So Irresistible

by Lisa Plumley

  Tonight, that might be a challenge. Gabriella had never felt less welcome than she did at Campania these days.

  Despite her efforts to keep the place open, earn enough money to rescue all the other Grimani pizzerias, and save the day, no one seemed to care. Everywhere Gabriella looked, she saw the same thing: angry people who were disappointed in her.

  “She’s back? Again? Who cares?” With a muttered expletive, Hypo stacked plates near the ticket rail, where incoming orders usually hung. Frowning, he turned to show his left arm to the kitchen at large. “I think I have psoriasis. Look at my elbow! It itches like a mother—does it look red and scaly to you?”

  As he scrambled for his cell phone to do an Internet search for his symptoms, Pinkie put down her chef’s knife. As a pastry chef, she was no less tough than the rest of them—but she did have a soft spot for Hypo’s antics. “Settle down. It looks like a mosquito bite to me. Get off WebMD and get back to work.”

  “Ten bucks says it’s necrotizing fasciitis.” Jeremy, one of the servers, swooped in to pick up a final drinks order. He nodded at Hypo’s latest “condition.” “That would be cool.”

  “You’re on.” Jennifer, another server, accepted his bet without looking up from her book. She scribbled something on an order ticket, stuffed her book in her apron, then nodded.

  Gabriella might as well not even have been there. They were all being that pointed about cold shouldering her. But she’d had enough of this. Being tough was fine. Being a doormat was not.

  “Of course I came back. I was only checking on that last table,” Gabriella informed them all with a glance at the wall clock. “Let’s fly on that caramel budino”—a type of rich Italian pudding that was a mainstay on Campania’s dessert menu—“for table six. After that, we’re done with service. I comped the budino, because their pepperoni-mushroom pie was messed up.”

  At her reference to his earlier mistake, Bowser glowered. “Hey. I can’t help it if the whole pie had to be remade.” He jerked his chin sideways. “The fucking new guy got in my way.”

  Adam, the target of his ire, froze with a mop in his hand. Shamefacedly, he looked at Bowser. He swallowed hard. He hadn’t even earned his requisite nickname yet. As the newest hire, Adam was simply “the new guy” until someone stole his unwanted crown—and the ribbing and pranks that sometimes went along with it.

  “No more excuses, Bowser. Do your job.” Gabriella gave him a direct look. “Or I’ll find someone else to do it for you.”

  “Ooh!” everyone chimed in unison, exaggerating Bowser’s job endangerment. “Look out, Bowser! Our little runaway is mad.”

  With effort, Gabriella ignored their taunting. “Just get this place cleaned up and shut down. I’m ready to bail.”

  A beat passed. Then, “Aren’t you always ready to bail?”

  The gibe came from Emeril—and earned him a high-five from Scooter. Coming from him, that felt doubly hurtful. Scooter used to help her with her geometry homework. Now, he resented her.

  Just like everyone else did.

  On the other hand, they’d done almost a hundred covers tonight. For a small neighborhood restaurant like Campania, that was pretty good. If Gabriella was going to save the rest of her family’s chain, her numbers had to get even better, though.

  Like, yesterday.

  Feeling suddenly defeated at the magnitude of the job in front of her, Gabriella slumped her shoulders. She stood near the dessert station, dropped her gaze to the vanilla tuile cookies used to garnish the few sweets that Campania served, and snitched one. Delicious. It occurred to her that she’d been too busy to eat anything, too busy to have a glass of water, too busy to really consider exactly what she’d gotten herself into.

  She was doing this for her family. That meant she couldn’t stop. No matter how difficult things got. Or how many tuiles she needed to munch until she could turn off the lights, lock up, and retreat to her own cozy bed for some much needed sleep.

  Pinkie caught her in midreach for another tuile. Gabriella froze, cookie guiltily in hand. For an instant, she thought her friend was going to lambaste her for filching tuiles. As the pastry chef, Pinkie arrived earlier than everyone else did to do her setup and get in her baking time. She was one of the few employees who was trusted with her own set of pizzeria keys. Pinkie had every right not to have her station raided when she was trying to plate the last caramel budino of the night.

