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“When it comes up, I’ll run it,” I offer. “I’m just support tonight anyway.”
She smiles, sliding the app platter onto her palm and grabbing a stack of small plates. “You’re awesome. I like you already,” she says.
I wait until she leaves, then bend over the trash can, and pluck the photo of Paige out of the rubbish where Evan cast it. I rub it clean on the side of my apron, then slide it into my pocket. I glance back to the doors where Evan exited, questions gnawing uncomfortably at my brain. He tossed her in the trash like she was nothing. Four days out, and she means absolutely nothing to him. Not even a hesitation. They dated for nearly two months. Even with everything she’s being accused of, I expected more. Any sort of emotional reaction that would prove she mattered, but his expression is hollow. Dismissive even.
Giana walks through the kitchen doors tying her apron strings behind her back, and I call out to her.
“I’ll grab drinks on 14 if you can get 17,” I offer, and she nods, weaving her way through the crowd toward the deck.
Evan emerges from the kitchen behind her, crosses to the bar, and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. He unlocks a door beside the bar and disappears inside. I wait a moment for him to return, but he doesn’t.
I make drinks. I run food. I fill condiment bottles. I smile at rude people and apologize for long ticket times. I talk about the weather. I talk about town attractions I know nothing about. I tell drunk men I’m unavailable. And all the while, I’m scouringthe building. Looking for more clues that my sister once existed in this place.
Every room has a camera mounted to the ceiling. Red light blinking, watching. All the dining rooms have at least one, including the decks, kitchen, and storage. I glance inside the walk-in, but surprisingly it’s camera-free. I guess it’s too cold. I trace a band of wires strung tight against the ceiling, running above the dish pit and through a hole in the wall. Just outside the expo window is the bar, and the mysterious door Evan entered. All the wires are fed into that room. It has to be some sort of security room.
Still no Evan.
I need an excuse to invade his space.
I walk to the register and input the food order I just picked up from the new table. When I reach the last dinner, I put in a porterhouse instead of a ribeye, and send it.
I stride into the kitchen and over to the grill window. Zaden looks up as I approach.
“I fucked up on 13. That porterhouse needs to be a ribeye.”
He scans the tickets, and pulls several more out of the printer. He separates them, then grabs a pen off the counter to scribble a quick note.
“Fixed,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “The porterhouse is the last one, Leela. Just watch your sizes, they’re in order. Fillet is 6oz, sirloin is 8oz, ribeye is 10oz, and the porterhouse is 14oz. It won’t say the actual name of the steak until you print the ticket.”
“I know. I screwed it up on purpose just so you would talk to me.”
His eyes follow my every movement with an intensity I’mnot prepared for. “There are better ways to get my attention than fucking with my food costs,” he says. His tone is flat, but he can’t hide the amusement in his eyes. “Hit the radial for duplicate ticket when Evan fixes that void so I don’t fire two ribeyes, please.”
“And miss out on a free lunch? Not a chance.”
He rolls his eyes and turns back to the grill. “Did you need anything else, Leela?”
“Nothing you can give me,” I reply softly, automatically, answering more than his question without realizing it.
“You sure about that?” He asks, glancing at me over his shoulder. His voice is lowered beneath the chaos of the kitchen, intended only for me. Shit. I didn’t think he could hear me.
I turn and exit because I definitely don’t have time to figure out whatever that look was, or the dangerous way it makes me feel. I walk to the bar and pause at the door to Evan’s room. I knock, then wait. I can hear a rustling inside, and after several seconds the door opens. Evan leans against the frame, his expression expectant.
“What can I do for you?” He questions, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Can you fix a ticket for me? I hit the wrong steak size. I already let the kitchen know.” I glance over his shoulder, studying the room. It’s dark, and smells like cigarettes. A thin ribbon of smoke rises from an ashtray on an old mahogany desk, and a small side lamp sheds a dim light across the room from on top of a metal file cabinet. The back wall houses a large, built-in safe, with a tower of blinking lights on a glass shelving unit beside it. All the electronics in the tower are attached to the cords dropping from the ceiling, and connected to the computeron the desk. I recognize the login screen on the computer as the same one we use for the dining software. “Is this the cash room? I need a $50 broken, too.”
He nods and opens the door wider so I can step inside. He sits down in the desk chair, and it rattles as he rolls backward toward the safe. “You can get change from the bar. But since you’re here, I’ll handle it.” He presses his thumb against the biometric scanner on the safe, and it opens. I pull out my server book and hand him the cash so he can break it.
“It was table 13 for the void,” I tell him, looking over at the computer. “Can I log in here for you to fix it?”
“Yeah, pull it up,” he answers, shutting the safe back with a loud metal thud. He hands me a stack of bills, and I shove them into my apron before typing my code into the computer. I find the ticket and take a step back.
“The porterhouse needs to be a ribeye. Everything else is right.” I watch him carefully as he taps around on the screen, makes the correction, then clears the void with his code. Four digits, just like everybody else. I say them over and over again in my head to remember. When he closes the software, I head for the exit.
“Thanks,” I say, pushing the door open. His hand covers mine on the knob, and I pull my hand back quick, glancing up at him. I hadn’t even heard him stand up.
“You’re doing really well today,” he says. “If you need anything, you can come to me. Anytime. My door is always open.”
