by Ivy Raine
“And you can’t have them sent from home because they’ll know you’re not in Port Hamilton. Got it.” Stash grinned at Marta. “Since I’m paying, does that mean I can pick them out for you?” Looking her up and down, Stash put a finger to his chin. “You’re not a brief woman. That would be too plain. And you’re not exactly risqué enough to be a thong girl. So, that leaves bikinis. You wear bikinis.”
“Jesus, Stash. Is nothing sacred with you?” Marta refused to blush – even though the man was right.
He thought for a minute. “Nope. I just happen to say what I see. That’s all.”
“Toddler,” she grumbled.
Marta couldn’t drop Stash off at the gas station fast enough, and as soon as she had, she headed up the beach to Mirelli’s.
“This is nuts,” she said to herself.
When Mirelli’s came into view, Stash’s plan didn’t seem all too crazy. The place was enormous and the parking lot was littered with high end vehicles.
Marta made a quick check of herself in the mirror before heading inside. The cavernous doorway led her into a small reception area complete with servers donned in black and white.
“Can I seat you?” A young woman popped up from behind the podium with a stack of menus in her hand. “You’re a little late for breakfast, but we still have time to squeeze you in before lunch.”
“I’m not here for breakfast,” Marta explained. “I’m here for a job.”
The smile dropped from her lips. “Thank god!” she said, relief etched across her face. “Come with me.”
She led Marta along the outside of the dining area, scurrying past patrons with raised hands.
“In there,” she said, opening a door marked ‘employees only’. “Doesn’t matter which one you get. They’re all clean. You can take an extra one when you leave so you don’t have to wash them every single night. Don’t forget the bowtie.” She hurried back to the door, but stopped and turned around. “And hurry,” she pleaded.
Though a thoroughly unconventional hiring, it was a job. Marta picked through the uniforms until she found one that would fit and was just finishing up the bowtie when a knock came on the door.
“Almost ready?” came the muffled cry from the other side. “We’re dying out here!”
Marta opened the door and the same young woman gave her a quick inspection.
“The hair,” she said, pointing to Marta’s cascading curls. “It’s gorgeous, but you’ll have to pull it back. Mr. Mirelli has a strict rule about hair hanging loose around food.” She grabbed something out of a box and handed it to Marta. “Hair net. For covering whatever’s left hanging down your back,” she clarified. “I’m Midge, by the way. Not my real name. Just a cruel joke because I’m so small.”
Marta quickly pulled her massive mane back and out of her face and Midge helped with the hair net.
“Okay. We’ve spent enough time beautifying you. Not that you need any help,” Midge added with a grin. “Just watch out for customer’s hands and Mr. Mirelli and you’ll be just fine.”
Midge made her a quick, temporary stick-on name tag and sent her off to the kitchen to wash her hands.
“You the new girl?” The chef may have been overworked and underweight, but his good looks weren’t lost on Marta.
Marta nodded. “I guess I am.”
He grimaced and motioned to a tray of piping hot food. “We don’t like attitude around here. You’ll be on tables seven through nine. This one goes to eight. Offer apologies for the lateness, but don’t go on about it. And send them out a drink on the house.”
Marta snatched up the tray and was about to leave when the chef called her back.
“Where’s your shoulder cloth?”
A deer in headlights couldn’t look more confused than Marta. “My what?”
“Jennifer!” An older woman appeared at his side, looking ready to cut Marta’s throat. “Get this girl a cloth, please.” He turned back to Marta. “What’s your name?”
“Um. Marta Manchester?”
He glared some more. “Are you asking me?”
If Marta hadn’t needed the job, she would have tossed his stupid shoulder cloth over his head and took off. But, as fate would have it, she needed the job with the big tips.
“No, I’m not, and if you don’t watch your attitude, you’ll find yourself less one server.” Who did he think he was? Marta didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was a hot, culinary genius. She refused to take his shit. Much to her surprise, Marta thought she saw a hint of a smile.
He cleared his throat and looked as though he were hand-picking his next words. “I apologize for being short with you, but we’ve had a few customers waiting over forty minutes. Can you please take that tray to table eight?”
Marta slung the cloth over her shoulder and picked up the tray. “There,” she said. “Was that so hard?”
Chef man’s mouth opened just a bit, but he apparently thought better of it and clamped it shut again. Marta spun around and elbowed her way through the swinging door.
“Now,” she said to herself as she stepped into the sea of hungry customers, “where’s table eight?”
“Against the wall,” said Midge as she passed Marta on her way back to the kitchen. “Table seven’s to the right of it and nine to the left. “After eight, go to nine and see if there’s anything you can do for them and then go back around to seven. A circle. See?” Midge stuffed a note pad and pencil down in Marta’s shirt pocket.
Marta nodded. “A circle.”
Thankfully, the patrons at table eight were elderly and in good spirits, and were more than gracious about the delay. Table nine, however, was a different story.
“Half an hour,” he snapped. “That’s how long I’ve been sitting here waiting for someone – anyone – to stop. Is this how you run a business?”
Marta tried the apology tactic, but the bald badger was having none of it.
