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“What are we going to be doing for a week if the store is closed?”
“Is this guy fucking nuts?”
Andreas seems unfazed by the commotion. He raises his right hand to his lips and loudly whistles to recapture the attention of everyone.
He follows the whistle by saying, “You will all be here during the shutdown. You will all scrub the store from top to bottom. Management will retrain the staff on how to do their jobs correctly. Managers will convene together to address other concerns I have, and I will teach them to run a tighter ship. I will be here for the week to ensure everything goes as planned. We will pay you $23 an hour during the cleaning and retraining process. The sooner you can all get your shit together, the sooner we can open our doors to the guests.”
Then, he nods to Jim and walks out the front door.
He leaves poor Jim to answer the staff’s questions and address their anger and outrage. Judging by his answers, he didn’t know any of this was going to happen. A total blindside. The meeting ends, and Jim lets us all know we will begin cleanup today. First on the agenda is emptying the dining room of all furniture.
Thank God I wore comfortable clothes. Did I mention I hate it here?
* * *
Two hours later, the dining room sparkles because we’ve all spit-shined it. My fingers are raw from the chemicals we used to clean the walls, and I have questionable shit smeared on my face. I can’t tell if it’s barbecue sauce or dirt.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and question my life choices. Maybe watching Greg dry hump his almost teenage girlfriend wasn’t that bad? I try to comb through my hair and pull it into a messy bun on top of my head. Then I take paper towels and clean my face, trying to prepare myself to walk out and see what fresh hell awaits me next. As I leave the bathroom, someone slams into my right side, knocking me onto my ass.
“What the fuck?!” I yell, eyes flying up to see which of my unobservant coworkers almost gave me a concussion.
It seems my luck isn’t improving soon because the linebacker who stiff-armed me is Mr. Rivera. He doesn’t even have the decency to apologize. He simply holds my gaze, turns around, and walks away.
While I sit on the floor. On my ass. In a puddle of filthy mop water that someone didn’t clean up.
Fuck you, Mr. Rivera.
5
Chapter Five
Andreas
The meeting didn’t go as planned. I was extremely rude and demanding throughout the thirty-minute tirade. They needed the wake-up call, but something about Alana’s attitude pushed me over the edge. She was almost late, and when she came in, she sat at a booth lost in her phone. I hadn’t meant to call her out in front of everyone, but I wanted to see her eyes when she recognized me from the night before.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She looked up at me, and I could feel the tension in the air. Her eyes were wide and filled with a mixture of shock and confusion. I knew I caught her off guard, and I got high on the thrill it gave me. I wasn’t usually one for power trips, but something about her nonchalance made me want to get the upper hand and make her confidence falter.
Throughout the meeting, I felt her gaze fixed on me, trying to dissect me and figure me out. Getting involved with Alana would bring me nothing but trouble, and I can’t afford the headache so soon after taking over the business from my father. So why can’t I stop thinking about her?
I make a mental note to tell Jim to talk with the other managers about cleaning up the office, then collect my things. I walk out of the back into the kitchen, then around the corner to walk toward the front doors. As I turn, I see a flash of purple before someone knocks into me.
The force sends the person flying to the ground.
“What the fuck?”
I recognize the voice.
I look down and see Alana sprawled before me. Her eyes are bright with anger and surprise. She stares at me, cheeks flushed from the exertion of cleaning all morning, and I want to pull her up by her arms and slam my lips against hers. The thought is alarming, and even though I should apologize, I look her up and down, then turn and walk away.
Silently, I exit the front doors and walk to my car. I need a distraction to get Alana out of my head. Without realizing it, I drive to the nearest bar and find an empty seat at the rail. The bartender greets me with a nod.
“Angel’s Envy on the rocks, please,” I order when he walks over to me.
The dull background noise of the radio distracts me while he pours the drink. He slides it across the bar top, and I down it in one gulp, the burn in my throat a welcome feeling.
I order another, then take out my phone to call the financial advisor my father has been using for years. I need to get a full understanding of the money available to me so that I can look into making sure the people working for me are making a fair wage. Employee retention in the restaurant industry is a nightmare, and I want to do my best to make sure I can not only hire capable people but keep them working for me for the long haul.
