Текст книги "Seeing You "
Автор книги: Michelle Lynn
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SEEING YOU
BY
MICHELLE LYNN
Seeing You
Copyright © 2015 by Michelle Lynn
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in whole or in part by any means.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or are either fictitious or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Editor:
Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing
www.unforeseenediting.com
Proofreading:
Hot Tree Editing
www.hottreeediting.com
Cover Design:
Pear Perfect Creative Covers
Cover photo: © Shutterstock.com
Cover Photo: Toski Covey Photography
Interior Design and Formatting:
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
www.perfectlypublishable.com
Visit my website at www.michellelynnbooks.com
Table of Contents
SEEING YOU
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
Chapter TWELVE
Chapter THIRTEEN
Chapter FOURTEEN
Chapter FIFTEEN
Chapter SIXTEEN
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Chapter EIGHTEEN
Chapter NINETEEN
Chapter TWENTY
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
Chapter TWENTY-THREE
Chapter TWENTY-FOUR
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter TWENTY-SIX
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Epilogue
Work Song by Danielle Allen
About the Author
Love Surfaced Excerpt
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
Amelia
I unclip my plastic name tag and toss it into the trash can overfilled with unopened junk mail. I fumble with getting my key into the mailbox while thoughts of bills catapulting out of the small metal box flicker to mind. Questions ping in my head on how I’ll pay my bills and where I’ll find a job that doesn’t include using sex appeal. My assistant job at Art on Wells doesn’t pay enough to gain a permanent spot to showcase my photographs at a gallery.
My Art Now magazine from my alma mater, The Art Institute, tumbles to the floor. I huff and shove the pile of envelopes into my bag. As I notice the page where the magazine is spread open, my dream jams itself down my throat again. An ad to rent gallery space is front and center. Rub that salt in my wounds. It’s not just any gallery space, either. It’s an elite space at Tracker’s Gallery. Two of my peers who showcased there signed big deals with curators last month.
Reading further, I find out that the space is available because another starving artist had to set his dream aside and earn actual money. I cringe at the cost. It’s a pricey amount that would make the second job I’m in desperate need of even more of a dire demand.
The elevator dings, and I scramble to pick up my things so I can silently weep in my apartment. I spin on my heels, turning right into a rock-hard chest. Two hands grip my upper arms to hold me a distance away, and the smell of citrus clues me in as to whom it is.
“Hey.” My eyes meet a pair of sparking blues lit with humor.
Is he ever in a bad mood?
“What’s up, Noodle?”
I narrow my eyes at his absurd nickname for me. He’s been making fun of my name since he moved in six months ago. In my crazy neighbor Todd’s rationale, Amelia Fiore does sound like a pasta company. Therefore, Noodle was born five minutes after our first meeting.
“Nothing.”
I sidestep him and press the elevator button. My back faces him as I repeatedly pray for the elevator doors to open. I hear the heels of his shoes coming toward me on the linoleum floor, and I close my eyes to stop the tears threatening to break free. He cannot see me lose it.
His hand rests on my shoulder, and my head falls forward.
“What’s the matter?” His voice is filled with curiosity and concern.
Todd’s not a bad guy. He’s just mostly into himself. We’ve developed a business relationship, as of late. He models for me, and I take pictures of his dishes for a catering business he’s thinking about starting up. A six-foot-two-inch guy built like a brick house is nice to stare at through a camera lens for a few hours. I definitely got the better end of our deal.
“Don’t worry about it.” My eyes peek up at the numbers to see what floor the elevator is on.
He circles around to stand in front of me. His fingers thread through his brown hair, and he releases a long stream of breath. He’s not the let’s-talk-about-your-problems sort of guy.
The elevator dings, and my solidarity awaits. I pat his shoulder and go around him. “Just a bad day.” I’m not about to admit that I got fired . . . again.
The doors begin to close, but his large hand stops it. My stomach flips from his strength, and I swallow.
“Noodle.” He sighs, wanting me to tell him something.
How can that nickname I hate so much sound appealing in this moment?
“I got fired, okay.” My finger jabs the four button over and over again, wishing he’d release his grip of the doors. “To make matters worse”—I hold up the ad space advertisement in front of his face—“I come home to this. This space could change my whole career, but there’s no way I can afford it now.”
“Shit.” He grabs the magazine out of my hand and reads the ad over.
“Looks like our apartment might come up for grabs sooner than you thought,” I say.
