13. Valentina
— ? —
Valentina
The whispers start the next day.
I notice them in the break room first. Two servers go quiet when I walk in, then exchange a look I’m not supposed to see. In the kitchen, someone mutters “Bailey’s charity case” just loud enough for me to hear before turning innocent.
By my third shift, it’s everywhere.
“Did you hear? She’s dating the boss.”
“I heard she was married before. Some rich guy who dumped her for someone better.”
“He’ll probably get bored in a month or two.”
“Can you blame him? Look at her.”
I pretend not to hear. I smile at customers. I take orders. I bring food. I am professional and pleasant and I want to scream until my throat bleeds.
Marianna finds me in the storage room, pretending to count napkins.
“It’s Sophia,” she says. “She’s the one spreading it.”
“I figured.”
“She’s telling everyone you’re sleeping with him for money. That you’re his new charity project. That he’ll get bored in a month.”
I close my eyes. Breathe.
“Val, you should tell him. He would fire her in a second.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to be the woman who runs to the boss every time someone is mean to her. That’s exactly what she wants. Proof that I can’t handle myself.”
Marianna looks unconvinced. But she doesn’t push.
The final straw comes that afternoon.
I’m carrying a tray of water glasses to table 6 when Sophia appears beside me. She’s smiling. The kind of smile that makes my skin crawl.
“Busy today,” she says sweetly. “Let me help.”
Before I can respond, she bumps my elbow. The tray tilts. Three glasses crash to the floor in a spectacular explosion of water and glass.
The entire restaurant turns to look.
“Oh no,” Sophia says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Valentina, you should be more careful. Wouldn’t want the boss to think you’re not up to the job.”
Something snaps.
Not the crying kind of snap. Not the screaming kind. Something colder. Quieter. The same thing that kept me standing when Sebastian told me he loved another woman.
“Sophia,” I say, my voice perfectly level. “Can I speak to you in the back office? Now.”
Her smile falters. “I’m in the middle of my shift.”
“Now.”
I don’t wait for her answer. I walk toward the back, and after a moment, I hear her heels clicking behind me.
The office is small. Windowless. I close the door and turn to face her.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say. “The whispers. The comments. The convenient accidents. I know it’s you.”
Sophia crosses her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let me be very clear.” I step closer. “I don’t care if you’re jealous.
I don’t care if you think I stole something that was never yours.
But if you ever speak about my personal life again, if you ever spread another rumor or make another snide comment or accidentally spill another drink near me, you’ll be explaining it to unemployment.
Not because Eric fires you. Because I will make sure everyone in this industry knows exactly what kind of person you are. ”
Sophia’s face goes pale.
“He’s not going to choose you,” she hisses. “You’re just entertainment. A broken toy he’s playing with until he gets bored.”
“Maybe. But that’s between him and me. Not you.” I open the door. “Get back to work.”
She leaves. I stand there for a moment, hands shaking, heart pounding.
Then I go back to the floor and finish my shift like nothing happened.
Eric finds me in the parking lot after close.
“I heard what you did,” he says.
“News travels fast.”
“In my restaurant? Always.” He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t read. “You could have come to me.”
“I handled it.”
“I know. That’s what’s impressive.” He pushes off the car. Steps closer. “I wish I would’ve been there. Destroying someone without raising your voice would’ve been very hot.”
My breath catches.
He’s too close. Close enough that I can smell his cologne. Close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
“That’s not an appropriate thing to say to your employee,” I manage.
“You’re not just my employee.”
“I’m not your anything.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
I don’t know who moves first.
One second I’m standing there, trembling with adrenaline and something darker. The next I’m pushing him against the car and kissing him like I’m trying to punish us both.
Eric makes a low sound against my mouth and answers instantly.
One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my waist hard enough to bruise, dragging me flush against him.
His mouth opens under mine, hot and sure, and he tastes like whiskey and want and every stupid rule I’ve been clinging to.
I bite his lower lip. He groans and kisses me deeper, tongue sliding against mine, and I stop thinking entirely.
I climb into his lap without permission, without thinking about it.
Straddle him right there against the hood in the empty lot, knees bracketing his hips, skirt shoved up my thighs.
The second I sink down I feel him, thick and hard beneath the expensive wool, and the sound that leaves me is humiliating.
I roll my hips once.
Twice.
He curses against my mouth, hands sliding under my shirt, palms rough and hot on the bare skin of my back. His fingers trace the line of my spine like he’s mapping it, slow, deliberate, until they reach the clasp of my bra and pause - just rest there, a question and a threat at the same time.
I rock against him again and his hips kick up to meet me. The friction is filthy and perfect. My fingers are in his hair, yanking. His mouth drops to my jaw, my throat, teeth scraping the place that makes my vision white.
“Valentina-” My name sounds wrecked in his mouth.
His thumb strokes the underside of my breast through the thin fabric, so close to where I need him that I whimper. The clasp of my bra flicks open under his fingers. Cool air. Then the heat of his palm sliding around, cupping me bare, thumb brushing once over my nipple-
I freeze.
What am I doing?
The parking lot rushes back in. The cameras. The rules. The fact that I am still legally married and currently grinding on my boss like I’ve lost my mind.
I scramble off him so fast I almost fall. Stand there breathing like I’ve run miles, lips swollen, shirt twisted, bra hanging loose under it. My thighs are shaking. I can still feel the shape of him between them.
“Rules,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
Eric is still against the car, chest heaving, eyes black, mouth wet from mine. His hands stay raised for a second like he doesn’t trust them. His pants do nothing to hide how hard he is. He looks ruined. He looks like he wants to drag me back and finish what I started.
“Fuck the rules,” he says.
“Not yet.”
I don’t give him time to answer. I get in my car, hands trembling so badly I almost drop the keys. The engine turns over. I pull out of the lot without looking at him.
I don’t check the rearview.
I already know what I’d see.
And I already know how badly I want to turn around, crawl back into his lap, and let him break every single rule I made while his hand is still warm from my skin.
I drive the whole way to the motel with my bra still unclasped and his taste in my mouth, thighs pressed tight around nothing, hating how empty I feel.