“I want to see your manager.”
Marta looked around. “Well, I’d be happy to point you in the right direction, but I’m just as clueless as you. I only started working here five minutes ago and I don’t know a solitary soul.”
He grunted. “Seriously?”
Marta nodded. “Seriously.”
“Well,” he said, lightening up, “if I can get a bit of water to take my medicine, you and I will get along just fine.”
The hard lump in her stomach eased a bit. “Thanks. I appreciate it more than you know.”
“No problem. Just make sure it doesn’t take a half an hour to get here,” he added, brow raised and ready.
Marta grinned. “You’ll have it in under two minutes. Guaranteed.”
The Angry Chef, as Marta had mentally dubbed him, gave her the stink eye when she went back in. “New orders?”
“Water.”
“Water. And what about table’s nine and seven?”
Another waitress nudged Marta and pointed her off to the water dispenser. “This is table nine,” said Marta, grabbing a glass and filling it with ice. “He’s in a bit of a mood and he wants water immediately.”
The Angry Chef straightened up. “Oh. Fine, then. Just get their orders as soon as you go back out.”
Marta saluted the chef and hurried back to table nine to deliver the water.
The day went on in the same frenzied fashion, but Marta seemed to be racking up the tips. At last count, she had sixty-four dollars input under her name.
When the restaurant finally cleared out just after ten-thirty, Marta was ready to drop, but she’d earned just over two hundred dollars in tips alone. She plunked down at a dirty table to rest.
“Marta!” The Angry Chef motioned for her to join him in the kitchen.
“Is it time to clean up?” she said, barely dragging her ass through the door.
The Angry Chef did something unexpected. He smiled at her. “No. Not you. You need to go home and rest. You’ve worked a ten hour shift.”
She rubbed her temples. “I’ve been here that
long?”
He nodded. “Not bad for the first day on the job.” He clocked her out on the computer and pulled two hundred and six dollars from the cash drawer. “You’ve certainly earned your tips today. By the way,” he said, skimming over the computer screen. “We don’t have any information here for you at all other than your first name. Who hired you?”
“I don’t think I was ever formally hired. I came in this morning to see about a job and the next thing I knew I was wearing a uniform.”
“Hmm. I wondered about that when you told me your name was Marta. The girl we were waiting on was Lori. Apparently she made other plans for today.” He held out his hand. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Brad Mirelli. Owner of this beast.”
Though exhausted enough to fall asleep standing up, Marta wasn’t too tired to comprehend what he’d just said. “Mr. Mirelli?”
“That’s me.”
Marta thought back over the day and lost count of how many times she’d had verbal spats with her boss during the course of the previous twelve hours. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said. “It was a rough day and everyone handled it pretty well considering we were three girls short.”
“If I’d know.” Marta stopped. If she’d known she would have probably done the same thing, especially after the spat with Stash that morning. Men were beginning to piss her off just for breathing.
“Don’t even think about it, Marta. Just get yourself home and rest. You have tomorrow off, but I’ll need you Monday from noon until at least nine if you’re willing to stick with us.”
Marta nodded. “I’ll be here.” A wave of dizziness came over her when she stood up, and she clutched at his arms to keep from falling. “Sorry – again,” she said. “Lack of food and lack of sleep are a bad combination.”
“Can you get home okay or do you want me to call someone?”
A blurr clouded her mind. Who was there to call except Stash? He didn’t even have a cell phone, and she had no clue what the house number was. “No. I’ll be okay as soon as I get into the fresh air.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Marta grabbed her bag from the locker room and snatched an extra uniform.
“How often do I get paid?” she said, doing quick math in her head.
“Every two weeks, but you’ll need a bank account. We prefer direct deposit for everything except your tips.”
In a little over two months, working at the same rate, she’d have enough money for at least three months’ rent in the city. “Great. I’ll give you that information on Monday morning.”
The fog had rolled in making travel slow, and by the time Marta got back to the cottage, it was nearly eleven-thirty. Every light in the cottage was on, creating an eerie glow in the cloud of fog.
“Stash!” Marta hammered on the door with the last of her strength.
The door whipped open and Marta nearly tumbled in.
“Where in the hell have you been?” Stash shoved the door shut and tossed her over-sized bag in the corner. “I’ve been calling hospitals for the last two hours!” He plunked the cordless phone back in its cradle.
“Sorry! I pulled a double shift at Mirelli’s. Besides, I didn’t think I had to check in. It’s not like were married or something.”
Still fuming, he guided her to the sofa. “So apparently you got the job.”
“Yeah,” she said, leaning back and closing her eyes. “And I made two hundred and six dollars just in tips.”
He shoved the phone book aside and plunked down beside her. “I thought maybe you took off with my seventy-five dollars in gas.”
“Not yet. How about you?” she said. “Did you get the mechanic’s job?”
Stash nodded. “Yeah, but it doesn’t pay nearly as well as Mirelli’s. Eleven dollars an hour to start.”
“It’s a job.” Marta yawned and felt the soft fluff overtake her head, and before she realized what was happening, Stash was carrying her up the stairs. “You’ll break your back carrying my fat ass around,” she mumbled in his ear.
