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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MELANIE
I woke up to the sight of my cats peering down at me with feline disapproval. There was something especially sobering about being regarded with open disdain by one’s pets.
“I’m up,” I growled, and shooed them away as I hauled myself into a sitting position. My head was throbbing, and my mouth tasted like dirty hay. Then I glimpsed the turquoise wall clock hanging over the TV and shrieked. It was after one p.m.
Dominic had ordered me to take the morning off, and I wasn’t supposed to be over at Espo 1 for a few hours, but sleeping so late made me feel out of sorts.
I drank three cups of coffee and took my time in the shower. By the time I needed to leave, I still had no idea what I’d say when I saw Dominic. All of yesterday’s bravado had left me, and a tribe of butterflies had pitched their tents in my stomach. On the drive to work, I listened to a motivational podcast that told me to imagine my worries were soap bubbles. The speaker sounded like he’d just woken up from a nap, and he said to imagine the bubbles of worry popping one by one. It didn’t help.
Luckily (or not) I didn’t have to worry right away about how to deal with the sexy Mr.Esposito because he was nowhere in sight when I walked into Espo 1. Really, I shouldn’t have let myself get all bent out of shape over seeing him. He should be the one to break the ice here. He was in charge. He was the boss. I was just, just ...
Crazy about him.
Business was brisk as the dinner hour approached. There was more staff than usual working because tonight was also the last chance to get some training time in. A number of people asked if the new downtown restaurant was still opening tomorrow. When they said they were glad they wouldn’t need to drive all the way to the East Valley for great pizza anymore, I handed out coupons for a free appetizer.
I was so busy I didn’t notice when Dominic showed up. But the next time I peeked into the kitchen, there he was, muscles straining as he rolled out dough with a look of intense concentration. It was ridiculously hot. I felt my heart speed up and had trouble tearing my eyes away. I felt slightly disgusted with myself. What kind of a person develops a sexual fetish for pizza preparation? But then, maybe it wasn’t the weirdest thing in the world. In high school I’d briefly dated a guy who admitted he’d found his dad’s erotic photo collection. It included a large number of scenes where topless women in 1950s skirts stood in front of plastic Christmas trees. To each his own, I guess.
And anyway, it wasn’t so much the kneading of the dough that got me all hot and bothered. It was the man doing it. Dominic could have been painting a house or running a blowtorch, and I would still have gotten plenty excited.
Two seconds later one of the new servers, a college girl named Odette, dropped a tray of drinks in spectacular fashion. Since she started sobbing as she apologized again and again, I placed a comforting hand on her arm and guided her toward the ladies’ room to calm down. Aimee started helping me clean up the mess of glass and sticky soda, but I sent her over to take care of Odette’s table.
“What happened?” Dominic demanded, and I gasped at the sound of his voice.
I’d spent a lot of time thinking about his voice, the way it had become all low and throaty when he stood behind me and pressed himself close. Now here he was, standing behind me once more, although things were different since I was kneeling on the floor in the middle of a mess as the restaurant crowd buzzed around me. I looked up and found his rugged square-jawed face peering down at me with mild curiosity. I remembered the feel of his hot breath against my neck.
“Harder.”
“It’s nothing,” I blurted, mopping up with a pile of napkins. “Just some spilled drinks.”
Dominic hunkered down on the ground beside me. He swept the ice cubes into a dustpan. “I see that,” he said. “But I thought I heard somebody carrying on like their hair had caught fire.”
“Odette was just a little flustered, so I sent her on break to calm down.”
Dominic nodded and wordlessly took the sopping napkins out of my hand. “I’ll take care of this,” he said without looking at me.
“Great. What should I do then?” I asked irritably.
He checked his watch. “You can take off if you want to. I’ve got things covered here, and tomorrow’s the grand opening.”
“Yeah, I know tomorrow’s the grand opening,” I said, irritably brushing my hands off on my skirt. I was pissed. I couldn’t help it. Was he really going to play it like this? I hoped he could feel the force of my steely glare, but he just kept cleaning the stupid floor like it was the most important thing he had going on.
“Fine,” I said, rather loudly. A trio of old ladies at a nearby table stopped talking and stared at me over the rims of their wineglasses. “I’m going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I marched over to the break room long enough to retrieve my purse, paused in the kitchen to say good night to the staff, and kept my head down on the way out.
Then I got into my car and hit the steering wheel with both fists. It hurt. I flexed my hands, wincing and muttering a few curses because it was all my own damn fault that my pride was wounded and my hands were stinging.
When the passenger door suddenly opened, I almost screamed and bolted from the car. Just the other day I’d read an article about a woman who’d almost been kidnapped right in her own car as she sat outside a drugstore and paused to answer a text before starting the engine.
“Melanie,” Dominic said, and I relaxed. A little. Actually I still wanted to scream, but now I wanted to scream for a different reason. He ducked into the car and settled in the passenger seat.
“Melanie?” he said again when I just stared at him without moving. He was different than he’d been moments ago inside the restaurant. The detached tone was gone from his voice, and he raked a hand through his hair as I watched. He seemed agitated, unhappy.
“What do you want?” I asked coldly.
Dominic took a deep breath. “I want to apologize,” he said.
