Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 103819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
"What did you say?" Paulie asked suspiciously. The whole kitchen slowed, watching them closely, but Paulie wasn't having any of that. It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. At five foot nothing, Paulie ran an efficient kitchen, and he barreled around, clapping his hands, motioning everyone back to work. This time, he moved Kane out of the way for privacy and lowered his voice. "What did you say?"
"I don't know. Just my normal greeting, I think. I'm not sure. He just wasn't into me at all," Kane said. He ran his palms down the front of his suit, before looking down at his hands, willing himself to shake off the unwanted feelings.
"Maybe it's Markie—he's the server, right?" Paulie asked, his voice a sharp, graveled whisper.
"Yes, but I didn't see anything out of place. I was watching before I ever approached the table. He worked it like clockwork." As if on cue, Markie came through the kitchen door, pushing into them.
"VIP plate ready?" he asked, looking between Paulie and Kane, his face showing immediate concern at their huddled meeting. "What's happened?"
"Are you taking care of thirty-four?" Paulie asked, still somewhat hushed. Paulie's hard Bronx accent was more pronounced with each passing second.
"Of course I'm taking care of the table," Markie shot right back, looking between Kane and Paulie. "What happened? He seems fine to me."
"So he's talking and participating. You're engaging him?" Kane asked.
"Yeah, why?" Kane stared hard at the waiter. They never had issues with Markie. Kane cut his eyes back down to Paulie.
"Then it's me. Stay on the table, I've upset him. I'll stay away. Comp his bottle of wine. I'll make it up in your tip," Kane said, forcing himself to remember the restaurant. Slowly, sound, reasonable thought trickled back in place. He was a business owner, not an emotional mess from a simple awkward greeting.
He turned away from the others, first walking to the sink, before he changed course and headed toward the back kitchen doors. He needed a minute alone to gather himself. Something was very wrong with this whole table thirty-four deal, and if he didn't get a hold of himself, he'd never make it through the night without another problem. And Kane never had problems like this. He worked too hard to head off these kinds of complications before they ever occurred.
"I need a minute," Kane said over his shoulder.
"What cha lookin' at? Get to work!" Kane heard Paulie call out. "Markie see if you can salvage the table. Of all people, we don't need him giving us a bad review out there. Get cha asses to work, people!"
Kane left the kitchen and didn't stop until he hit his office. He closed the door behind him, locking it before he gave in to the chaos coursing through him. This wouldn't do. This would never do. He tugged off his suit jacket and paced the small room. What the hell just happened to him? How had he managed to offend Avery Adams, on his very first visit no less. He was completely baffled by the way he'd been dismissed; Mr. Adams had ignored his offered hand and hadn't bothered to say a single word to him. What had he done to upset Avery Adams?
He scrubbed his hands over his face and then down the front of his slacks. Why would an upset patron affect him in this manner anyway? He only needed to figure out how to turn the evening around and ensure they had a pleasant experience. It wasn't until that moment he realized his cock was rigidly hard. Not the simple irritating hard-on that happened from time to time in life, but something ready to explode, and he had no idea how or why he had this reaction.
Kane panicked and immediately bent over, making sure he was tucked in, not sticking straight out. Maybe that was what turned Avery Adams off. Relief struck when he found he was hidden under his clothing.
Dang it, I'm attracted to Avery Adams.
"Pull it together, Kane Dalton. This is not a game. This is your life, and your burdens are too heavy to mess it all up now, especially over a man I just offended," Kane lectured himself as he scanned the top of his desk. He must find perspective. It would never do to have someone as high profile as a United States president's grandson avoiding his restaurant. Shoving papers aside on his very organized desk, he found the letter from his sister. It had arrived that morning in the mail.
He reread the entire letter as he dropped down in his office chair. His sister had been her normal short and to-the-point self, but never sweet. His mother was dying. No one in his family wanted him there. In fact, her last dying wish was to make sure he didn't arrive and soil her funeral ceremony, but they needed money for her burial. This particular sister never minced words when she wrote to ask him for money. Never gave anything personal about herself or the rest of his family. She just said what needed to be said.
When he'd received this letter, he hadn't let himself believe his mom was actually dying. Even after fifteen years of not seeing his family, he still loved her dearly. Through all his mistakes, Kane still honored her and his father, even from a distance. This morning, after reading the straight-to-the-point letter, he closed himself in his office and prayed like his father taught him to do when he was a young boy. Kane was specific in his prayer. He prayed for her health and well-being, but he also prayed for God's will.
Only after his lengthy prayer session had he thought to pick up the phone and call the hospital. His efforts were in vain; his mom had passed away last night. Kane hadn't hesitated. He'd left the restaurant in the middle of dinner prep and gone immediately to wire money to his family. He sent more than they'd asked for, he always did. Then Kane called a local Alabama florist asking for a large standing spray full of yellow roses to be sent to her funeral, no card attached. In his heart, he knew his family would see the spray as a slight against their wishes, but his mother had always loved her rose garden. It was something the two of them shared throughout most of his childhood. He wanted her to have her yellow roses, regardless of the harsh letter he would certainly receive about the embarrassment the arrangement caused.