Todd hasn’t hidden the fact that he wants my apartment. It was my grandma’s, and she lets my roommate, Tatiana, and I live there since she moved in with my parents. It’s rent-controlled, so Todd consistently jokes about how he’ll win my grandma over and steal the apartment. I do feel bad since he pays more for a one-bedroom than we do for a three.
He closes the magazine and hands it back to me. His eyes fixate on me like I’m under investigation. “I’m sorry, Noodle.” He backs up and the doors slowly come together, closing off his sad eyes.
I hate it when people pity me.
One blessing of today is that Tatiana is still at work, so I’ll be left alone to wallow in my self-pity. I’m not a good person to be left alone while in a time of crisis, though. The pantry could be cleaned out before Tatiana returns.
Five minutes after I’m settled in my apartment, my phone rings, interrupting my fifth handful of salt-and-vinegar chips. I glance down and see Todd’s name lit up on the screen.
I answer, “I’m fine—”
“Noodle,” he interrupts, “how badly do you want that gallery spot?”
I sit up straighter on the couch, brushing the chip crumbles off my chest. “Why?”
“There might be an opening at CHOPs.”
Todd is a sous chef at CHOPs, a high-end steak house owned by a popular chef, Davis Morgan. CHOPs would be by far the most expensive restaurant I’ve ever worked at. Olive Garden was a step up for me, and it’s the most recent company to put me on the unemployment line.
“Todd, I’ve never worked anywhere like that.” The thought of the tips makes my mouth water.
“You bartended at Gilroy’s, right?”
“That’s a dive bar.”
“It’s experience.”
“Subpar.”
“I’m going to text you my general manager’s number. His name is Shawn. Call him. He’s expecting it.”
Click. The line silences.
I pull the phone from my ear and find a blank screen.
A text pops up ten seconds later.
I inhale a deep breath and stare at the magazine ad again. My day job at Art on Wells doesn’t cut it. I need a second job to find this kind of money. I dial Shawn’s number before thinking too hard and press the green button.
Two Days Later
I scramble to grab my purse, coat, and keys before rushing out the door. Punctuality isn’t my thing. My pulse quickens due to Todd’s tapping foot on the concrete outside my door. I tilt my head, shooting my puppy eyes to him with the hope that he’ll forgive me. My lips droop when his lighthearted smile doesn’t emerge.
He’s fuming. “Shit, Noodle. When I agreed to walk with you to work, I assumed we’d be on time. Maybe you should try to make a good impression on your first day.”
I swing my apartment door shut and shove my arms through my coat sleeves. My keys slip out of my hand, landing with a thud on the ground. We both bend down to retrieve them, and our heads nearly collide. The tips of my fingers brush the metal, but he swipes them off the concrete floor. I straighten up, and he’s swaying them back and forth, like a pendulum, in front of my face.
“I can’t afford to lose my job, and my word is on the line,” he reminds me for the millionth time since he vouched for me, and I grab the keys from him.
“I know. Don’t worry. I’m sorry for being late. The Nightmare of Wells Street demanded her afternoon latte before I could be dismissed for the day.” I hurriedly turn the key in the lock, straighten my bag on my shoulder, and jog down the stairs alongside Todd.
He knows my boss, Bette Weston, too well from her prying eyes and lingering touches when he came by Art on Wells one time.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can handle her. If it wasn’t for the fact that she promised to look at my photos—which contain my number one prime specimen—and would consider booking me for a show, I’d most likely quit.”
I smack his ass right before we exit our apartment building. He sidesteps me and narrows his eyes with a smirk.
“You’re pretty damn lucky to have obtained a model this mouth-watering.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Over the horns honking and taxis whizzing by as we cross the street, Todd yells, “Am I invited to the showing?”
We weave through the swarms of people coming toward us.
I hate weekends in the city. All the tourists linger on every corner, too busy staring up rather than looking at what’s in front of them. I much prefer the workweek hustle with determined people with earbuds in place and coffee in hand. Their minds might be somewhere completely different than where they are going to work the grind, but being on autopilot enables them to arrive where they need to be.
“We’ll see. You’re a distraction.”
He captures my hand and moves us faster through the crowd.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “With my flirting, those rich housewives will be buying your pictures like they’re the latest Louis Vuitton,” he jokes.
It’s the truth, though. Between the last two mini galleries that spotlighted me, the one Todd attended sold twice as much as the other.
We stop and wait for the light to change, and I catch my breath.
“What would I do without you, my arrogant accomplice?” I hit his shoulder.
