Eve
I’ve become that girl. The kind I hate. The one who floats around with a ginormous smile stretched across her face, as if she’s privy to an inside joke no one else gets. The girl who says hi and makes eye contact with everyone she comes in contact with just to make sure she gets her I’m-happier-than-you point across. Yep. That’s me. And I’d slap myself stupid if I weren’t so damn happy about being that girl.
After feeding Cameron my famous French toast, we took a shower that could’ve drained the Hoover Dam. I had no concept of time as we got lost in exploring each other’s bodies, hands, lips, and tongues; we feasted until we were stuffed. I got to study every intricate tattoo, trace every sinew, and taste that V I admired the night before. Along with a lot more. My tummy tumbles at the memory, my skin still tingles from his touch, and my thighs ache from holding myself around him while he drove into me.
A long sigh falls from my lips. Yeah, I’m totally that girl.
I arrive at work a few minutes early to see who’s on the schedule and what the projections are for how busy the lunch rush will be. I’m prepared to beg for a shift, banking on tip money to get me through the week until payday. Flipping through reservations at the hostess stand, I’m sidetracked by the front door opening.
“Hey guys, we’re not open until—oh, Mr. Cavat.” I smile, all teeth and aching cheeks—owed to Cameron—at the two men who enter. My district manager. What’s he doing here? “What brings you by?”
He’s usually only here at the end of the year for tax purposes. The rest of the time he keeps his finger on the pulse of the restaurant through email.
“Ms. Dawson, this is Seth Gamboni.” He nods to the man at his side who’s dressed in a collared shirt and black slacks, more business casual in comparison to Cavat’s power suit and tie. We exchange hi-how-are-yas.
“Is everyone here?” Cavat swings his gaze around the restaurant.
Everyone? He’s here for the meeting? We have impromptu manager meetings from time to time, but the GM has never been a part of them.
I motion for them to follow me to a private room off the main dining space that we use for large parties. The three other managers are in there, waiting. I take a seat with them, assuming this is Cavat’s show.
He drops down in a chair at the end of the table and clears his throat. “Thank you for being here on such short notice.”
We all mumble a “no problem” and wait for him to continue.
“I’ll make this quick.” He flicks a hand toward Seth. “This is Seth Gamboni. He’s going to be here observing for the next week.”
Observing? What the fuck? I take a quick peek at the facial expressions of the other managers and see they must be having the same reaction.
“I’d like for him to work with each one of you closely. If he has questions, answer them. If he offends you, get over it. We’re doing an audit of every restaurant in the Nori family of restaurants, and it’s your turn.” He leans back in his chair, almost as if he’s waiting for a response.
We all sit silent.
“He’ll start today and be here every day on varying shifts until this time next week.”
Everyone nods.
“Questions?”
“Why an audit?” The words fly from my lips before I have a chance to bite down on them.
“Because I said so.” Cavat smiles, as if he thinks treating me like his kid is hysterical.
Asshole.
I shrug off his belittling. “No, I mean was there a complaint? Are there concerns about how things are being run?”
Cavat and Seth look at each other and then turn back to us.
Seth straightens his big, shiny watch. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Ms. Dawson, and everything should be fine.”
My stomach drops. Why does the way he said that make me feel as if things are far from fine? I’ve been working here since high school, and I’m sure I haven’t always been the picture of employee perfection, but I always get the job done.
He covers a few more minor issues like new uniforms and a change to how we report our numbers before he finally dismisses us. As much as I’d hoped Cavat would leave, he ends up sticking around for lunch. I begged a few of the servers for their shifts, but go figure, with the presence of the GM, no one wanted to be labeled a slacker and take the day off.
Shit. My smile wiped clean from my face, I decide to go home and dig through old purses for money. With Seth in the restaurant all week, my chances of picking up a shift are minimal. Looks like those extra stubborn pounds I’ve been trying to shed will come off by involuntary starvation. I groan. Fabulous.
~*~
Cameron
Days have passed since I’ve seen Eve. Although we’ve talked on the phone a few times, it’s been brief, and my body’s beginning to register her absence. It’s not that I haven’t gone long stretches of time without female companionship. I have. But Eve’s like a habit I can’t break. No amount of time spent with her ever feels like enough, and mere memories of her sweet body have made me hard hours and even days after we’ve been together.
What the fuck is up with that?
With a two-hour break in my day, I plan on hitting the weights hard with hopes of exhausting myself along with the drive to see Eve. She works the closing shift at her restaurant tonight, and I’m not some needy prick who’s going to show up at the end of her shift and drag her back to my bed. Or shit, maybe I am. I scribble a note in my planner to find out what time Eve gets off and then head to my car to get my gym bag.
It’s hot today, hovering around 110 degrees, but thankfully my car is parked in one of the three covered spots reserved for the CEO and VIPs. I’m in my trunk, grabbing my shit when I hear angry voices from across the lot.
“You touch my ride, you little punk ass bitch?”
It’s Reece and one of his boys being difficult as usual. They’re in Killer’s face again, most likely about something completely made up. Lopez has his phone up, is he videoing this? Fucking juveniles. I can’t figure out why they have it out for Killer, but it’s getting old.
“I didn’t go anywhere near your car, man.”
