CHAPTER SIX
DOMINIC
Gio hadn’t mentioned any plans to be at Espo 2 at six a.m., yet there he was, hauling filing cabinets into the office I’d finally, reluctantly, cleared out.
“Morning,” he said cheerfully as he positioned a gunmetal-gray three-drawer cabinet onto a dolly. With a little grunt of exertion, he started wheeling it down the hallway that led to the office.
“I was going to do that,” I called, rubbing my eyes. Last night I’d stuck around here until after two a.m., touching up some bare spots the painters had missed when they were here the other day. It would have made more sense to wait because once all the dining furniture was carried in, there would surely be more touch-ups in order. Yet every night when a reasonable quitting time rolled around, I always found something else to do that kept me here later. And then I always returned far too early. Even Gio didn’t know how many hours I’d been putting in. He would have felt like he needed to be here with me, and I couldn’t let him do that. I was the one who was hell-bent on reinventing something that I felt partially responsible for losing.
Besides, Gio had something important to go home to every night. I didn’t. Not a day went by without me thinking of my grandfather. He’d died alone in the dark because I’d been a self-centered little shit. There was no way to make that up to him now, but I damn well could work until my muscles were numb in order to protect my brother.
While Gio was in the back fiddling with the filing cabinet, I gulped the cup of gas station coffee in my hand. I should have bought three more. My eyes still felt like they’d recently been scrubbed with sandpaper.
Gio was whistling when he wheeled the dolly back out.
“I was just waiting for the paint to dry,” I explained. “I was planning on getting everything squared away first thing today.”
He shrugged. “It’s all good. Just figured I’d come down here and give you a break.”
Yesterday all the office furniture and equipment had been delivered. I’d been planning on moving the filing cabinets and boxes myself this morning, before Melanie showed up to claim her rightful place. Last night I’d stopped in at Espo 1 before the dinner rush and found her in the cramped back office, counting out the cash for the daily bank deposit. When I cleared my throat, she fastened her huge blue eyes on me, and I felt something stir below my belt.
I told her she could report to Espo 2 in the morning, and her gorgeous face broke into a brilliant grin as she jumped out of her chair. I was half-afraid she’d run over and hug me or something, so I bent down to pick up some of the boxes of paperwork that had already been packed up, and made a quick exit.
At any rate, I was determined to treat Melanie just like I would treat any employee, despite the fact that I was drawn to her. But that wasn’t the only obstacle where she was concerned. I also needed to relax my grip a little and entrust important tasks to someone other than Gio. Ultimately the ball was in my court to man up, let Melanie do her job, and quit checking out her ass.
“Getting closer,” my brother said, taking a shrewd look around. “Told you the timeline would be fine, Dom.”
“There’s always more work waiting,” I warned, thinking about all the things that could interfere with a successful restaurant opening. I ran a hand over my chin, suddenly realizing I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shaved. Unwanted beards were known to bust out of my face after a mere three days of missed shaves.
Gio was watching me. “I know how much time you’ve been putting in, man.”
“Nah, not that much.”
“Bullshit. You’re here practically around the clock, even though you don’t like to admit it. You ought to let me pitch in more.”
“You do plenty, Gio.”
“I could do more.”
I didn’t really like the idea of Gio hanging around here day and night while his wife and baby needed him. “No. You have a family to go home to.”
“What about you?”
“I have Espo 2.”
“Impossible.” Gio shook his head with a grin. “You are a stubborn bastard, you know that?”
“I’ve heard those words a time or two.”
Gio snapped his fingers. “Let’s leave the furniture-moving for later. I’m taking you out to breakfast.”
At his insistence I agreed to take an hour off. Dawn was just breaking, and the only restaurant open at this time was a greasy twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks away. The interior smelled like blackened lard. Gio didn’t want to take a chance on anything more exotic than toast and coffee, but I ordered a ham and cheese omelet.
“Living dangerously, huh?” Gio joked as I poured hot sauce on my omelet.
“No point in living if you don’t.”
“Might not be a very long life if you do,” he replied.
I took a huge bite of omelet to prove a point. “Whatever. Enjoy your toast, dickhead.”
After that the talk turned to business. Gio ran down a quick checklist of everything that needed to happen before the grand opening, and I reminded him of a few things. We’d always worked well together that way; whatever one of us forgot, the other was bound to remember. The next big chore would be getting the right staff for Espo 2. When Melanie’s name came up, my brother eyed me carefully.
