Page 23

Three wooden spoons. That’s how many I’ve snapped already stirring the pot of sauce simmering on the stove. She defies my every command. Shoots daggers at me when she thinks I’m not looking while other times… looks at me in ways a girl like her shouldn’t.
I know I look damn good for my age. It’s part good luck, part hard work. I drank and smoked my nights away for years, but I always ate clean, organic even. The boys give me shit. I used to get high, drink a half bottle of whiskey then go home and make sauce from scratch out of the tomatoes I’d pick up at the farmer’s market. But I never stopped powerlifting. I started at eighteen and never missed a day at the gym.
Lifting the spoon to my lips, I blow softly before taking a taste. It needs more salt.
“Boss? She’s here.”
Grunting, I add more salt and stir the pot again. “Motherfucker!” Spoon number four snaps. With a sigh, I untie my apron and chuck the broken pieces in the trash.
“Watch my sauce. If it burns, I’ll have your ass.”
Federico grins, takes another spoon and dons his apron. “It needs more basil.”
“Bullshit. It’sperfecto.”
“Nah, I’m tellin’ ya it needs more basil.”
I spin around taking a fresh spoon and dip it in, “You’re full of shit. Too much basil will ruin it.”
Before he can reply, I’m nudged over. The smell of her hair sweeter than honey fills the air as she brushes against my arm. She takes the spoon right outta my hands and dips it in the pot. Federico and I stare at her like two dumb fucks as she brings it to her mouth blowing on it.
“Garlic. It needs more garlic.”
She drops the spoon and sashays back out. My eyes are glued to her ass and legs. She’s wearing a black mini skirt tonight. It’s leather, tight, and hot as fuck.
“Damn, she’s fine. Mind if I tap that?”
“Employees are off limits,” I growl.
“I thought that rule only applied to you… ”
He breaks off seeing the rage brewing inside me. I pulverize him with one look.
“Understood,” he nods backing slowly away.
“Damn right, you do. Garlic? The freakin’ princess just strolls in here tellin’ me my sauce needs more garlic? Who in the hell does she think she is?” I mutter swatting pots and pans with my hands as I walk to the fridge.
“She’s right.”
“Fuck. Of course, she is,” I reply taking my knife and mincing more garlic for my sauce. “Send Toad in,” I tell Federico before he leaves.
“Will do.”
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
Ignoring him, I sauté the chopped garlic in some olive oil. It’s an old tactic of intimidation, but it works every time. “I asked you to tail her not be her goddamn girlfriend. Shopping? Going to the salon? Christ, did you get matching mani and pedi’s too?”
“No, we had lunch and shared a piece of apple pie instead—with one fork.”
The little shit is baiting me.
“Switch with Federico. You’re on the door, and he’s on her ass.”
He steps forward, hands inching towards the basket of fresh baked rolls that just came out of the oven.
I close my eyes and count to ten, feeling the wooden spoon splinter in my hand. “You wanna explain why you smell like her?” I walk closer sniffing the lavender scent coming off his shirt. “Jesus H. Christ what else did you do besides lunch?”
“Nothing,” he holds his palms out backing away.