Eve
I lock the door to the restaurant at eleven on the nose, grateful that the night has finally come to an end. One of our cooks was off his game so food was being sent back and items being taken off bills for the majority of my shift. Usually it wouldn’t be a huge deal, but with Seth, the GM watchdog, following my every move, I fucked up more times than I can count.
No matter how many times I explained that I’m a horrible test taker, that pressure screws me up and his breath at my back every second only makes matters worse, he just smiled and said, “Pretend that I’m not even here.”
Impossible.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I’ve been living off one meal a day for the last few days. Funny, I’m working in a restaurant surrounded by food and starving to death. The good news is my pants fit a little better, but as much as I’d like to be thinner, I enjoy food way too much and marked anorexia off of possible diet options a long time ago.
I’m printing sales figures and adding totals, but everything is a cluster and coming up over by just under one hundred and fifty dollars.
“Crap.” I start over and count the money, even going as far as to add the evening’s sales by hand, thinking maybe it’s the computer, but still. “One forty-eight sixty-three over.” Shit.
We’ve been off before, but as long as I’ve worked here at Nori, I’ve yet to have an overage I couldn’t figure out. My head pounds, and my eyes cross as I go over the numbers again and again come up with the same result. Somehow, with all the refunds, we must’ve screwed up somewhere. Whatever happened won’t be figured out tonight. I glance at the digital clock on my desk. Shit, it’s past midnight.
I finish up, putting the correct amount of cash into the deposit envelope and move to put the overage in the safe with a sticky note when my stomach grinds its hunger again.
God, I’d give anything for a cheeseburger. My mouth waters, and I can almost taste the meat and cheese combo on my tongue. If only I had some money . . . My gaze dips down to the envelope in my hand filled with bills and change.
They’d never know. I mean, as far as the computers are concerned, we never made this money. It’s stealing. But for a good cause, right? I mean I don’t have any money and the restaurant has money that it doesn’t know it has. Would it be so wrong for me to take it? Just this once? I’ve worked here since high school and have never been on any extended vacation. I mean, hell, if I added up all the vacation time this place owes me, I’m sure it’d be quadruple what I have in my hand.
I lean back into my chair, contemplating the possible consequences of my actions if I choose to slink out with this money, and before I can think of a single one, my stomach growls painfully.
Must be a sign. I grab my purse from the bottom drawer and hit the lights in the office. Moving through empty restaurant and out the door, I scurry as if someone’s going to jump out and catch me.
With my head down, I make way to my car when I notice a familiar car parked next to mine. I look up and my steps freeze just feet away. Leaning against my car, arms crossed at his chest, long powerful legs crossed at his ankles, is Cameron.
My hand clutches my purse to my side. “Hey, what are you doing here?” I internally scold myself for sounding more defensive than happy to see him. He can’t possibly know what’s in my purse.
It’s been days since I’ve seen him, and our quick telephone conversations do little to slake my desire to see him in the flesh.
He shrugs. “Passing by, saw the place was closed for the night. Thought I’d hang out and see if I could speak to the manager.”
My stomach jumps and goes warm. He came all the way here just to see me?
“Did you have a bad experience? Like to make a formal complaint?”
He pushes off my car and takes two steps toward me. Close, but not close enough. His eyes set in their usual glare, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark washed jeans. “Mmm . . .” He rubs his fingers across his lower lip, as he did the night in front of Mason. His eyes burn through me. “I have no complaints about my . . . experience.”
His presence combined with his insinuation become too much and I drop my gaze. A tickle of caution pricks at my subconscious, reminding me that I’m not the kind of girl who shies away from flirtation. I’m not timid, demure, or easily swayed by just any man. But there are a few who have brought me to my emotional knees, and both of them I dislike. Immensely.
His feet move into my line of site, and I pull my gaze up to settle on his face. How is he even more beautiful than I remember with all that thick dark hair, his fierce jaw, and full lips that I know are as powerful as they are soft?
“What’re your plans tonight?” He reaches out and brushes my bangs off my forehead.
Such a tiny gesture, but the sweetness of it makes my eyes flutter. “I was going to grab a bite to eat.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “You hungry? I’ll take you to dinner.”
I look around at the empty parking lot then move my eyes back to his. “Now?”
“You hungry now?”
“Very.”
“Then yeah. Now.”
“But it’s the middle of the night.”
The corner of his mouth lifts so slightly it’s barely noticeable. “It’s Vegas, babe.”
“But I’m in the mood for a bacon cheeseburger.” I lick my lips. I can almost taste the greasy goodness. “With green chilis.” My stomach grumbles in agreement. “And onion rings. Not the battered ones, but those breadcrumb ones.” I hum low in my throat. “Oh, and a chocolate milkshake or an ice cold beer will also do.” I tap my lips, thinking. “Hm. Maybe both.”
So lost in my food-fantasy I don’t notice the way he’s staring at me until I focus on him. His glare isn’t as tight as it usually is, and his mouth isn’t the straight—but full and kissable—line it usually is. It’s as if someone pulled the starch from his expression, not completely relaxed, but tender.
Silence builds between us and I shift on my feet. “Or not, ya know . . . I mean whatever you want is fine too.”
