Skye #3
"This," I say, then I hang up. I glare at the phone and stick my tongue out. I’m even angrier than I was before.
I put my phone into my handbag and hurry into the restaurant.
Of course, Fabricio is standing there, waiting for me.
His face looks pinched and thin, and I know he's about to let me have it.
"What time do you call this, Skye?" he says, staring at his watch and tapping it.
"I don't know." I shrug. "Why don't you tell me? You're the one looking at your watch right now."
His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. "Three strikes, Skye."
"Excuse me?"
"You're on strike two. One more strike, and you're out."
"What are you talking about? What three strikes?"
"You're late for work again."
"I'm sorry." I press my lips together. "I'm sorry that I'm late," I elaborate through gritted teeth. I hate having to tell this jerk that I'm sorry.
"That's fine," he says, tilting his head to the side and looking me up and down. He takes a step forward, his nostrils flaring. "I thought I told you to wear a skirt."
"That's not the dress code though. The dress code says I can wear a skirt or pants. I chose to wear pants."
He presses his lips together again. "I think you and I should go to the office."
"For what?"
"I think, if you want to keep your job, you're going to have to do a taste test."
"A taste test of what?" I play with my hair. "Am I going to be working in the kitchen?"
"You need to taste a little salami," he says with a straight face.
"What?"
He licks his lips slowly. "Well, to be more accurate, one big salami."
My heart racing as he looks me up and down. This cannot be happening. Is this the evening of my nightmares? "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Depends on what you think I'm saying." He flashes me his yellow teeth. Gross. "Do you want this job or not?"
I look around the not-so-busy restaurant, then I look back at him. I think about Kingston and his comments. I think about my mom. I think about my student loan debt. I even think about the kangaroos in Australia that I want to pet when I finally travel there.
But none of those things makes me give a shit about sucking up to this creep.
"You know what, Fabricio? Why don't you taste test your own sausage? Because trust me when I say I have absolutely no interest."
"Salami," he says, stepping forward, trying to grab my hand. "I want you to taste my salami."
"I don't care if you call it salami. I don't care if you call it sausage.
I don't care if you call it a fucking little bitty dick.
I want nothing to do with you or this restaurant.
I quit. You can't fire me ’cause I'm already done.
And by the way, I will be filing a letter of complaint with HR on Monday.
" I hold up my phone. "This was recording.
So, you're out." White lie, but I hope it scares him.
"Wait, what?" He looks panicked.
He tries to grab my phone, but instead, I knee him in the groin hard, and an intense feeling of pleasure fills me as he yells out in pain.
I hurry out of the restaurant before he can retaliate and run for about two minutes, just in case he's following me.
I stop next to a light pole and breathe heavily, doubling over to catch my breath.
"What the hell is going on?" I shout to the street, about to lose my shit. "Should I go back to Florida?" I ask the universe because maybe everything is going wrong because I'm not meant to be in New York City.
"Nah, bitch," an old man sitting on the ground, rifling through a trash bag, shouts back at me. "Florida's for the crazies." He cackles as he grabs a half-eaten piece of chicken and takes a bite. "Not for you and me." He looks me over and holds up the leg. "Wanna bite?"
"Uh, thanks," I say, turning my head side to side weakly.
"But no." I run away and I can feel tears trailing down my face as I laugh hysterically.
I'm unraveling, and I don't know what to do.
I'm twenty-five, and nothing in my life is going as planned.
I've most probably lost both of my jobs, my hot boss that I don't want felt he had to make it clear that he didn't want me, and my mom is probably complaining about me to my dad at this very moment.
I have over a hundred thousand dollars in student loan debt and no boyfriend. Not even a potential boyfriend.
Is this really my life?
I grab my phone again and text Elisabetta. I just quit my job. Meet me for a drink?
She responds immediately. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. You okay?
Not really. The last place I should be going to is a bar, and the last thing I should be doing is spending money, but I don't even care.
Right now, I need to get drunk. Right now, I need to forget my absolutely crazy evening.
But I will be after a drink or two. I'm going to invite my work friends as well.
For a brief moment, I think about calling Kingston again, but I'm not even sure why.
Maybe I just want to let him have it one last time.
Not that this is his fault.
In fact, I was pretty lucky that he hired me.
It isn't his fault that he is the most annoying man on earth.
I just have to make sure that I don't let him know that.
I don't want to lose another job.