Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
7
Salvatore
Over the next week, Armando and I got in the habit of video calling each other every day. I’d told myself I was going to keep this casual, but I had a hard time staying away from him. Plus, I worried about him and wanted to make sure he was taking care of himself.
His schedule was my main cause for concern. It turned out Sundays were his “early” night. The rest of the week, the diner was open until ten p.m., so he didn’t make it home until ten-thirty or even later. On top of that, he left the house by five-thirty seven days a week, to get the diner ready to open for breakfast.
To me, those hours were completely unreasonable. I didn’t understand how he hadn’t collapsed from sheer exhaustion or sleep deprivation. He tried to justify it by saying he’d been doing it for years. When I told him that didn’t make it okay, he’d shrugged it off by saying, “It’s what I’m used to.”
As hard as it was to watch him run himself ragged, I knew I couldn’t do much about it. All I could do was remind him to eat—which he often forgot, despite being around food all day—and encourage him to delegate more of his responsibilities to his staff, so he could cut back his hours.
“I definitely plan to delegate more,” he told me on Friday afternoon, as he sat at the desk in his office and organized a stack of receipts. “But I couldn’t do that this week. I took all that time off last weekend, and I’m planning to take tomorrow off, so I don’t want to pile too much on Javier’s shoulders.”
“But you said he enjoyed being in charge last weekend, and that he’s always asking for more responsibility,” I reminded him. “Do you think the real issue is that you have a hard time letting go of old habits?”
He grinned at his phone, which was propped up on the desk. “You sound like a therapist.”
“But do you think I could be right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He pulled out his giant desktop calculator—because of course he did his own bookkeeping instead of hiring someone—and said, “I need to finish up these receipts, before I take over for my cook while he’s on his dinner break.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”
“Are you sure you want to pick me up? I could just as easily meet you wherever you’ve made those secret plans you won’t tell me about.”
“The last thing you need on your day off is to drive all over Southern California. And I know you said you wanted to cook for me, but please, let me buy you dinner instead.”
He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, after you paid for room service last weekend.”
“I want you to have a chance to relax.”
“It’s fine. I like cooking. It might have been better to do that at your place, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“My apartment is… I don’t know. Just don’t expect much when you come over.”
“Are you worried that it isn’t posh enough?” He shrugged and looked away, so I said, “Remember what I told you about how I grew up? Our tiny apartment was in a building so old, it was literally crumbling. Besides, compared to this soulless corporate flat, your place will be a breath of fresh air.”
He murmured, “I hope so.”
“I’ll let you go, but promise me you’ll eat something tonight.”
He picked up his phone and smirked at me. “You’re a bit of a mother hen, Tory.”
“Just promise me.”
“Fine. I promise.”
After we ended the call, I dropped back against the couch cushions and sighed. Trying to take care of someone that stubborn was an uphill battle.
Sometime later, the sound of a buzzer jolted me out of the book I was reading. I went into the foyer and pushed a button for the intercom to the lobby. The security guard told me I had a delivery, so I asked him to sign for it. But someone in the background called, “No can do, dude. Dante told me I had to hand this to you in person.”
I muttered, “Hang on,” and texted my cousin. Once he confirmed he’d sent me something, I grabbed my keys and headed for the elevator.
When I reached the lobby, the courier ran his gaze down my body and said, “Well, hello there, Hunky McHotterson.” He looked like he was probably a surfer with his long hair, board shorts, and flip flops.
He handed me a package, which was about the size of a shoebox and fairly heavy. Instead of a mailing address, the only thing written on the outside of it was ‘Sal’ which made me ask, “Did you bring this all the way from San Francisco?”
“Yup.” He leaned in and flashed me a flirty smile. “I can be part of your special delivery too, if you want. Not that Dante’s pimping me out or anything. I just think you’re sexy. My name’s Bowen, but you can call me Bunny. All my friends do, and I’d like it if you and I could be very good friends.” He wiggled his brows suggestively, just in case his meaning wasn’t blatantly obvious.