Chapter 2: Behind The Dark Wood-Paneled Walls
The heavy brass handle of the swinging door gave way under my palm, shielding me from the warm, amber glow of the dining room and depositing me into the cool, fluorescent hum of the service corridor. The leather-bound menu felt heavy against my wrist, its grain cold where my fingers had pressed into it during the standoff. I let the door swing shut behind me, cutting off the low murmur of conversation and the steady, rhythmic clinking of silver against porcelain that defined the evening shift.
Before I could set the menu down on the expediting counter, a hand caught the edge of my white button-down sleeve.
"What were you thinking?"
Marco stood blocking the narrow passage between the pantry and the dish pit, his black vest slightly askew, his forehead slick with the grease and sweat of a Saturday rush. He was our floor manager, a man whose entire professional existence depended on keeping the limestone floor smooth and the high-net-worth diners quiet. His voice was kept to a harsh, controlled hiss, but the panic underneath was obvious.
"I took an order, Marco," I said, keeping my tone level, my posture straight despite the fatigue pulling at my lower back. My hair, pinned back in a tight bun, felt secure, not a single strand loose to betray any internal fraying.
"You didn't take an order," Marco snapped, his eyes darting toward the swinging doors as if the sound of his voice might pierce the wood. "You provoked Julian Vance. Do you have any idea who sits at table four every second Tuesday of the month? That man underwrites half the downtown commercial district. If he pulls his account, we lose our liquor license compliance funding by midnight."
"He asked for something a man can eat," I replied, sliding the menu onto the stainless steel shelf. "He didn't ask for a lecture on molecular gastronomy. He wanted a plate of food that doesn't look like an art project."
"If your grace wants to eat like a human being," Marco mocked viciously, repeating my words back to me with a bitter twist, "you save it for the back alley. You do not say it to a man whose foundation holds the mortgage on this building. He could buy this restaurant, gut it, and turn it into a parking garage before we finish rolling silverware."
"Let him try," I murmured, leaning back slightly against the counter. "The zoning board rejected their commercial variance twice last quarter. He's too busy fighting municipal code violations to worry about a soup kitchen disguised as a bistro."
Marco stared at me, his mouth opening slightly before closing into a hard line. He hated that I knew these things, that I didn't fit the mold of the interchangeable college students he usually hired to ferry plates of overpriced foam across the room. He pointed a finger at my chest, stopping an inch short of the fabric.
"You stay out here," Marco whispered, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage. "I'm sending Maria out with the bread basket. You go check the wine cellar inventory. I don't want him laying eyes on you again tonight."
Before I could answer, the heavy wood-paneled doors behind Marco began to push outward.
Through the widening gap, against the warm backdrop of the dining room's crystal chandelier, I saw the young male companion rise from his chair at table four. The dark shirt he wore caught the amber light, and his expression wasn't the guarded stare he’d worn while sitting across from Julian; it was an look of deliberate, focused intent. He was stepping away from the white-clothed table, leaving the silver-haired man alone in the dim light, and his stride was carrying him straight toward the service corridor.
Marco didn't see him yet, his back turned to the doors as he glared at me.
May you like
"Go," Marco hissed, shoving his shoulder past mine to clear the path.
I didn't move toward the wine cellar stairs. Instead, I stood my ground beside the stainless steel counter, my fingers brushing the cool edge of the leather menu binder, watching the dark-shirted figure push through the doors into the chill of the service hall.
