Take It All Off

by Weston Parker

  “We’ll see you there.”

  Gianluca and I left after Edward introduced me to his team and we said our goodbyes.

  As soon as we walked out into the bright sunlight outside, he slapped a large hand down on my shoulder and threw his head back as he laughed. “I shouldn’t have doubted for a second that having you in there was a good idea. You were great. Even if I’m not thrilled about having to spend more time with them than I already have, I’m glad things turned out well in the end.”

  “So am I.” I shoved his hand off my shoulder and smirked at him as I slid my sunglasses on. “We’re going to make another billion this year with this. Easy. Never doubt me again, Gianluca. You should know so much better than that by now.”

  Chapter 2

  Addy

  Pots and pans clanged as they were slung down for preparation for service to begin. Plates and silverware clattered as the industrial dishwashers were unloaded. We were almost ready for the restaurant to open, but then the door to the kitchen banged open and our boss came in. He stuck his fingers between his teeth and let out a screeching whistle.

  “Stop,” he hollered. Everyone did just that and turned to stare at him, the work grinding to a halt. “I have an important announcement to make.”

  If anyone had bothered to ask me five years ago what I wanted to do with my life, working in a restaurant in Italy wouldn’t have been too far from the top of my list. At least it meant I’d finally been able to make my real dream of traveling come true.

  What I would have pictured said restaurant to be like, however, wouldn’t quite have been the same as the one I stood in right then. I might have imagined a little canal-side cafe in Venice or a fancy eatery filled with glass and chrome in Milan.

  As it was, I now lived and worked in Florence. I’d fallen in love with the city within my first hour of arriving, and deciding to stay had been the easiest thing I’d ever had to do.

  The same couldn’t be said for the restaurant where I worked. Antonio’s was a lower mid-range “authentic” Italian kitchen with dirty carpets on the floors in the dining room, spider webs in the darker corners, and a less than ethical owner.

  The fact that they advertised it as being “authentic” was what had caught my attention in the job ad. Little had I known that by authentic, Antonio had meant he used his grandmother’s recipe for pizza and pasta dough. That was it, the full extent of his definition of authentic.

  It had been a letdown when I’d realized it, but it was a job offered to me at a time when I had desperately needed one. As I stared at the grime covering the grouting between the tiles in the kitchen and the questionable spots of rust on the counters, I wondered for the umpteenth time if maybe I should have looked a little harder for a different job.

  Antonio’s bark as he started our morning briefing ripped me out of my head and forced me to focus on the man who had become the bane of my existence.

  “We don’t offer complimentary meals and we don’t have such a thing as free refills.” My boss glared at the gathered staff through narrowed hazel eyes. “It’s been brought to my attention that there are some of you who like to do these things, but no more. There are no free handouts in my restaurant.”

  He folded his arms across his thick chest, his forearms resting on the bulk of his stomach. “If anyone has a problem with that, feel free to leave now.”

  I let out a quiet sigh. We’d heard variations of this speech before, but nobody paid much attention to it. For the prices he charged his customers, we had to do something to lure them back.

  Before I could convince myself that it was a bad idea, my hand shot up, and I cleared my throat to speak.

  Antonio’s glare shifted to only me. Then he nodded and held out a hand to roll his finger in a circular motion. “Speak, my little American.”

  My own eyes narrowed to slits. I hated it when he condescended to me in that tone, but he knew it, so he kept doing it. Reacting to him would only encourage his behavior.

  Composing myself with a deep breath, I forced myself to smile and forged ahead. “If we gave five free espresso refills to every customer, we wouldn’t be losing any money and we would make it more attractive for them to come back.”

  I heard someone snicker softly behind me, but I didn’t want to get anyone into trouble by bringing Antonio’s attention to them. Everyone in this room, except for maybe Antonio, knew that I was right.

  “You really think I won’t lose any money if we give people five free refills?” He sneered at me, his expression twisting into a grotesque parody of itself. It sent chills down my spine, but not the kind born out of fear. This was disgust. Plain and simple. “Your American education is letting you down. Were you not taught math over there?”

  “I was.” My cheeks heated, but I didn’t back down. “Consumer studies have shown loyal patronage at places where they feel they’re getting something in return for it. At our profit margin, we could easily offer free refills while still making money.”

  Antonio’s dark eyes rolled to the ceiling. I didn’t need to understand the string of whispered words to know he was cursing at me in his native language. I’d picked up enough Italian to know some of the words he uttered, and the general tone of his rant was perfectly clear anyway.

  “You think you’re so smart?” he spat as his skin turned that mottled red color that was always a little alarming. “Do you really think I’m going to stand here and be insulted by a waitress?”

  “I’m not trying to insult you.” Not that it was hard to insult the man. “I just think we could—”

  He slashed a meaty hand through the air. “I don’t care what you think. This isn’t a debate. I’m the boss and you will do what I tell you to.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic. My fingers curled into fists, but I managed a tight nod. Power-drunk idiot.

  “Good.” He cut me another look. “I won’t warn you again, little American.”

  It was a taunt and one I was very close to responding to, but I literally couldn’t afford to rise to the challenge. I nodded instead. “Understood, Antonio. I’ll get to work.”