  Gabriella raised both arms. “I only took the broken ones.”

  Pinkie frowned at her, appearing unmollified by her excuse.

  Then the pastry chef leaned nearer, so only Gabriella could hear her. “There’s a leftover salad in my lowboy.” She nodded toward her small refrigerator, one of two units that formed the base of her station’s counter. “Eat it. You’ll feel better.”

  Instantly, Gabriella felt her mood lighten. “Thank you, Pinkie!” She stepped in for a hug, arms outstretched in unstoppable relief. “You’re a lifesaver. You don’t know how—”

  “No hugging. We’re not there yet.”

  Pinkie’s terse words squashed Gabriella’s good mood. “Oh.”

  “Maybe we never will be. I thought I’d lost my job!”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Gabriella said hastily. “I swear, I’m going to fix everything. It’ll be better than ever. Really.”

  But since that kind of talk was veering dangerously close to the radical ideas that had caused her rift with her dad, Gabriella shut her mouth. She didn’t need to overpromise.

  She was having a hard enough time delivering as it was.

  “Anyway, we can’t have our boss keeling over in midshift.” With one slender tattooed arm, Pinkie set her finished dessert on the pass-through. Implacably, she eyed Gabriella. “Order up!” she said loudly. “Caramel budino for table six is up!”

  Clearly, Pinkie’s moment of compassion was at an end.

  Just as clearly, Gabriella had a job to do. In an efficient tone that matched Pinkie’s, she said, “Pick up, Jeremy.”

  As the server retrieved his order, Gabriella watched him. He strolled across Campania’s small but spotless dining room with poise and friendliness, bantered with his customers, then left them to share the caramel pudding. On his way back, Jeremy caught Gabriella watching him. His spine stiffened. He frowned.

  Tartly, he asked, “Does my work meet your approval, boss?”

  Gabriella bit back a sharp retort, feeling almost too beleaguered not to react with annoyance. It would have matched Jeremy’s. On the other hand, that’s what everyone expected.

  “Good job,” Gabriella said seriously. It was late. Why not be honest? “Thanks for sticking by me. I appreciate it.”

  Jeremy’s gaze softened. His frown wobbled slightly. For a heartbeat, Gabriella almost believed blatant vulnerability would work where sheer determination had not. Could it be that all she needed was to show a little tenderness to these pizza slingers?

  Then Jeremy jerked his nose in the air. “I’m not sticking by you. I’m sticking by Campania,” he said snootily. “Sadly, the two of you are definitely not the same thing anymore.”

  He retreated to the wait station, leaving Gabriella to shake her head. She needed a stiff drink, a solid meal, and a kind word—not necessarily in that order. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. To no one in particular, she said, “I swear, the first person who’s actually nice to me is getting a raise, an on-the-spot bonus, and a big fat kiss on the lips.”

  Predictably, no immediate takers stepped forward.

  Jennifer shrugged. “All I know is, I just won five bucks from Jeremy.” She nodded toward her fellow server. “He thought it would take you at least another week to resort to bribery.”

  Great. Now the staff was betting on her shortcomings.

  Jennifer saw Gabriella’s undoubtedly disillusioned face and offered another shrug. “Hey, cheer up. You can still go double or nothing on this place folding altogether!”

  Jeremy arched his brows. “We started a betting
pool.”

  “Odds are pretty good,” Jennifer informed her helpfully. “Depending on what you’re hoping will happen, of course.”

  Improbably, that was when Gabriella decided to stand her ground. She nodded, then ripped a duplicate ticket from the spike used to hold finished orders. Grabbing the pen from her apron, she wrote an IOU on the dupe. She thrust it at Jennifer. “I’m in. On the side of Campania succeeding.”

  The server gawked at Gabriella’s IOU. “A thousand bucks?”

  Nearby, Jeremy whistled. Probably in pity, not awe.

  “It’s all I have.” Gabriella raised her head, daring them to refuse her. “I expect to get it back and then some.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You’ve overdosed on confidence.”

  “Or maybe you’re crazy,” Jennifer suggested. “Wow.”