“The only thing fat on you is your mouth.”
Marta felt the soft down of the pillow fluff up around her ears.
“I’d help you with your clothes, but since I’ve been remanded to the friend zone, that might be a little awkward.”
Marta reached up in the dark and grazed his cheek with her hand. The stubble was already coming back. “You wouldn’t mind pulling off my shoes, would you? I don’t think I can sit up.”
She felt Stash’s strong hand cradle each foot as he removed her shoes.
“I’d be happy to help you with your uniform.” He ran his hands up either side of her legs. “It’s dark. I can’t see a thing.”
Though she knew she should object, Marta couldn’t make the words come. Maybe she didn’t want to say the words. Maybe she wanted Stash to touch her body. She felt her pants slide down over her hips and shivered with cold when she was free of them.
“I think you can unbutton your own blouse.” She felt the bed shift when Stash stood up. “I’ve gotta get out of here before I ruin our friendship.” He stopped midway across the room and turned around. “And don’t ever scare the shit out of me like that again, if you don’t mind.”
Marta smiled and only managed to undo the top three buttons on her blouse before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 5
She’d never know exactly why she decided to do something so completely and utterly stupid as dashing off with a gorgeous stranger to another state, but Marta knew one thing: it felt right. For the first time in a very long time, she gave in and allowed herself to do something unexpected and crazy. For six years she did what was expected: go to college, help out at home, work a part-time job, volunteer at the animal shelter. She’d created a box, albeit a neat box, of what her life should be. And it was a lie. Pretty tissue paper covered up what was really underneath. Everyone who knew Marta couldn’t come up with a single bad thing to say about her. Really there wasn’t, but not for lack of wanting. Marta wanted to join the ranks of her friends when they did dumb teenage things like gliding down a homemade zip line or cutting school at the end of senior year. She wanted to be reckless and carefee in her college years – but she couldn’t. Life had come in and smacked her in the face all too soon, and she knew what could happen if you let your guard down for even one little minute.
“My feet ache like nobody’s business.” Marta winced as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “It’s been almost three weeks and my feet still hurt like hell. How long did it take for you to get used to the pain?”
Midge pinched one eye shut as she thought. “Oh, probably a good month. Possibly longer.” She looked down at Marta’s feet. “That’s your problem. You need better shoes. Nursing shoes work best.”
Scrunching up her nose, Marta peeked at Midge’s shoes. “Is that what you all wear? They look like oversized doll shoes.”
Midge laughed. “But our feet don’t hurt. Can you imagine the tips you could get if you weren’t hobbling around all day? You’re putting the rest of us to same as is.”
A mini bolt of pain shot through Marta’s left heel. “I might have to invest.” More tips mean a quicker escape from the trap she was slowly and decidedly falling into. The Stash trap.
Keeping Stash at arm’s length hadn’t proven too difficult considering they were both working extended hours, but when they were together the energy between them could light up a city. Even their heated banter back and forth was much more than just words. Marta tried her best to ignore it, to remind herself he was merely a friend. A friend just like Kyle. However, she was well aware that excuses wouldn’t cut it forever, and one of these days, she’d find herself crossing the line – and liking it.
“Are you coming to the bonfire tomorrow night?”
Marta shrugged. She’d seen the letter sized announcement posted on the bulletin board in kitchen, but she wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect.
“I doub
t it.”
Midge shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t ask.”
Marta smiled. “I’m just not into crowds. I think I’m going through an introvert phase.”
“Yeah, well introverts have to eat, too.” Midge stopped and stared at something behind Marta. “Oh, my! Don’t look now,” she gushed, “but Travis just walked through the door.”
Heat wafted up from Marta’s chest; she could feel it rising under her chin. Travis, their Thursday through Saturday regular, came in like clock-work at noon, and on most occasions he found a way to ask Marta out. “I really wish he’d find another table. I’m so tired of turning him down.”
Midge smoothed out her shoulder cloth. “He just likes you. Can you blame him?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. Besides, I really, really don’t want to go out with him.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Midge, adorably offended on Travis’ behalf, raised her chin.
“Not a thing. I’m just not into having a relationship right now. You, on the other hand,” she said to her friend, “have nothing holding you back. Why don’t you go talk to him?”
Marta knew Midge had a major crush on Travis, though she’d never admit it. She knew what time he came in, when he had to leave, and what he normally ordered.
“He looks right over my head. Literally,” she said. “The guy’s like six foot five and here I am barely tall enough for the adult rides at the amusement park. Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s just no use. Last month it was Paige and the month before that, Miranda. What do they both have in common? Over five foot five. This month, you. ‘Nuff said.” Midge poked Marta. “He’s in his regular spot. You’d better do your thing.”
Turning around, Marta did a quick once-over of Travis as he scoured his lunch menu – something he did every single time even though he ordered the exact same thing each and every Thursday. He was definitely nice to look at with his wind kissed skin and his head of thick, unruly black hair that meshed perfectly with his lumberjack beard. Rough, but in a good way.