“Look, Dom,” he said, “I know handing over the reins on anything that concerns the restaurant is tough for you. But I also know how much you hate paperwork. We’ll be managing two stores now, so between that and our pipe dreams for future valley-wide expansion—”
“I get it,” I interrupted.
Gio raised an eyebrow. “Do you? Seriously man, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I stifled a yawn. “So what? Thought you were a fan of crossing all the t’s.”
“Not if you fall asleep at your desk and wind up with a pencil through the eye.”
I grunted. “I never sit at a desk.”
Gio smiled. “You understand me anyway.”
The waitress walked by, and I motioned for a coffee refill. I really did understand. Gio just didn’t want me running myself into the ground, taking care of small-time issues that could be better handled by someone else. Someone smart and competent. Someone like Melanie. And if he assumed that my hesitation in welcoming Melanie Cruz with open arms was solely due to stubbornness, then I was happy to let him keep thinking that.
Gio paid the bill over my objections and then we returned to Espo 2 to finish setting up the office. I could have easily done it myself, but it always felt good working closely with my brother. Now that we were split between two locations, I missed the everyday hustle of being side by side with him. I’d be a damn fool to complain about success, though.
By eight o’clock we had everything pretty well situated. Gio was expecting a delivery over at Espo 1 in an hour, so he wanted to get going.
“Hey, Dom, be cool, all right?” he said on his way out the door.
“Always,” I answered, but I knew what he meant. He was asking me to help Melanie get settled and avoid being a dick.
Gio had said she would show up for work around nine, and at 8:59 a.m. Melanie Cruz breezed through the door.
“Good morning, Dominic,” she said.
“Back at you,” I said, hammer in hand. I’d been searching for the best spot to hang a giant black-and-white framed photo.
“Mind if I go right back to the office?”
I glanced at her. She was standing barely inside the door, chin tilted up defiantly, like she was bracing for an argument.
“Please do,” I said, hoping I sounded polite.
Melanie offered a thin smile and glanced down at herself. “I took your advice about following the Esposito’s dress code, at least for today while I’m working at getting the office set up.”
I looked her over, my eyes lingering on the curve of her hips. She was wearing some fairly tight, dark denim capris and a white T-shirt with the company logo. She looked less uptight, not like she spent two hours in front of the mirror this morning, a stark contrast to the absurdly professional clothes she usually wore. I liked seeing her like this. Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail, and an oversize, black laptop bag was slung over one shoulder. Overall, this version of Melanie seemed younger, more vulnerable, than she usually did. I tried to remember if she’d ever mentioned how old she was, but nothing came to mind.
“Good for you,” I said. I used the hammer to gesture down the hall. “Desks, filing cabinets, Wi-Fi, it’s all set up. Restrooms are in working order, and the days of dust and dirt are over. I like to keep it cold in here, but if it’s too much, just let me know. You want anything moved, don’t be afraid to ask.”
Melanie was looking around. She nodded when I finished talking. “You’ll be keeping a desk in the office as well?”
“I’m not really an office dweller. You’ll notice that I usually prefer to be on the floor where the action is. On the whole, I won’t be bothering you much.”
“Good,” Melanie said and then winced like she hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll have your hands full out here.” She flashed an uneven smile. “Gio’s trained me well. Rest assured I’ll take care of everything behind the scenes.”
“Okay.” I turned back to the wall and started measuring.
Melanie lingered by the door for another few seconds like she was waiting for me to say something else, then she started slowly circling the dining room. She wasn’t wearing heels today, just plain white running shoes. Though her perusal made no sound, I was aware of her every move. Using a chalk pencil, I marked the place on the wall where I planned on drilling the first hole for the picture.
“It looks amazing,” Melanie said. She was dawdling over by the counter where the registers would be lined up. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she ran a hand along the exposed brick on a neighboring wall.
“What year was this place built again?”
I thought for a second. “Nineteen fifteen.”
“I love this area, all these old buildings. Although in another city they probably wouldn’t even be remarkable. Phoenix doesn’t have too many historic buildings. When I was in college, I took a tour of that old Victorian house down the block. Beautiful place.”
“Humph,” I grunted. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I needed to focus before I started making holes in the wall. I wished Melanie would retreat to the office where she belonged. I’d made peace with the fact that she was going to be around, but now that she was standing three feet away in all her innocent, sexy glory, I realized staying focused on the job in front of me might be a tall order.
“Have you been there?” she asked. “To the Rosson House? I had a long chat with the docent when I visited. It’s kind of amazing when you think about all the changes that house has witnessed in the last century. The number of fireplaces struck me as strange, though, considering Phoenix rarely has fireplace weather. But I suppose maybe it was an architectural feature.”