  But now that she was back on familiar ground, Gabriella felt better. A lot better. She gave the dining room a critical look. “You two have a lot of work to do. Better get on it.”

  They both groaned, then reluctantly went to comply. By the time Gabriella reached the kitchen again, she felt renewed.

  Apparently, she didn’t need booze, snacks, or kind words to feel better. All she needed were a dash of bravado and a load of impulsivity. Both had made her feel … hopeful again. If she hadn’t been all but blackballed in the restaurant biz, Gabriella would have known exactly where to find plenty more bravado and impulsivity, too: after-work drinks. But in the weeks since she’d been back, no one had invited her to come along.

  She missed the camaraderie of sharing beers in a dusky dive bar, swapping stories about cooking and customers, and unwinding with a plate of something fried, salty, and off the menu with her restaurant family. Until Gabriella’s split from Campania, they’d been a close-knit house. Now, everything was different.

  She wished she had someone to trust. Someone to share the burden of her responsibilities with. Someone to laugh with. But as long as her staff was determined to make her pay for her recent mistakes, she was out of luck. She’d just have to muddle through until she found a way to set things right again.

  So, with that in mind, Gabriella gathered her strength and marched back into the kitchen, ready to take on any challenge….

  Only to learn that everyone else had sneaked out early, leaving her to finish the cleanup and closure alone. Again.

  Gabriella was stowing her things in her metal employee locker when she heard the walk-in refrigerator door bang shut.

  As far as she knew, everyone else was gone. She’d shut down Campania on her own. Although the delicious aromas of basil and tomatoes still lingered in the air, everything was quiet.

  Except for that slamming walk-in door.

  Instantly alert, Gabriella wheeled around. Her heart leaped to her throat as she surveyed the shadowy walkway between the employee break room and the rear of the pizzeria’s kitchen, where the storage areas and her office were. Footsteps sounded.

  In the shadows, something moved. It came closer.

  It was Adam, the hapless new guy. Grimy with spilled mop water, splashes of tomato sauce, and debris from the rubberized floor mats he’d sprayed clean, he headed for his locker.

  He glimpsed Gabriella and shrieked like a scared monkey.

  She couldn’t help laughing. “It’s only me.” She touched his arm to calm him down. “Sorry to scare you. Are you okay?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Adam looked behind him. “I was just putting away some stuff in the walk-in. It’s been a long day.”

  “Tell me about it.” At least the new guy didn’t appear to resent her. Gabriella found that bolstering. Despite her invitation to talk, though, Adam remained politely silent.

  She was dying for some friendly interaction.

  Sometimes she intimidated people. Maybe this was one of those times. “No, seriously.” She nudged him. “Tell me about it.”

  Adam laughed. “Actually, I was just cooling off in there.” He ducked his head. “It’s hot work hosing off the floor mats.”

  “You’ve got that right. Ugh! You feel so gross afterward, too. I’m not even sure what half the stuff stuck in there is.”

  His gaze sharpened. “You’ve hosed off the floor mats?”

  “I’ve done everything in this place, from mopping to emptying the grease traps. Nepotism didn’t get me this gig.”

  “Really? That’s not what Bowser says.”

  “Yeah, well … Bowser says a lot of things.” Gabriella watched Adam adjust the sweaty bandanna on his head. The poor guy needed more time in the refrigerated walk-in. During the heat of service, pizzeria kitchens were infernos. She took pity on him. “You can’t believe everything you hear, Frosty.”

  “I guess not. I’m not usually so gullible, but—” He broke off, seeming not so secretly thrilled. “Was that … a nickname?”

  “Damn straight, it was. You’ve officially been christened.” Gabriella retrieved her purse from her locker. She caught a glimpse of her after-hours black cocktail dress hanging there—practically growing cobwebs, it was so disused—and had an idea. The time for waiting around was over with. She was seizing control. “Aren’t you going out for after-work drinks?”

  “Yeah. I’m just running late.” Frosty hooked a thumb toward the door. “I told everyone I’d meet them at the brewpub.”

  He named the place, a frequent hangout of restaurant industry types. It was just down the street. It was perfect.

  Until now, it had also been a secret. At least from her.

