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I guess I have enough left in my bank account for breadsticks and water. I just might have to skip dinner later, so hopefully these are all you can eat.
“I’m sorry for the confusion,” I say, cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“You’re fine,” she says. “Mr. Costa just said to make sure you treated yourself to anything on the menu while you waited on Damon. I can let the chef know you aren’t hungry.”
I nearly gasp, a solid knot forming in my throat at the gesture.
That generous asshole.
He treated me to free drinks yesterday, and now free food. I should have never told him I was living in my car–I should have known his alpha instincts wouldn’t let him stand by idly while a woman suffers. I should have known, and yet I did it anyway.
Is it in my goddamn DNA to expect alphas to take care of me as an omega?
Did I subconsciously hope he would offer something more than kind words, or did I really think he’d gloss over the fact that I’m homeless?
Either way, I’m speechless, and I don’t know who I’m madder at–myself or Alessandro.
“He did?” is all I can say at first, but then I clear my throat to get rid of the lump in it. “I guess I could eat something. Since he’s offering and all.”
“Let me grab you a menu.” Her smile returns. She’s obviously glad to see I’ve changed my mind.
Of course I have. I can’t turn down a free meal, not when I can barely afford one on my own. As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I hate taking handouts from alphas, I can’t say no.
seven
JESSA
After perusing the menu for a solid five minutes, I settle on baked ziti, and Sara sweeps away to the kitchen to let the chef know. I nibble on a breadstick, staring around the dining area for any sign of the alpha so I can thank him properly, or just give him hell like I did yesterday, but there’s still no sign of him.
I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.
My food arrives with no sign of Damon either, and I’m beginning to suspect he’s waiting for me to finish eating before he bothers me with an interview. Call it a hunch. Alessandro must have known I couldn’t focus on an empty stomach and wanted to make sure I was at peak performance. That has to be it.
Thoughtful bastard.Maybe there are such things as wonderful alphas. Or maybe that’s exactly what he wants me to think, and I’m already falling for the fake charm.
Shit.
I’m going to feel bad about it later, when my stomach isn’t trying to eat itself.
Right now, all I can focus on is how thankful I am for his kindness.
The wait for my ziti to cool off enough to sink my teeth into it is excruciating. The smell of cheese and tomato sauce spiraling around me invades my senses and makes my stomach growl in protest. The anticipation is almost too much, and I’m tempted to risk scorching off my tastebuds, but I wait, finishing another breadstick instead.
When I finally get to eat the ziti, it’s immaculate.
Probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m starving, or because the chef in the back deserves his own five-star restaurant, but it’s incredible. I eat until I can’t take another bite without throwing it all back up and push the plate aside.
Damon sidles up with perfect timing and a cheerful grin, propping himself up by draping his arm over the back of the booth. He smells like marinara and cheap cologne, and I can’t decide what part of that is his faint, natural beta scent and what’s from the restaurant.
He clutches a menu in his free hand.
“It was good, right?” he asks, and I nod.
“Amazing. Compliments to the chef.” I hold my water up in a toast and take a sip.
“I’ll let him know.” Damon nods. “Mr. Costa told me to start training you on the basics today since your position will be kind of broad–whatever we need on any given day is kind of what you’ll be doing–so I’d like you to familiarize yourself with our menu. Get comfortable with what’s on it so you can start taking to-go orders tomorrow night.”