I hang back at the sound of Killer’s voice. If he wants to be accepted as an equal, he’s going to have to stand up for himself. It won’t do him any good for me to swoop in and protect him. I’ll watch how he handles himself, and if Reece takes it too far, I’ll make sure to stop it.
“Nice try, slut. There’s a mark on the side of my car that wasn’t there this morning.” Reece looks back to Lopez, who’s making no attempt to cover up how hilarious he thinks this is.
Man, these guys need to get their asses kicked. Not in the octagon, but in a straight-up bare-knuckled street fight.
“What’s your problem, Reece? Every day you find some reason to get all over my ass about something.” Killer’s standing his ground, taking the high road rather than falling into Reece’s trap. Pride swells in my chest.
“I bet you’d like that, huh Fill-ee-man.” Reece looks over his shoulder, laughing along with his sidekick. “You hear that? He wants me all over his ass.”
The door to the training center opens, and Blake storms out. He doesn’t say a word, but stands a few feet back, muscles tense, glaring at Reece and Lopez.
They don’t seem affected by his sudden presence and continue to laugh and taunt. I know Blake’s got a soft spot for the kid, so I move closer in case he loses his shit. “Reece, Lopez, unless you’re out here washing cars, I’d suggest you get your asses back to training.”
Reece turns to me; his humor morphs into a scowl. “You’re always getting on my shit when this fucker scratched my ride.”
Killer props his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “I didn’t touch your fuckin’ car, dude.”
I swing my gaze to the car and squint to fight the glare. It’s a two-door compact of some kind, painted cobalt blue with fucking glitter. On the hood, in white letters that form an arch it says Money, Power & Bitches.
“You have that done?” I point to the hood of his car. “On purpose? Or is that some kind of joke your boys played on you?”
Blake’s low chuckle sounds from behind me, and Killer rolls his lips between his teeth.
“Yeah, right.” Reece shifts on his feet and gives Lopez a chin lift as if what I said was supposed to be funny.
He did that to his car on purpose? I blink and rub my hand down my face. He drives this humiliating piece of shit and has the nerve to give Killer a hard time?
“Reece, you can’t park this thing anywhere near the training center. Ever. From now on, you hitch a ride, take a bus, cab it, I don’t give a fuck, but I don’t want that”—I point to the offending vehicle—“anywhere near my doors again. Understood?”
His face contorts with anger. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“My contract says—”
“I can terminate your contract for lewd and indecent behavior. That”—I motion to the hood of the car—“is the definition of lewd and indecent.”
His jaw drops open. “I spent two grand to get those decals made and put on.”
“Are you shittin’ me? That’s the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”
“‘Money, power, and bitches’ is my creed. I have the freedom to put that shit on whatever I want.”
Blake moves up so that he’s at my side. “Dude, you put ‘Money, Power, and Bitches’ on a Toyota, dumb shit. Pretty sure that makes you the stupidest motherfucker around.”
I’d usually reprimand Blake for being confrontational, but he’s right. This guy’s a fuckin’ douchebag.
“I’m gonna help you out, Reece.” Blake absorbs Reece’s glare like it’s nothing. “I’m thinkin’ you need a new creed.” He rubs his chin. “Hm . . . Ah!” He snaps his fingers. “I got it. How ’bout this? ‘Broke ass with a little dick.’”
A laugh shoots from Killer’s mouth, and I’m doing everything I can to not join him.
Blake turns to Killer. “It’s good, right?”
Reece rushes Blake, but the fighter expects it and shoves Reece so he tumbles onto the asphalt. He bounces back. Blake goes for him, but Killian steps in his path while I wrap one arm around Reece’s neck from behind.
“Chill the fuck out. Both of you.”
Blake’s grinning, but his fists are still clenched as though he’s ready to dance whenever I give the go-ahead. Reece struggles in my hold.
“Take this to the octagon, boys.” I growl my warning before releasing Reece with a shove. He stumbles forward and gives Blake and Killer the finger before ripping through the front door of the training center.
“I fuckin’ hate that guy.” Blake’s back to calm.
“He’s a dick.” Killer shakes his head and puts out his hand to Blake. “Thanks for having my back.”
Blake shakes and gives him a chin lift. “Reece been at you for long?”
Killer’s eyes dart to me for a split second before he shakes his head. “Nah, not really.”
He’s lying to Blake? Huh.
I scoop up my gym bag that I dropped in the scuffle. “I’m hitting weights.” I don’t stick around for the convo, but my guess is that now that Blake’s on to Reece’s bullying, he’ll keep a closer eye out for the kid.
Three strikes and he’s gone from this organization. If it were up to me, he’d have been gone at one.
A quick change into my work-out clothes and I’m headed to the weight room. I push inside and head straight to the treadmills to warm up. There are a few fighters working out, a couple at the weights, one at the treadmills, and another at the stair climber. I take the treadmill close to Rex, and he turns his head to acknowledge me.
I nod to him, thankful that Rex hasn’t been in any mood for conversation lately, and start a slow jog. There’ve been whispers about what’s going on with the fighter’s sudden mood swing, but the fact is I could give rip what’s going on in his personal life. As long as he’s a competent fighter with a decent attendance, that’s good enough for me.
Cranking my machine up to a sprint, I pound out a punishing run that should knock me out cold and keep my mind off of a certain pretty blonde that I can’t seem to forget.