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Trip looked up from the glass he was wiping down and smiled. “He is, but he’s in his weekly scheduling fight with Loretta. You might want to have a seat. This can take a while.”
“I got time. Can I get a Shirley Temple?” Might as well live up to my fake pregnancy, aka the only thing keeping Rosa from gutting me like a fish.
“You got it.”
Halfway through my sugary drink, the front door opened, and Alicia walked in. The sun from outside added an extra glow to her full blond waves. In her white dress, she looked like a literal angel. “Sasha?”
I gave her a little wave. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to Marco about something.”
I perked up. Someone else’s drama was a delightful distraction from the cesspool my life had become. “He’s in with the chef, but you can keep me company while we wait for the yelling to stop.”
“What are you drinking?”
“A Shirley Temple.”
She lifted a light brow, then shrugged. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
The muffled sound of “If you don’t like it, you can quit” and “This is why you’ve gone through five chefs in three years” floated into the bar area. Trip handed off her drink, then excused himself, leaving us alone with our non-alcoholic, sugary concoctions.
Alicia took a sip, winced, and stuck her tongue out. “Holy shit, that’s sweet.”
“Yeah.” I sucked down a third of my drink, the sugar removing some of the foul taste that seeing Beth had left in my mouth. “I had a rough meeting and needed a little pick me up. What’s up with you?”
She looked toward the kitchen door and bounced her leg. “I don’t know—”
I held up my hands. “Hey, feel free to tell me it’s none of my business.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t think Mickey would want me talking about him, and I’m already kind of going behind his back by coming to Marco.” She took another drink and winced, frowning down at the glass. “Whatever. I think Mickey’s in trouble.”
“Yeah.” I leaned in.
Alicia nodded, biting her full, pink bottom lip. “He’s always partied, but recently his coke use has been out of hand. And he’s always so jittery. I feel like—”
“I’m taking my break before dinner service. Is that all right with you, Mr. Bossman?” Loretta hollered over her shoulder in that sweet southern drawl. The kitchen door swung shut behind her as she barreled through the restaurant, her cheeks pink, her jacket even pinker.
“We weren’t done! The schedule isn’t set.” Marco shoved open the door, following in her wake with a frown so severe I worried it would be forever etched into his face.
Loretta spun around, stopping Marco dead in his tracks. "Then set it. I'm done having this fight with you, sugar. Every week we fight, and in the end, you end up doing whatever the hell you want. I'm done." She yanked open the door, a gust of hot air filling the room as she stepped into the summer afternoon.
I let out a low whistle. “That did not go well.”
He glared at me and stalked over to the bar. “Why are you here?”
“To chat about my meeting with Beth.”
“Great.” Marco grabbed the back of his neck and tipped his chin up. “And you?”
“Mickey.”
“And the hits just keep on coming,” he muttered. “Why don’t you both follow me back to the office?” Of course, he didn’t wait for us to join him and disappeared through the swinging door.
“Oh, I guess we should go before he changes his mind,” Alicia said as she shuffled off her bar stool.
We walked through the kitchen, apologizing to the cooks for getting in their way as they prepped for dinner. One of the line cooks pointed us past the long metal table covered in chopped and diced vegetables to a wooden door marked OFFICE as if we could miss it in the small space. Peeking in, I internally sighed. The back office was a cramped, dark, glorified closet. No wonder Luca had never taken me back there.
“Well, this is nice.” I sat on the edge of a scarred wooden chair, and it squeaked in protest.
