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10
ZANDER
THE FURY I FELT when I saw Victor Romano curse out Eden was something I hadn’t felt in years. I wanted to go across the bar and rip his vocal cords out so he could never speak to another person that way. And when I saw tears roll over her cheeks, I had to control myself because I almost did just that.
Who the fuck wore flip-flops to wait tables?
A lot of the girls wore heels—and I didn’t understand that either—but fucking flip-flops?
No.
That was my first thought after the anger toward Romano melted away, but then when she said she didn’t own any other shoes than the old, broken flip-flops on her feet, something inside me cracked.
“We have ourselves a bit of problem then, don’t we? Because if you wear those flip-flops to work again, you’re fired, which means you either take what I’m offering you from the goodness of my heart and keep your job, or you refuse my offer and you lose your job.”
Her face paled, her wide blue eyes looking hurt and confused.
Part of me hoped she would refuse and leave. That would make my current situation a whole lot fucking easier. She would basically be quitting, and then Kennedy couldn’t hold it against me. But for a second, when I looked at the pain in her eyes, I changed my mind.
The embarrassment of being so poor she couldn’t afford shoes showed on her face, and part of me hoped she would take the offer and get a pair of acceptable shoes. If she did, maybe she could continue to work and make money to dig herself out of whatever hole she was in.
Then again, this was Kennedy’s niece we were talking about.
Why had Kennedy not gotten the girl a pair of decent shoes?
I happened to know for a fact that Kennedy made damn good money. I signed her paycheck. She could afford shoes.
Anger moved into my gut once again.
“Does your aunt know you don’t have any shoes? Does she know you’re working with fucking flip-flops on?”
My questions came out rougher than I intended, making her jump a little.
“She doesn’t know, and I would prefer she not find out. It’s not her job to take care of me.”
“Then whose job is it?”
“It’s mine. And as I said, I have the money, I just haven’t had the time.”
Respect for her seeped in, shocking me. I hadn’t expected her to be so headstrong. She looked small and timid, but it seemed inside her tiny frame there was a bit of a warrior.
“You have the money but not the time?”
She nodded.
“And you won’t take this money because you didn’t earn it? Seriously? You’re walking around with duct tape on your ninety-nine-cent flip-flops, and you’re looking at this hundred-dollar bill and refusing it because you didn’t work for it?”
Again, she nodded.
I stared at her, my eyes scanning her serious expression and the perfection of her flawless skin. She could have whatever she wanted. I knew men who would give her anything just to be near her. With her looks, she could walk the Vegas Strip dripping in diamonds, yet she refused to accept something being handed to her.
She wanted to work for it, and I respected the fuck out of that.
I nodded, understanding her reasoning. “Fine,” I conceded, stuffing the money in my pocket. “Then go buy some decent fucking shoes right this second and then get back here to finish your shift.”
Her eyes narrowed at my words, anger striking her flushed expression and making me think she might actually stand up to me.
That didn’t happen.