  Gabriella had tried showing up at a few industry haunts after hours, hoping to serendipitously “run into” everyone. She needed to mend fences with her staff and neglected friends. So far, they’d eluded her. This was just the break she needed.

  Thank you, new guy. No one else would have let slip the information about where after-hours drinks were happening.

  “Well, maybe I’ll see you there.” Stifling a sudden spurt of excitement, Gabriella grabbed her dress. Affecting coolness, she headed for her tiny back-of-house office, where she kept a spare pair of heels. Although she came to work in civvies, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—plus pink high-tops—weren’t exactly going-out clothes. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow, Frosty!”

  His grateful gaze followed her. “Thanks! See you later.”

  With that, Gabriella was on her way. She’d even done a good deed by relieving Adam of his non-nicknamed status, too. It was hard enough being a newbie. At least now “Frosty” had the boss on his side. Plus, that meant she had an ally, too.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She’d take it.

  Midnight … or near enough to it

  Gabriella would have been the first to admit that crashing her own staff’s after-hours drinks party wasn’t the world’s most solid idea. But it was all she had. So she went for it.

  “Pinkie!” Just as though it were the old (better) days, Gabriella rushed over to her friend. She wisely didn’t try for another hug. “Wow! I’m so psyched to run into you here.”

  “Hey, boss.” Semisuspiciously, Pinkie nodded. “I didn’t think you knew where after-work drinks were happening these days. You know, given that you’ve been out of town, and all.”

  “Yeah.” On a bar stool, Emeril scowled. “Out of town.”

  “Gallivanting with another crew in Astoria,” Scooter accused from the next bar stool, gripping a bottle of his preferred IPA. “Cheating on us with a bunch of strangers.”

  Gabriella sighed. “It was a coffeehouse, not a pizzeria!” she explained at a near shout to be heard over the thumping music. For the umpteenth time, she added, “I didn’t want to leave. But my dad didn’t want my ideas for revamping Campania, and I didn’t want to work for someone who didn’t respect me.”

  It was the short-order version of what had happened. No nuance, but no teary-eyed drama, either. It was enough. For now.

  However much Gabriella wanted to defend herself and her unwanted estrangement from her dad, tonight wasn’t the time.

 
; “Save the sob story for someone who cares.” Bowser shouldered into the space between her and Pinkie, correctly identifying the weakest link in their freeze-out-Gabriella chain. “’Cause we don’t care. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

  “Well. That lays it on the line, Bowser. I respect that.”

  “Damn right you do.” He slugged back some oatmeal stout, then wiped his mouth with his tattooed hand. “Leaving yet?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I don’t scare easily.”

  Grudgingly, he nodded. “I’m still not buying you a beer.”

  Gabriella hefted her porter. “I already bought my own.”

  “Be sure to wipe off the bottle!” Hypo got into their conversation, glancing up from the medical app on his phone. “Bottles are very germy. You can get listeria. Or mono.”

  “Shut up, you hypochondriac.” Pinkie gave him a good-natured push. She nodded at the barkeep. “One more over here.”

  Between the shoving, the teasing, and the necessarily close quarters in the crowded brewpub, it felt almost like old times.

  At least it did until a while later, when Jeremy arrived.

  Drink in hand, he made it a priority to glare at Gabriella. “I thought we weren’t telling her where we were going.”

  “We weren’t.” Jennifer stepped up with Adam by her side. She pointed at her linebacker-size date. “But Frosty here did.”

  Everyone groaned. Expletives were shouted. So were ribald accusations of a hookup between Jennifer and Frosty. They both blushed, making their newfound alliance obvious. Impromptu relationships blossomed among Gabriella’s people, especially after hours. Just like badgering did. At any time of day.

  “You couldn’t keep me away from after-work drinks forever,” Gabriella said. “You guys know me. I’m not giving up. Not ever.”

  Their conspicuous glares argued otherwise.

  Oh yeah. To them, her retreat to Astoria looked like giving up. Well, they didn’t know the whole story. She wasn’t telling it tonight, either. She was too tired, too stressed, too …

  … distracted by the guy at the other end of the bar. Whoa.