What the hell was she talking about? Frankly I was too tired to care. I turned on the hand drill, figuring the noise would at least get her to stop babbling.
Once I had the nails secured in the wall, I was ready to put the picture up. I’d picked it up years ago at Goodwill and just kind of kept around because I didn’t have enough wall space anywhere to hang it properly. The thing was a monster; heavy wood frame, fifty inches wide.
“Oh hey, that’s New York City,” said Melanie. For some reason she figured it was a good idea to stand directly behind me as I carefully hoisted the picture up. “I’ve never been there, although it’s definitely on my bucket list. My mom had this old handbook for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and I used to look through it all the time. Dominic, do you need help with that?”
“No,” I growled.
In the next second a combination of things conspired against me:
The exhaustion that comes from averaging three hours of sleep a night caused a brief hiccup in my ability to focus.
My left foot found a mislaid paintbrush to step on.
The bulky picture frame slipped a few inches in my hands, triggering a shift in momentum that ended with me tripping on the aforementioned paintbrush.
Gravity, that unforgiving wretch, took advantage of the situation and yanked the heavy object out of my hands completely. It fell to the floor, where the glass shattered into six hundred thousand pieces. And I went down like a ton of bricks on top of the whole mess.
“Oh my god! Dominic, are you okay?” Melanie was suddenly right there, glass crunching underneath her white tennis shoes as she crouched at my side.
For a second I was sure the only injury was to my pride, but then Melanie gasped, “You’re bleeding!”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a belated stab of pain shot through the palm of my right hand.
“Shit,” I muttered when I saw the stream of red. I pulled a thin shard of glass out of the meat of my palm and then realized Melanie was actually trying to haul me out of my bed of glass.
“Let me help you,” she said, grunting with exertion as she tried to pick me up by my elbow. If I hadn’t been so dazed, I would have laughed at the absurdity of this little high maintenance chick trying to lift my two-hundred-pound carcass off the floor. And yet in the middle of the blood and the glass and the futility of Melanie’s effort, I still managed to notice that her hair smelled like wild oranges.
“I’m all right,” I muttered, waving her away before carefully rolling off the broken glass and getting to my feet.
While I flexed my torn-up hand and watched the blood leak out, Melanie suddenly scampered away like a frightened rabbit. Maybe she had a phobia of blood. But no, five seconds later she was back, waving a roll of toilet paper that she must have grabbed from the bathroom.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” she announced before she took my hand and pressed the entire freaking roll of toilet paper against the wound.
I tried to take my hand back. “I got it. Thanks.”
Melanie ignored me. She stared intently as the toilet paper turned red. “Looks like it’s slowing.” She whipped her head around, slapping me under the chin with her ponytail. “Where’s my bag? Ah, there it is. Dominic, you need to keep this against the wound to staunch the flow of blood.”
She left me alone with the toilet paper and darted over to the laptop bag that she must have dropped on the floor when she came rushing to my aid. There were drops of blood on her white Esposito’s shirt.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
Melanie rummaged in her bag. “Don’t panic. I’m just getting my keys.”
“I’m not panicking for god’s sake.”
“It’ll be okay, Dominic. The hospital is only a few miles away. Do you feel dizzy at all?”
“No, Melanie, I don’t feel dizzy from losing about three tablespoons of blood.”
“Okay, good.” She could really move quickly when she wanted to. She was back at my side and trying once more to gingerly lead me by the elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
“Wait, you’ll help me do what?”
“My car’s right outside. We’ll be at the ER in ten minutes.”
“I’m not going to the ER.”
She stopped and looked at me, all openmouthed and horror-struck, as if I’d just told her a moon-sized meteor was going to crash on our head in the next eight seconds.
“But you have to!” she gasped. “You need stitches. You need a tetanus shot. You might have severed a tendon.”
“I didn’t sever a tendon,” I said in exasperation. “I have a goddamn scratch.”
Melanie put her hands on her hips and glowered at me. Then she reached out and seized the roll of toilet paper. “See?” she said, triumphantly pointing to the trickle of blood that still flowed from the ugly wound.
“Yeah, I do see. Now if you move aside, I’ll get to the bathroom, wash it out, and slap a bandage on it from the first aid kit.”
“We have a first aid kit? Tell me where it is,” she demanded.
“Why, did you forget to add your MD credentials to your resume?” I asked sarcastically.
Melanie drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height and glared up at me. “I was a nursing major for two semesters.”