He tilts his head, still not speaking.
“There’s an IHOP down off of—”
“Shut up, Yvette.”
God, I hate that name, but hearing it growled from Cameron’s lips makes it more than tolerable.
“I’m sorry, it’s just . . . Did I say something wrong?”
His lips tilt, tilt, and holy shit, tilt some more, lighting his entire face, the entire city of Vegas, probably the whole damn atmosphere with the most brilliant smile.
“Far from wrong, babe.” He grabs my hand and tugs me to his chest. “I dig a woman who knows what she likes and asks for it.”
My cheek is pressed to his chest, the cotton of his shirt soft against my skin while I’m engulfed in the earthy scent of his cologne. “Oh, well . . . that’s good. I thought maybe I came off as a demanding bitch.”
His chuckle rumbles against my torso. “I know just the place.” He pulls back. “One question first.”
I wait while he studies me.
“You didn’t eat dinner.”
My eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s not a question.”
“Eve.”
“It was too busy to take a break.”
“That’s fucked. You need to eat.”
“But if I had, then I wouldn’t get to have dinner with you.”
He winds his arm around my shoulders and moves me to his car. “Excellent point.” There’s that tiny pull of his lips again.
The first night I met this guy I’d have sworn he was incapable of anything other than a scowl. I was wrong. And every time he gives me even a hint of that, my insides lurch to get at him.
This is bad, not at all what I planned for. I’m falling hard for a man who is going to destroy me. That is, if I don’t push him away first.
~*~
Cameron
It was in my notebook. That’s the excuse I’ve been feeding myself since I pulled into the parking lot of Eve’s restaurant. I stick to what’s written and never diverge. Simple as that.
None of me showing up like a fucking stalker is about me needing her. I don’t need. I want. I enjoy. I even enjoy a lot, but need? Never.
So walking into the Peppermill with Eve under my arm and the sweet smell of her hair scrambling my senses, I remind myself that this is a fun-for-now kinda thing. I’m sure whatever pull that powers through my veins when it comes to her will someday fade. But why focus on the end when the now is so much fun?
“This place is crazy busy.” Eve tilts her head back, the length of her sleek ponytail brushing against my arm across her back.
“Food’s good. They’re open all night. Makes sense.”
“Do they have cheeseburgers?” Her eyes are bright, and studying her in better light, I notice she looks . . . something. Tired or . . . I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about her face that seems unwell.
I slide her out from my arm and face her head on. Brushing her bangs aside, I study her face. “You feelin’ okay?”
Her eyes dart everywhere but to me. “Fine.” She shugs and finally gives me her eyes, forcing a smile.
“I’ve got a teenage son, Eve. You think I don’t know when I’m being bullshitted?”
Her eyes grow wide for a split second before she catches herself. A few steely seconds and then she drops her shoulders on a sigh. “Fine. You want honesty?”
“Fuckin’ appreciate it, yeah.”
“Well, first I’m tired. I’ve been working ten hours on my feet, and I don’t know why, but it seems like tonight was asshole appreciation night, seeing as every fucking person who walked in had at least one asshole in tow. Some three or more.” She ticks off a finger on one hand. “Although this is not unusual, it sucked huge donkey balls seeing as our GM’s little troll spy was up my ass all night, following me around like I had magical dick-growing pills stapled to my back.”
I’m already pushing back the urge to laugh, and I can tell she’s just getting started. I rub my upper lip to hide the smile that’s breaking free and nod for her to go on.
She moves to another finger. “That little pecker corrected everything I did, one time in front of a customer.” She stomps her foot and throws out her arms. “Who does that?”
“Assholes.” I’m sitting hard on my urge to keep my amusement in check.
She points at my face. “Exactly. And finally, we were so busy that I never got a break. No biggie, I work without breaks from time to time, but this means that I didn’t get dinner and hence the fact that I could eat the ass out of an alligator right now.” She’s done, staring while waiting for me to say something.
“Alligator ass.” My throat aches from trying not to laugh. “Gross.”
“What?” She throws her arms out to her sides. “You asked!”
A laughter born from deep in my gut explodes from my lips. The force of it sends my head back and then forward where I almost double over. I’ve never been around a woman like this, one who can look as though she belongs on the runway but speaks as if she were raised in a gym with a bunch of guys.
On that thought, my laughter fades. From the little I know about her, I can probably assume her way with words was probably a defense mechanism she came up with early on. She’d mentioned the night her dad cleaned her out that he left with a few parting words. My guess is he’s not thanking her for her generosity. Fucking prick.
I suppose after years of being shit talked to, she’d learn to defend herself with words. The cramp in my side, from laughing, moves up to my chest. As hot as I find her attitude, it sucks to know how she came to have one.
I often wonder what it would be like to have my daughter back: seventeen years old, hanging with her friends, making college plans, dating. What kind of woman would she have been? Tender? Outgoing? Athletic? I swallow back the emotion bubbling to the surface. No use dwelling on shit that’ll never be.
I grab Eve’s hand and lead her to the hostess. There’s nothing I can do that’ll bring Rosie back, but if my taking care of Eve can soften the blow of all her shit-for-brains dad has done to her, well, that’s something.