She’s with Eli. She’s our employee. And we have our rule for a reason.
I clear my throat, the sound loud in the quiet dining room.
“Alright, lovebirds,” I say, my voice sounding a little rougher than intended. “Break time is over. We have a restaurant to prep.”
Eli pulls away, looking slightly sheepish. “Right. Coffee first. Then work.”
“Coffee. Then work,” I agree, forcing a grin.
I turn and head back to the kitchen, needing the cold, hard reality of the meat and the knives to ground me. I have a job to do. And I can’t be thinking about kissing the florist.
No matter how intriguing the idea might be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amber
I am exhausted.
We stayed up until nearly two in the morning last night, scrubbing floors, polishing silverware, and steaming linens until the dining room of Blade & Butter gleamed like a diamond. By the time I collapsed into bed, the sun was already threatening to break the horizon.
So, yes, I’m tired. But the foul mood curdling in my stomach isn’t just about the lack of sleep.
It’s about her.
Sarah.
The woman Fallon hired to “help” with the Evans dinner has been here for three hours. She’s a blonde in a tight miniskirt and stiletto heels—an outfit choice that defies all logic given the snow on the ground and the freezing temperatures outside.
She perches on a high stool, tapping away on her tablet. She’s laughing a lot. And she’s laughing with Fallon.
Come on. He’s funny, but he’s not that funny!
Usually, Fallon’s energy and jokes are directed at the kitchen, or at me and Eli, teasing us, keeping us on our toes. Today, he’s hovering over Sarah.
He’s showing her the floral arrangements, explaining the wine list, leaning in close when she speaks.
He’s smiling that charming, lopsided grin of his, the one that usually makes me roll my eyes but secretly makes me smile.
I’m not a jealous person by nature. I’ve never been the type to claw at other women or stake my territory. But seeing him dote on this giggly Omega, seeing his attention so thoroughly diverted, feels… wrong.
It feels like a disruption in the ecosystem I’ve gotten used to. I’ve gotten used to having Fallon and Eli around during my work hours. We have a rhythm, damnit. She’s messing up the rhythm.
“Fuck!”
The exclamation tears my attention away from the dining room. I spin toward the pastry station.
Eli is standing there, his shoulders hunched, staring in dismay at a tray of tart shells. He pulls off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and with a frustrated sigh, he grabs the tray and dumps the entire thing into the trash.
I abandon my station near the coffee maker and rush over to him, but Knox doesn’t even look up from where he is vigorously seasoning a slab of halibut.
“Eli? What happened?” I ask, stepping up behind him. I place a hand on his back, rubbing the tight muscles between his shoulder blades.
He flinches slightly, then relaxes under my touch. “I messed up the sugar. I was distracted. The crust is burned, and the filling is curdled. It’s garbage.”
“It’s just a batch, Eli. You have time to make more.”
“No, I don’t.” He replaces his glasses, but his eyes are weary. “The timing is too tight. I need to get the chili tarts in the oven to set, and then the mousse needs to chill for hours. If I start over now, I’ll be here until midnight.”