“Which of course qualifies you to dispense medical advice and even perform routine surgeries now and again,” I muttered.
Her face reddened. “Are you going to stop being a macho show-off and seek medical care, or do I have to call your brother?”
I pushed past her and headed for the men’s room. “Call away, sweetness.”
And believe it or not, she stepped right in front of me. “Don’t run water on it. You might wind up embedding the glass more deeply.”
“I’m not sure you have any idea what you’re talking about, and besides, I already pulled the glass out.”
“Let me see,” she said, grabbing my hand and examining my palm. Even in these strange circumstances, the feel of her soft touch did weird things to me.
I swallowed. “You’re getting my blood all over you.”
She smiled vaguely. “I’m not worried about that.”
“No? How do you know I don’t have hepatitis or something?”
She paused, those deep-blue eyes surveying me intently. “Do you have hepatitis?”
I sighed and withdrew my stinging hand before I did something really off-key like grab her left breast. It was time to end this conversation. I was bleeding; I was exhausted; and there was a sexy, bossy busybody standing between me and the men’s room.
“No known communicable diseases,” I said tersely, and sidestepped Melanie to get to the bathroom. Then I locked the door behind me just in case she had ideas about bursting in to fulfill her caregiver fantasies.
Once I’d tossed the bloody toilet paper roll in the garbage and run some water over the wound, I could see that Melanie was right about needing medical care. The jagged cut was about two inches long and would need stitches to close properly. Plus a dose of antibiotics to prevent infection wasn’t a bad idea.
“Dominic!” Melanie called in a high-pitched, officious voice. It sounded like she was two inches away from my ear.
I finished cleaning up in the sink and grabbed some paper towels, pressing them against the cut. When I opened the door, Melanie fell into the room.
“Shit,” I sputtered as I caught her and got hit in the face with a flailing arm in the process.
“I’m sorry. So sorry,” Melanie gasped as I set her upright.
I took a step back and peered at her. “What the hell were you doing?”
The blush started around her breasts and traveled clear to her hairline. She fidgeted and crossed her arms. “I, uh, didn’t realize I was leaning against the door. Sorry.”
I waited for a few seconds, but Melanie didn’t make a move to stand aside. “You mind if I exit the bathroom now?” I asked.
“Of course.” She backed up and stared at the floor, fidgeting the whole time. She was flustered. It actually made her look even sweeter, and once again I regretted behaving like a jerk.
After I fished around in my back pocket for my car keys, I gestured to the far side of the dining room, which was still littered with glass and blood. “Please don’t worry about the mess,” I told her. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“Wait. You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” I held up my wounded hand and wiggled my fingers. “Tetanus and stitches, remember?”
“Well, how are you going to drive there?”
“By turning on the ignition and pressing the gas.”
“Dominic,” she said, that know-it-all tone back in her voice. “You shouldn’t try to drive when your dominant hand is unusable.”
“My what hand?”
“Dom-i-nant.” She enunciated each syllable like she was speaking to a toddler. “The hand you use for everything.”
I looked down at my bleeding right hand. Then I lifted my other hand and held it three inches from her face. “I’m actually left-handed. And I’m going now. Alone. Just me and my dominant and nondominant hands. I’m sure you can find some work to do here. Sorting through all those boxes of invoices and shit is probably a three-day job by itself.”
She was frowning. “But—”
“Melanie,” I hissed, exasperated. “Stay here! Work.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond, but I was sure she muttered the word asshole as the door to Espo 2 swung closed behind me. That was fine. Given this morning’s weird turn of events, it was better that she was cussing me out under her breath than getting close enough to tempt me into having dirty thoughts.
I stalked over to the parking garage, welcoming the punishing heat that bore down on my head. It wasn’t even midmorning and the temperature had to be over a hundred. Plus there was the asphalt effect that always made city heat so much worse than anything else. It was like living on a giant stove top.
I fumbled with the keys, my hand actively throbbing now. Yet I welcomed the pain. It helped distract me from the thing that had happened a few minutes ago in that brief melee outside the bathroom. In all the commotion of sprawling limbs, there’d been an accident. Somehow my left hand, my dominant hand, wound up cupping a shapely breast as I tried to stop its owner from face-planting on the shiny new tile. It was only for a brief second. Maybe Melanie hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe I’d imagined a shoulder into something more erotic. The only reason I was all bent out of shape about it now was because I’d already been guilty of fantasizing about how that girl’s body would feel in my hands. Now I knew, in a way.
She felt pretty fucking good.