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“Girl, are you in here?” he called out. What was her name? Why didn’t he think to ask Martin?
There was no reply.
He kept moving toward the kitchen. A woman to his left let out a startled scream as he walked inside and looked around.
There she was.
He expected her to look startled or chagrined as he strode up to her. Anyone else would. He was a dangerous guy. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest, she was curvy but slight. He outweighed her by a good eighty pounds.
Yet as he stormed toward where she was eating a sandwich, she just raised her eyebrows.
Almost looking amused.
“We need to talk.” Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her wrist. Did she flinch? Good. Maybe she was starting to develop some common sense. Perhaps she was figuring out that in this scenario, he was The Big Bad Wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood.
“Sir? Is everything okay?” Martin stepped up to them, looking worried.
“Just need to explain a few things to . . .” he trailed off, waiting for someone to fill him in on her name.
“Oh, um, this is Cat,” Martin said.
“Cat?” That name suited her.
“Catherine Smithson.”
Catherine Smithson? Seriously? She didn’t look like a Catherine. Something set off a small warning in his head, but he ignored it.
“Right. Well, Cat, come with me. You need to learn the rules if you’re going to be our private server.” He started pulling her toward the door again.
She resisted. Maybe she was having second thoughts about agreeing to be their server.
Good. Finally.
He stared down at her, waiting for her to tell him that she’d changed her mind. But instead, she sighed, staring back at where she’d been standing.
“But my sandwich,” she said mournfully.
What? Her sandwich? That was what she was concerned about?
Screw the sandwich. She should be far more concerned about what he was going to do to her than with her damn missed meal.
Except . . . when he looked at her, he saw how small she was. Was she eating properly? What if she was really hungry? Was that the reason she’d left her post? Starvation?
Fuck.
Was he really going to deny her something to eat?
He might be a monster, but there was no reason she should have to starve.
“Fine. Get your damn sandwich.”
“What?”
“I said get the damn sandwich.”
She skipped back to the counter and picked up the white bread sandwich.
“Is that your dinner?” he grumbled.
He was well aware that everyone around them had stopped to stare. He had to get her out of there. Otherwise no one in the restaurant was going to get their food tonight.
“Yeah. Why?”
“What’s even in it?” As far as he could tell, it was just two pieces of bread.
“Butter.”
“And?”
“And nothing. It’s bread and butter. It’s my favorite.”
Bread and butter.
That was her dinner?
“Don’t you get a meal when you’re working?”
“Uh, no.” She gave him a confused look. “I thought you were the big boss. Don’t you know what your employees get?”
He just grunted. Michelle’s was one of many businesses. And not important enough for him to take any interest in the day-to-day management.
And he wasn’t interested now.
Without replying, he tugged her out of the kitchen and into the corridor. He headed back down the hallway and into a storeroom. Then he turned on her. He waited for a sign of fear.
But she just took a bite of her sandwich.
No, you couldn’t even call it a sandwich. It was bread and freaking butter.
Okay, he didn’t know why that was making him so angry.
It. Just. Was.
“Well?” Cat asked.
“Well?” he repeated, dumbfounded.
That’s what she had to say? Well?
“What do you want?”
Oh, this brat needed a damn good spanking.
“Excuse me? What did you just say to me?” He put plenty of menace into his voice. He stepped forward and she moved back. Gratification filled him at the small sign that she was intimidated.
Then she took another bite of her bread and butter.
Fuck. She wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?
That needed to change. She had to learn when someone was more dangerous and powerful than she was. And how to show them proper deference.
“I said, what did you want?” she asked around another mouthful.
“Don’t talk while you’re eating.”
Joder. That really wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Irritation filled him. There was something about this girl that just set him off.
She raised her eyebrows, giving him an amused look. “Sorry, Dad.”
That’s Papa to you.
Fuck. He had to get out of her presence. Only that would be a sign of weakness. And Alejandro De Leon didn’t have weaknesses. It was how he had survived this long.
“That’s what you dragged me into this supply closet to tell me?” she asked before finishing the bread.
“No, of course it’s not. What did you think you were doing in the kitchen?”
She chewed with exaggerated movements of her jaw. He stood there, watching her. What the fuck?