  He showed me his tobacco-stained teeth with what I assumed was supposed to be a smile, then waved me away.

  The dining room filled with patrons soon after and I tried not to think about the fact that I worked for a man I had no respect for. At least I was getting to do it in beautiful Italy, so there was a very definite silver lining.

  A few of my regulars came in and asked Ana, who was our front-of-house, to sit in my section. I smiled as I welcomed them and took their orders.

  “What can I get for you today, Mrs. Romano?” I asked as I tapped a pencil against my notepad.

  The perfectly coiffed blonde had chosen her usual table near the window. The glass wasn’t necessarily clean, but I knew she liked to look out at the narrow cobbled streets and the Arno River outside.

  “Just my usual.” Her wistful, bright blue eyes lifted to meet mine. “Thank you, Adaline.”

  “One Caprese salad with pesto sauce and a sparkling water with lemon coming up,” I recited her order from memory and only wrote her name down on my notepad. It was all I needed to remind me to place her order. “Still not ready to call me Addy, huh?”

  “Adaline is a beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” she said. “You shouldn’t shorten it.”

  “Right. Thanks.” The corners of my lips tipped up into another smile at my sweet customer. “Adaline it is, then. Let me go place your order.”

  Mrs. Romano and other regulars like her made my job tolerable even on the worst days. Also, I didn’t have any other viable employment options, but I had bills to pay, so I kind of had to stick it out.

  Over the years I’d been in Italy, I had gotten used to the way most locals wore their hearts on their sleeves. They truly were a passionate people. While comments like Mrs. Romano’s might have sounded cheesy to me back in Portland, I had come to learn that they were genuine compliments here.

  While I didn’t really
think of myself as beautiful, I’d been single for long enough to enjoy hearing it from someone else. Even if it was a retired widow.

  Humming to myself as I crossed the room, I noticed another one of my favorite customers sliding into his seat. Mr. Canali waved at me and pointed at the menu. I nodded my response, knowing exactly what he wanted too.

  I’d always had a pretty good memory. Kyle, my brother, thought I was wasting my talent by only wanting to travel and working in the restaurant. I strongly disagreed with him.

  As far as I was concerned, traveling enriched the soul in a way only it could. I didn’t need to be enriched in any other way. Experiences outweighed money in my opinion.

  I had a roof over my head and could afford food and some basic luxuries. It was good enough for me.

  After I placed my orders, I welcomed a few more customers, wiped down my empty tables, and delivered drinks, condiments, cutlery, and crockery. Mrs. Romano gave me a grateful smile when I delivered her meal, and Mr. Canali tucked into his tender steak with gusto.

  The older man beckoned me closer when he caught my eye about halfway through his meal. A deep frown wrinkled his brow when I walked up to him. Seeing it on him worried me.

  Mr. Canali wasn’t a complainer. In all the time I’d been serving him, I’d only heard positive things from him.

  “Is everything okay here?” I asked, glancing down at his plate. The steak was perfectly cooked, just the way he liked it. Nothing obvious was amiss.

  At least it wasn’t until he lifted his fork and I saw a long hair hanging from it. “I found this in my spinach.”

  I felt the blood draining from my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see it.”

  He nodded, but his mouth turned down. “I didn’t think you had. I must tell you I’m very disappointed, Addy. This is not good.”

  “No, it’s not. Absolutely not. It’s unacceptable.” I picked up the plate. “Let me get you a new meal. It’s on the house.”

  His wrinkles deepened along with his frown, but he agreed. “Thank you. I’m not sure I’m going to trust it, though. Finding that hair is deeply disturbing, dear. It makes me question the cleanliness and hygiene standards of your kitchen. It makes me quite sick to imagine what else I’ve consumed here.”

  There was nothing honest I could say to answer that. Our kitchen wasn’t the cleanest, and I questioned the hygiene standards myself.

  “I understand. I’m so very sorry about that. I’ll be right back with your fresh plate.”

  I went through the motions, pointing out the hair to the staff in the kitchen and ordering the replacement meal. Unfortunately, as I was explaining the situation to one of the cooks, Antonio walked in.

  “You told him his meal was on the house?” He glowered at me, his graying eyebrows knitted together and vicious murder in his eyes. “I thought I made myself clear this morning.”

  I sighed and pulled my shoulders back. No way this is ending well for me.

  It wasn’t like I could deny it or try to come up with some excuse, though. He’d caught me red-handed. Or red-tongued, in this case.

  “I told him that, and you made yourself clear,” I started. “These are exceptional circumstances, though. There was a hair in his food.”

  “Did I stutter this morning?” His skin turned that mottled-red color again. I seemed to have a knack for bringing it out in him. “Did you hear me mention any exceptions to the rule?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing.” A cruel smirk formed on his thin lips. “I won’t let his meal be comped, Ms. Tidwell. Either he will pay for it or you will.”

  “Fine. I’ll pay for it then.”

  The smirk widened, and malice entered his gaze. “Very well. It will come out of the money you have made today.”

  “That’s fine.” Totally unfair but whatever. Arguing with him would only make it worse. “Do what you need to do.”

