“Scarlett!”
I turn at the sound of Wilder’s booming voice. “What?”
“You finished sorting the staff out?”
“I would be if I hadn’t had to look after Harlow and Chelsea.”
His look tells me he reads between my lines, but he moves on fast, snapping, “You’ve got ten more minutes and then I need you on other stuff.”
Honestly, ten minutes is probably all I’ll need, but I don’t like his tone. It wasn’t my damn fault I had to waste time with Harlow and Chelsea. “I’ve got as long as it takes me. I can’t work miracles at ten in the morning with a team of staff who like to party late. Have you ever tried to get these guys to answer their phones this early in the morning?”
“Fine. But don’t fuck around.”
I glare at his back as he stalks towards his office.
I never fuck around.
I refrain from yelling that out, but only because he looks like his skull is about to explode with what I suspect is a headache.
Playing nice isn’t something I try to do very often, but I’ll give him that today since he’s got a lot on his plate. Well, until he comes at me with snappy orders again and then we’ll see how I’m feeling.
Liam, the guy who I doubt knows how to laugh, walks down the hall towards me. He’s a good-looking man. Built in a sculpted kind of way, with thick black hair and a beard, but he’s way too rigid for me. He works for a security firm, and I recall Harlow telling me all the guys at that firm are ex-military. Makes sense. The military men I’ve met were stiff. Inflexible. Tense. The closer he gets to me, the more I see just how hot he is. And when his eyes meet mine briefly, the intensity they blaze with catches me by surprise.
The man has something going on behind all that seriousness. I’m distracted from wondering about that because as he exits the restaurant, Nash, Griff, and J enter.
They throw out greetings before going in search of Wilder.
I carry on trying to round some staff up to come in.
It takes me fifteen minutes to finish that job, at which point I head into Wilder’s office. He’s on the phone and holds his finger up, indicating he needs a minute, so I go out into the bar area to help the clean-up.
By the time Wilder finishes in his office and comes looking for me, half an hour has passed, and his stress levels appear to have increased if the way he’s stabbing his fingers through his hair is any indication. Not to mention the way he’s working his jaw. This is unusual behaviour for him. I mean, he snaps and snarls at me a lot, but he pretty much never appears strained like this.
“I’m gonna get the boys to finish moving all the damaged furniture outside. Can you please get the staff onto cleaning the graffiti once the rest of the glass and rubbish is cleaned up? I also need you to get me an order together of everything we need to replace. Alcohol, glasses, etc. Anything and everything we need for tonight. I’m sorting out the furniture we need to replace.” He stabs at his hair again before muttering, “Fuck, I’m supposed to be at Salty Girl in an hour and a half.”
Wilder manages all of Storm’s restaurants: Trilogy, Salty Girl, Eternity, and Dirty Pleasures. Salty Girl is my favourite with its dark, edgy vibe and eclectic menu.
“Why? Can I take care of it?”
“No, I’ll do it. You get the orders together.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Meeting with Gia to go over her new menu ideas.”
“Either she can wait, or I can do that. You don’t have time today.”
He lifts a brow, looking all amused. “You wanna be the boss today?”
“Well, just sayin’, in the scheme of things, that seems like something that can wait or be handled by someone else.”
He considers that. “Yeah, you’re right. You go.”
“Holy fuck, and there go your control freak pants.” I stare at him as he takes in what I said. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?” I’m not even a little bit sad that I did. It’s the truth. Wilder takes managing Storm’s restaurants to a whole other level than I’m sure most would. He’s a good boss, but he needs to chill on being in charge of every damn thing.
He nods in response to my question. “You did.”
I gauge his tone and his eyes. He’s not pissed off, but he’s watching me with an expression that lets me know to tread carefully with what I say next. I decide it’s best not to push him today, so I simply say, “I’ll get these orders done and then head over to Salty Girl. I’ll collect the cash for banking from Eternity and Dirty Pleasures, too, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
It takes him a few moments to process my take-charge attitude before he says, “You handle the banking today too. And any staffing issues that come up.”
Holy fuck again.
And there go his control-freak socks.
We’ll be playing strip poker soon at the rate we’re going.
I keep my thoughts on the inside this time.
“Will do.”
He leaves me with my stunned thoughts.
Who knew Wilder had it in him? Certainly not me.
Gia frowns at me when I enter her kitchen. I call it hers because she’s really fucking territorial about it. We let her be, though, because she’s a one-in-a-million chef who we don’t want to lose. “I thought Wilder was coming over today.”
“He was, but Trilogy was broken into last night, so he’s dealing with that. He asked me to go over the menu ideas with you.”
More frowning. Hands on her hips. That Italian temper of hers flaring. I like Gia, but she’s more of a handful than me, and even I know I can be a huge fucking handful at times. “I cooked dishes for him to try. That was a waste of my time, wasn’t it?”
“No, I can try them. And I can take them to him to try.”
“It’s not the same, Scarlett. The presentation and mood are half the success of a dish. He’s not going to get to experience any of that.”
I fight an eye roll. I mean, she’s right that the presentation and mood are important; they’re why I love Salty Girl. But fuck, Wilder knows she’s got that handled; he just needs to taste the damn food.
Do not upset the chef.
“He already knows your presentation and mood are the best in the business, Gia. You don’t need to worry about that.”
She likes what I’ve said. I see that in her eyes. But she’s still upset that Wilder’s not here. I also see that in her eyes and hear it in her huff when she says, “He should have come or at least let me know himself he wasn’t.”
Keep. The. Chef. Happy.
Fuck, this managing people gig is hard work.
“He was going to call you, but I told him you’d understand that he had a lot of other stuff to handle with the break-in.”
Jesus. Give. Me. A. Gun.
She leads me into the restaurant, where she’s set up a table with six new dishes on them. Her presentation is perfect, as is her food. I take photos for Wilder at her insistence and sample everything before packing the leftovers up for him. I then clear the safe so I can bank the takings.
Gia makes it clear she wants Wilder to attend her next dish unveiling, and I promise her to let him know of her request. It takes every ounce of strength I have to bite my tongue and tell her what I really think of her precious request. I get it, this is important to her, but at the same time, it’s an unusual situation Wilder’s taking care of today. It’s not like he intentionally chose not to be here.