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“That was not the reaction I was expecting,” Shannon said, laughing at my expression. “Are you that sick of me? I mean, I know you’ve changed more dirty diapers than most—”
“I’m going to miss you guys so much.” I rose from my stool, circling the counter to pull her into a hug. “But that sounds amazing, Shan. When do you leave?”
“Thursday morning.”
I understood the rush, but still—a week? “So soon?”
“I was waiting on Jack to meet his niece, but I can’t hold off any longer. I found Guillermo an executive chef position at a restaurant in Chelsea. He starts in a little over a week. And I’ve paid the nanny out through the year. She’s been so helpful.”
I tugged her into my arms once more. “I understand.”
God, I was going to miss her. She was the first real friend I’d made since moving to the city. She was my closest friend since Nate.
“Wait. What about your Aunt Faye?” I’d been so wrapped up in Jack’s darkening mood that I’d forgotten about Faye Walsh. Our little scuffle seemed like years ago.
Shannon waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “We got in a huge fight after I confronted her about sleeping with Jack when he was underage. She got on some cokehead’s jet and is off in Aruba or Bora Bora or who-the-fuck-knows.”
“You should’ve told me she left! I would’ve been here to help more.”
“Em, you’re here damn near every day. I need to learn to take care of Charlie on my own. I’ll have Roisin’s help in Ireland, but she has an entire farm to run. Besides, you have enough on your plate with Jack and the restaurant.”
Oh shit. The restaurant.
“What?” Shannon asked, noticing my alarm.
I swept my phone from the counter, shouting over my shoulder on my way toward the elevator. “I forgot to put the liquor order in.”
“Go, girl, go!” Shannon called. “God knows Wall Street will come crashing down if those stockbrokers are actually sober!”
* * * *
Roisin’s was buzzing. I would have my work cut out for me fixing the books over the next few days. People flooded in dressed to utter perfection—silk neckties fastened snug, Harry Winston diamonds twinkling with pride. The high class of Manhattan had emerged for the weekend.
Around eight, Anna entered the office, flustered. I’d mistakenly understaffed for the evening, and it was time to pay for that error. Good thing I keep a pair of heels under the desk.
I set to work, tending to the tables that were unmanned. After a few minutes of hustle, time began to blend. My brain was preoccupied, memorizing orders and alterations as I made my way to the kitchen to write them on a ticket for the expediter. I hammered the bartender for extra olives or if—God forbid—a drink was supposed to be on the rocks. Reprising my waitress role was as simple as slipping into an old pair of jeans.
A hostess named Claire approached me as I waited at the bar. “Uh…Emma?”
I moved an assortment of drinks onto a sleek glass tray. “What’s up?”
“There’s a guy in the lobby asking for you.” Judging by her consternation, it wasn’t someone she recognized—meaning it wasn’t Jack. Everyone in the building knew who the O’Connells were. “He says his name’s Jamie.”
I groaned, brushing the hair away from my face. I don’t have time for this shit.
“Want me to tell security to kick him out?” Claire asked, intrigued. It’d been a while since we had been forced to remove someone from the building. They were rare occurrences—a guest getting too drunk or making a sexist remark to a waitress. The O’Connells were anal about security and didn’t stand for anyone getting hurt or disrespected while under their wing.
“No,” I sighed, handing her the tray.
Her eyes widened as the weight of it landed on her arm. Being underage, she wasn’t supposed to run alcohol, but that was the least illegal act occurring under the Shannon’s roof.
“Just take this to the six-top,” I told her. “I’ll handle it.”
She nodded, accepting her new task, and we departed in different directions—her to the table of three couples on a date night and me to the lobby, our heels clicking on the stone floor.
When Jamie came into view—hands in the pockets of his jeans, hair wiry—I steeled myself and channeled my inner Shannon. I was the manager. I couldn’t have people dropping in to chat during the dinner rush.
“If you want a table, we’re booked for the night,” I said, mustering a polite smile. “And there’s a strict dress code.”
