Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“…does this mean that you’ve… that you’ve decided to hire me permanently?” The month was just about up, after all. It was time to shit or get off the pot, for both of us.
Michael nodded, looking at me with this kind of fondness that made me want to cover my face and sink to the floor, it overwhelmed me. “You’ve passed your provisional period with flying colors.”
I could scream. I wanted to leap across the booth we’re seated in and hug him, linoleum and plastic be damned, but I also didn’t want to make a scene.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I admitted.
“Well I hope that you’ll say you’re glad and that you’re not quitting,” Michael joked.
I shook my head. “Not for the world, you’re fucking stuck with me there.” If only he knew how much, I wish I could tell him right then and there my devotion, that there was never a chance of me leaving, that I’d always wanted to work with him and be with him…
But I could remember what he’d said just the other day about not wanting to get into a serious relationship. I had to be patient. I needed him to come to the conclusion on his own that we were right for each other. I couldn’t force it on him or pester him about it or he’d get obstinate or frustrated—it was just human nature to be that way.
“Profits are actually up by fifteen percent,” Michael went on. “It could be a little early to tell, but I don’t think so. Our reservation numbers are up, and the hostesses report we’re getting a lot more repeat customers. Not just the tourists.”
In big cities with a lot of fancy restaurants, we would get tourists who would come in just to say they’d eaten somewhere with a Michelin star. And that wasn’t even counting the foodie tourists who literally went to each Michelin starred restaurant and had a whole bucket list for that sort of thing.
But regulars were the backbone. They were the ones who kept you afloat. The family who came for every birthday, the couple who came for every anniversary, the businessmen who had their weekly lunch - they kept you going.
And now we were starting to get those again, thank fucking Christ.
“If these numbers aren’t a fluke and things continue as they have been, I should be out of the red by the end of the year,” Michael finished up. “I had no fucking clue how I was going to turn this thing around, Stevie. And you’re managing it.”
I could feel my face was hot, and I let myself feel proud. I had done it. I’d had my goal, what I’d set out to do… and I’d accomplished that.
Okay, so it was a little early to tell for certain. And ‘we will be out of the red’ wasn’t the same thing as ‘we are out of the red’.
But still!
This called for a goddamn celebration, if you asked me.
After we finished eating the diner food- which was good, hey, I wasn’t going to say I didn’t enjoy it - Michael took me back to my apartment.
New confidence bubbled in me. From his pride in my accomplishments, to his joking with me, to the fact that he actually had noticed me as a teenager and the goofy things I’d done with Brooke like the movies we’d quote at each other… I was feeling like I really had a shot at a proper relationship with him. I just had to keep being patient.
And hey, in the meantime, there was no reason to stop having fun in bed.
Speaking of which…
I knew that Andy was going to be gone for the day. He had some work shit to take care of in the afternoon and then in the evening he was going out to a bar with some buddies because that was what Andy did every damn Friday evening.
Not that I thought he was wrong for doing it or anything. But how did the guy expect Brooke to take him seriously when he didn’t take himself or his life seriously, y’know?
It was annoying as fuck. I loved my brother, but also I wanted to strangle him sometimes. Perks of being a sibling, I figured. I didn’t know of a single person who loved their siblings who didn’t also want to kill them regularly.
But the good thing about it right now was that the apartment was blessedly, blissfully empty.
“Would you like to come up for some dessert?” I asked.
Michael turned the engine off on the car. “If it’s anything like the last one you made, hell yeah.”
I was ridiculously proud of that cheesecake, not gonna lie.
I led him upstairs, and felt a slight twinge of unease—hoping that he liked the space, that he liked my room, that he thought it was properly adult. I didn’t want to give him any reason to start thinking of me as a child again. Not when I finally had him.