Page 264 of The First Taste

He approaches from the back door, having just been outside. He takes one look at me and exhales a long sigh, smelling like he just smoked a cigarette. "What is your name?" he asks.

I stop and wipe away my tears the best I can. "Talia."

"Okay. There are a lot of rules for working in a restaurant. But one of them is that there are no tears. Or rather, maybe that should be the number one rule. In any event, I think I will send you home early."

God, how embarrassing. I shake my head, trying to wipe away my tears. "I swear, Mr. André, I don’t normally cry at work."

He holds up a hand to stop my protests. "I’m too bored for you to keep talking. Also, I have to get back to the kitchen. Listen, I want you to go home, calm yourself down, and when you come back, bring a better attitude. You must do better the next time you come to work."

I look at him with wide eyes, not even sure what to say. He looks at me, his expression intent. "I need you to say that you understand what I’m saying to you."

I gulp in a breath and nod quickly. "Of course. I understand. It’s just…"

He waves a hand, dismissing me. "Okay. Don’t let it happen again, Talia. One time, I let it slide. Two times and you’re out. You understand?"

I nod, a little stunned. He rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, heading down the hallway toward the kitchen.

I want to scream. I don’t because I’m afraid I’ll lose my job. But I can feel pressure building in my throat, heated by rage. I don’t normally think this about people, but that chef can go fuck himself. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I need every penny I can get at this point. That’s assuming that I keep deferring my decision about my pregnancy and run out of time to make a rational choice. It’s only been a few days since I found out, but it feels like it’s been a thousand years.

I pull out my phone, unsure who to text. It’s a short list that I have to choose from. Olivia, Aunt Minnie, a few other work contacts... or Dare, I suppose. God, if I wanted my day to get worse, I could definitely call him.

Instead, I text Olivia and ask her what she is doing. She texts back right away, asking if I’m done with work. And then before I can answer, she follows up that question with an offer to drive me home. I wipe my eyes and text her back. We plan that I will just meet her at my house.

I catch the bus home, and my stomach rumbles as I walk the few blocks to my house. I live in a fairly prosperous part of town, but my house is just on the other side of a very rich neighborhood. I walk down the street, seeing the familiar row of little bungalows. They have yet to be torn down and rebuilt, so if you just looked at my street, you might think you were in the post-World War II USA. Well, if you squinted a little and ignored the dingy, worn-down quality of the houses on my street.

Just as I trudge up my front walkway, heading to my little drab green bungalow, I see that Olivia is in fact waiting for me on the front porch steps. She looks up and raises a pizza box in the air, wiggling her eyebrows in invitation.

Running the last few steps up to her, I help her up and then hug her hard. She laughs and balances the pizza box with one arm as she embraces me. "That bad of a night, huh?"

"You have no idea. The people who eat at Tusk are so wealthy and entitled. In fact, I am pretty sure that Dare Morgan must hang out there all the time."

She smiles. "Well, that really stinks. But on the upside, I did bring you dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I am starving. I got sent home before I had a chance to order anything at the restaurant."

Unlocking the front door, I let myself in and carefully hang up my heavy overcoat by the front door.

The front door leads directly into the crowded living room. It only has a TV and the couch, as I have been cleaning and throwing away all the clutter that Aunt Minnie brings home on a regular basis.

Olivia closes the door behind her and pulls up a battered folding table, setting the pizza down. She shoos me over to the couch. "Sit down. Take a load off. I’ll grab the plates."

A wave of exhaustion hits me suddenly and I nod. "Okay. But just because I have been on my feet for like twelve hours straight today between working at the bookstore and at the restaurant. That’s the only reason I am going to let you feed me expensive takeout."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "It’s Carl’s Pizza. Nothing fancy at all. I just got mushrooms and pepperoni. And because I went to the store and picked it up, it was like fifteen bucks."

I collapse on the couch and stick my feet out, grimacing at the way they are throbbing. When Olivia returns with a stack of cloth napkins and two thrift store plates, I fix her with a solemn look. "Fifteen dollars is a lot to blow on one meal."

She hands me a plate and a napkin and sits down beside me. "First of all, no, it isn’t. You’re just cheap. Second of all, this pizza will probably last me at least one more meal, if not two."

She opens the pizza box, and the most amazing smell ever wafts out. She places two slices of pizza on her plate before turning the box to face me.

I try to be economical and only pull one slice out of the box. But she points to it with a stern look. "Take another slice. Really. I insist."

"You’re spending your money on needless things!" I protest.

"The key word there ismymoney. Let me spend it how I want to," she chides me. "Come on, I’m being generous. Let me enjoy the moment."

I heave a sigh and lean forward, taking a second slice. Olivia already has a huge mouthful of pizza, so I give her a quiet smile. "Thank you, Olivia. This is just what I need right now."