t exactly welcomed here by everyone.
However, that anxiety eased when I saw Ricky setting up the bar. I made my way toward him, and he let out a little squeal of delight when I did.
“Our mysterious mademoiselle has returned,” he sang out with the tune of the music playing lightly in the background.
He floated around the bar with his arms waving out at his sides like I was a long-lost friend. I humored him with a hug that should have felt awkward but was oddly comfortable as he embraced me.
“Ricky, would you mind helping her get set up and show her where she can find family meal?” A deep voice floated.
Ricky pulled back and I looked up to see Dax standing with an indecipherable look on his face.
“The king has spoken, darling. Let’s get you all situated.” He took my hand and guided me across the restaurant, toward the doors to the kitchen. As I passed Dax, I offered him a small smile and a nod of thanks, trying to ignore the things his intense gaze did to my insides.
His lip quirked up suddenly when his eyes dropped to my feet.
Yes, I was wearing the Crocs. Not to rub it in his face that I stole them, I’d give them back—eventually.
I figured that at least they were waterproof, and I didn’t want to ruin any more of my own shoes in that kitchen.
There was no way I’d admit they were starting to grow on me.
Ricky showed me where I could go on my break and told me the restaurant provided dinner for the staff every night.
“Yeah, he takes care of everyone here. We all get healthcare, paid holidays and bonuses. Most restaurants aren’t like that.”
It was interesting to hear someone else talk about Dax. He was clearly admired by all his employees, and it made me look at him in a different light. Like there was more than the gruff, handsome man I’d interacted with, aside from the fact he so willingly joined my vendetta against Chad and Gabe.
Ricky helped me set up the dish station, even though I had a pretty good understanding of it already.
He made sure to mention the drain switch, which I appreciated even though that was something I definitely didn’t forget about.
I started to wash the pots and pans that had been used to prepare food and lost myself in the flow with a newfound mastery.
This time at least I was provided with a brand-new pair of rubber gloves, which made the experience much less frustrating. I heard the sounds of the kitchen rise around me, but I kept my focus entirely on my own task. Washing, rinsing, repeating.
I didn’t see Dax for a few hours, and when the cook I recognized from the other night told me it was time to take my break, I simply nodded and followed him.
By the time I came back to the dish-pit, I noticed Dax was busy firing instructions to his kitchen staff as tickets started shooting rapidly from the printer.
I tried not to look at him, but he was stationed right across from the small galley where I stood over the sink.
I tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear and focused my attention back to scrubbing a pan that was particularly caked with something sticky.
I bit my lip in concentration, using a bundle of steel wool to scour its surface before sliding it into the dishwasher.
When I glanced up, I noticed Dax looking my way.
Traitorous blood rushed to my face and I glanced back down.
God, what was it about that man? That intense stare of his spun my heart in somersaults, which I tried my best to ignore. It was easier said than done.
“Chef,” I heard the sous-chef shout across the kitchen. “You’re burning those scallops.”
I watched Dax’s head swivel to the sous-chef next to him. "They're pan-seared,” he growled, flipping the scallops over. “See? Perfectly golden.”
He laughed and said something I couldn’t hear. Not that I was eavesdropping or anything.
Dax’s lips pressed tight before he flipped him off and told him to mind his own station.
I realized I should probably have been doing the same thing and continued my work.
I couldn’t tell if it was hours or minutes that passed by, but I nearly jumped when I saw a head of dark hair and red lipstick standing at the entrance to the dish-pit.
Bianca was carrying a tray of dirty plates and dumped them into the bus tubs with a splash that was clearly intentional. I waited for her to leave, avoiding eye contact as I pulled down the door to the dishwasher to start another round. When I noticed she was still standing there, I finally turned.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked her. I had to give it to her, Bianca was beautiful. It made me hate her even more. People as ugly as her on the inside deserved to be just as hideous on the outside.
“I’m just shocked he let you back here after what happened last time.” Bianca raised a manicured brow at me, her voice kept low so nobody else could hear. Her eyes shot to Dax and then to me again. “I guess he must be desperate.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, placing my hand on my hip.
I was getting pretty sick of this bitch’s attitude, and it was none of her fucking business why Dax decided to hire me.
Even if it was out of pity. If she wanted to keep playing dirty, she was about to find out just how much of a backbone I really had.