  “I’m glad you said that.” He might as well have been rubbing his hands together like a villain from the way he was suddenly looking me. “You are fired, Addy.”

  “What?” My heart skipped a beat as my jaw loosened. “You can’t fire me.”

  “I can and I am. I gave a very clear order this morning. You chose to ignore it. I need to set an example and you are it.”

  Shock radiated through me. I truly hadn’t expected this. Antonio, for as much of an asshole as he was, wasn’t known for taking such hard actions.

  “You can collect your final check on the way out,” he said, his voice cold and gleeful all at the same time.

  Fucker.

  I reached for the tie of the apron around my waist and pulled the knot free. “Take this fucking job and shove it then. You go explain the hair to Mr. Canali and tell him you still expect him to pay for his meal. He’ll never be back, and neither will I.”

  Without giving him another glance, I lifted the apron off over my head, bundled it into a ball, and handed it to the cook before storming out. For the first time since I’d moved here, I didn’t marvel at the architecture or romance of the city. I was blind to the history, the beauty, and the magic of it all as I marched to my apartment.

  It was a tiny two-bedroom that I shared with my best friend, but Elena wasn’t home yet. A constant rant played through my mind as I slammed our door behind me and went straight to the kitchen.

  Hopefully, there was still an open bottle of wine in our fridge. As I flung it open, intending to grab whatever alcohol was in there and drinking it from the bottle, I spotted Elena’s bulletin board against our wall.

  On it was a red post-it note with the word “rent” scrawled in thick black marker. It was placed on the block only a few days from now.

  I groaned out loud.

  Fuck.

  My bank balance wasn’t going to be happy with me if I had to pay rent before I got a new job. In fact, it might even be so pissed off that it wouldn’t allow me to access even the amount of money I needed just to pay my half.

  I need a new job. As soon as fucking possible.

  Chapter 3

  Marco

  “These are beautiful,” the cashier at the flower shop said when I laid my choice on the counter in front of her. She lifted her clear blue eyes to mine, smiling suggestively as she took me in. “A bouquet like this must be for one lucky lady.”

  Irritation flickered in my gut, but I pushed it down. I’d never understood it when people hit on someone they had reason to believe was in a relationship.

  While the cashier wasn’t physically unattractive, batting her eyelashes at a man she thought was buying flowers for another woman obliterated any hint of attraction I might have felt toward her. I also wasn’t in the habit of picking up women in random shops.

  If she hadn’t just turned me all the way off with the way she was ogling me while believing I belonged to another, I might have considered flirting a little bit. As things were though, I didn’t want to play into the idea of leading her on when I knew nothing would come of it.

  “I’m the lucky one,” I said. “They’re for my mother.”

  She blinked in surprise. Then her dark eyelashes fluttered again and a predatory smile spread across her face. “Hot and sweet. There’s a combination I don’t see every day. Give me your number and we can grab a drink after my shift.”

  A statement, not a question.

  I pressed the corners of my mouth in and shook my head. I reached into my jacket and extracted some cash, tossing the amount for the flowers down in front of her before picking up the bouquet.

  “That’s not going to happen. Have a nice day.” I gave her a nod and walked out of the shop, leaving her gaping in my wake.

  Tiny pricks of guilt over the way I’d treated her followed me out into the sunshine, but I shook them off. I had done nothing wrong. I hadn’t even been as impolite as I could have been.

  Maybe it was just knowing that I was on my way to see my mom that was giving me a sudden attack of conscience. She was waiting for me to bring home a nice
Italian girl to settle down with, and here I was, snapping at anyone who took a shot.

  I was afraid my mother was shit out of luck on the settling-down thing. Aldo and I had never been big on relationships. Although if and when we had found ourselves involved in one, we had always been completely faithful.

  We liked to remind our mother of that fact when she started lamenting about having done something wrong in raising us. While we weren’t following down the paths she’d wanted for us, at least we were loyal. That had to count for something.

  Our mother lived in a quiet residential neighborhood in one of the older parts of town. The streets were narrow, and the cobblestones were smooth and stained from centuries of use.

  Sunlight filtered in from above, but the red stone and brick of the Gothic-style buildings on either side of the street spared me from a direct onslaught of its heat. Scents of freshly baked bread and the bitterness of brewing coffee wafted from the houses and from the food trucks down the block.

  I took in a deep breath, allowing the familiarity of the smells and the dips between the stones underneath my feet to ease some of the tension in my muscles.

  Edward and his team didn’t end up flying back with us. They had been summoned to some or other emergency meeting, which they had assured us had nothing to do with our deal, so they had postponed their trip for a couple of days. They were due to be arriving today, and I was expecting his call, knowing they would take me up on the offer of a proper celebration.

  A night out on the town wasn’t my idea of fun, but I was the one who had made the offer in the first place, and I knew what they expected of me. Cradling the flowers in the crook of my elbow, I slid my free hand into my pocket as I turned the corner to Mom’s house.

  What I saw when I did made all my worries about the night out vanish like smoke in a breeze. My mother was standing outside her front door, a handkerchief in front of her nose as her shoulders heaved on sobs.