She stands. “Sure. I will put in my two-week notice at my current job so that works perfectly.”
I shake her hand and then walk her to the door. “I can’t wait to work together.”
Anna grins back at me. “Neither can I. This place is going to be really cool.”
“I hope so. I’ll give you a call tomorrow with a time to come in and do all the final paperwork.”
“Sounds great.”
She slips out the door, and I returned to my seat at the table we were using for the interview, lowering myself with a groan at the little zing of pain that shoots through my abdomen and lower back.
These damn tables were heavy.
Maybe I shouldn’t have moved them myself, but I didn’t have much choice. I need to save money any way I can, even if that meant renting a U-Haul and “delivering” them to myself.
I run my hand across the dinged wood and sigh. These old tables are definitely a little worse for wear, but it’s all I could afford, and they do give the place a little bit of character. And that’s exactly the way I want it.
It’s not a stuffy, uptight place where people feel like they have to wear a coat and tie or a dress to come to have a meal. Jeans and T-shirts are more my style…at least, most days.
I glance down at myself and the stains all over my shirt and pants. Although, lately, my style has been grimy and dirty with working on getting everything ready.
By the time I force myself to go home at night because my body just can’t keep up anymore, I look like I’ve been digging in a dumpster. Which I kind of have, I guess, trying to find anything I can to help with my budget issues.
And now, I have almost everything ordered and just need the perfect staff. Anna is going to be a wonderful head waitress. She has one of the most experienced resumés to come across my email since I made my posting. I can’t wait to have her help in getting the final thing set up.
I flip open my folder with the rest of the resumés to get ready for the next interview when the door swings open again.
Anna sticks her head in. “Oh, good, you’re still available.”
“Do you have a question?” I would have thought she’d be long gone by now. It’s been at least ten minutes since she left.
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and glances around, avoiding eye contact.
A leaden ball drops into my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“Ummm…” She rubs the back of her neck. “As I was leaving, I happened to bump into the owner of the place next door…”
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.
I jump to my feet.
He didn’t…
She sighs and finally meets my stare. “And well…he asked if I had interviewed with you and wanted to see my resumé, so I gave him a copy, and…”
NO!
“He offered me twice what you’re going to pay me, plus benefits.”
Jesus. That bastard. Now he’s poaching my staff?
I somehow manage to find my voice. “Are you kidding?”
Anna winces and shakes her head. At least she has the decency to look sheepish and apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry. I know we hit it off, and I do want to work here, but…”
“You said you didn’t want to work at a stuffy, high-end restaurant. That’s exactly what that jerk next door is going to open.”
She raises one shoulder and lets it fall. “But that jerk next door also has huge street cred and a recognizable name. I don’t want to sound like a greedy bitch, but I’m probably going to get bigger tips at a place that sells more expensive food and has a celebrity chef.”
That motherfucker.
I fist my hands at my sides and fight the slight wave of dizziness that tries to overtake me.
Don’t let yourself get worked up, Iz.
Grams’ constant reminder rings in my head.
Don’t push yourself too hard. You can’t give one hundred and ten percent all the time.
I take a deep, cleansing breath. “There’s no way for me to convince you otherwise?”
Anna shakes her head and puts her hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry.”
Shit.
I sigh and drop my head back. “Well, at least I have a whole stack of applicants. Hopefully, at least a few of them will be interested.”
“Ummmm…”
Oh, God. What now?
I open my eyes and drop my head back down so I can look at her. “What?”
“Well”—she glances at the door—“I saw him grab a guy off the street who seemed to be walking this way. I think it was your next interview.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” I clench my jaw and storm toward her.
She holds up her hands like she’s expecting a blitz attack, but she isn’t the subject of my wrath. “I’m sorry.”
I push past her and shove out the door onto the sidewalk. “It’s not you who I want to dice with my kitchen knife.”
Poor Anna follows me out and shuffles off down the street to God knows where. It doesn’t matter. My attention is elsewhere—like at the open door to Jameson’s place.
I march in there and find him leaning against a newly built, beautiful, high wooden bar top with another guy standing with his back to me. Probably my next interview.
Jameson raises an eyebrow. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, Isabella. Can we chat later?”
“Chat later?” I scoff, and the guy he’s talking to ducks his head and turns slightly away from me. “No, we can’t chat later.” I march over to them, step between the two men, and jab a finger right into Jameson’s chest. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what?” The smug jerk has the balls to appear confused, his strong brow furrowing.
“Try to poach my staff!” I whirl around on the cowering guy next to Jameson. “Don’t you dare think about accepting a job offer from this man. I found you first.”
The guy holds up his hands and backs away slightly. “I’m not sure what I’m in the middle of here. I just wanted a job.”
“You’re hired.”
Jameson pushes an arm between us. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I was talking with Mr. Albertson. I don’t think we’ve finished our conversation.”
“I have an interview scheduled with him.”
How can he stand here pretending he hasn’t just crossed a major line?
Or maybe that’s the entire problem. There is no line for a man like Jameson Fury…
Jameson glances down at the large watch on his wrist that he probably paid for with his winnings from Prime Chef. “What time is your interview?”
Mr. Albertson chimes in innocently. “Ten thirty.”
Turning his watch face toward us, Jameson raises his brows. “Ten twenty-five.” He shrugs innocently. “I haven’t in any way interfered with your ability to interview him in five minutes, Isabella.”
I growl and stomp my foot. It might be a little childish. Okay, a lot childish. But this man seems to know how to get under my skin and get me worked up in a way that’s definitely not healthy for me…or him.
I’m not a violent person by nature. Far from it. But this man is making me stabby, and I have an awfully nice set of knives just on the other side of that wall that Grams gave me as a graduation gift and I keep incredibly sharp.