He inches toward me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “You’d be poor. Oh, shit, you already are.”
He laughs and steps away before my punch can land on his arm. The light changes, and everyone around us moves like a herd of cows across the street. My body buzzes with alarm. Todd’s sweet touches have become more common lately, and I wish I didn’t enjoy them. Guys like Todd are not the forever kind. He’s made that clear.
“Speaking of which, tell me about my new boss.” I divert my mind from my lingering thoughts of him as something more than friends.
We’re only a few streets away, and butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. I hate being the new kid, and restaurants are a lot like high school. If you don’t achieve cool status as quickly as possible, you’ll be on the outside of the gossip circle.
“Davis?” he questions.
“No, the Pope.” I stop in my tracks and raise my eyebrows at him. “Yes, Davis.”
Todd glances at his watch and back at me. I instantly appease him and put one foot in front of the other. We have five minutes until we should be punched in and present for the team meeting.
“He’s alright. With fall approaching, he’s planning on being more present. He wants to revamp the menu.” Todd’s voice sounds more annoyed, and his eyes roll.
“That’s good. Any bitches or pricks I need to watch my back with?” I check traffic before dodging cars.
“No, everyone’s pretty cool. I think you’ll fit in fine.” He winks and holds the restaurant door open.
My breathing stops as I absorb my surroundings. Half-circle booths with dark chocolate leather benches fill the north wall, and the tables are wrapped in ivory linen tablecloths with matching napkins. Water glasses, wine glasses, butter plates, and silverware rest at each place setting on every square table. The mixture of dark wood and crimson walls along with a gold-yellow ceiling brings a sense of comfort over the space.
Shit, I’d better up my game here.
“Uh-hum,” Todd draws my attention back to him. He’s halfway across the room, waiting for me.
“Sorry.” I scurry over. “It’s gorgeous,” I compliment, still in awe that I’m working at a place so high-end.
“You haven’t even seen the back yet. It’s where all the action happens.” He slyly smiles.
“Maybe for you, but this is where the bills get paid.” I brush my hand over the long mahogany bar top.
Todd rolls his eyes. “Don’t embarrass me, please,” he begs.
I laugh and he joins me, knowing I most likely will.
Our laughter stops when we open the door to the employee locker room, and every face points in our direction. Girls and guys hold curious eyes, blatantly staring toward us, and those butterflies I’d been feeling wilt and drop to the pit of my stomach.
Great first impression, Amelia.
“Hey, guys. This is Noodle, the new bartender.” Todd tosses his thumb my way and deserts me for his locker.
“Amelia,” I mumble.
A few nods and soft hellos fill the room while my new coworkers button their white shirts and wrap their black aprons around their waists.
“Here you go.” A soft voice pulls me from my uneasiness of being the new kid on the block.
I look to my left and find a taller blonde-haired girl holding a stack of black clothing in her hands.
“Oh, thank you.” I take my uniform from her arms. “I’m Lia,” I introduce myself while eyeing the strings of the apron to judge their length. My dilemma of not being a size-six girl is, Will it fit?
“I know. I’m Lucy,” she introduces herself. “Waitress,” she states as she situates her belongings in her locker.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Her long, blonde hair is braided to the side, and her natural makeup complements the softness of her features. She’s one of those people you instantly feel like is a childhood best friend.
“So, you’re friends with Todd?” Her eyes shift his way.
I follow her vision then look back to her.
Her mouth is hanging slightly ajar.
“Oh, seriously,” I groan.
Todd is standing shirtless with the top button of his pants undone. They are hanging off his waist, displaying a nice view of his perfect V torso. Unlike Lucy, I’ve seen that plus more of Todd. He’s a nice sight, though; I can’t deny that.
I wave my hand in front of her face, and after a few times, she jolts her head my way.
“Yeah, I’m friends with Mr. Gordon Ramsay two-point-oh.”
“He’s nice.” Her eyes deviate to him again.
“He’s—”
Shawn, the general manager, head bursts through the door “Let’s go, guys. Two minutes.” His harsh voice booms into the room like a coach on game day. “And Davis is here,” he finishes as the door swings shut.
You’d think someone had screamed about a bomb from the way the calm room turns frenzied after Shawn’s departure. Even Todd’s fingers are quickly manipulating the buttons to his chef jacket.
I hurriedly dress, and the apron and shirt fit me. Phew.
I follow the others. We’re like little ants marching to a picnic, and we end up in the state-of-the-art kitchen that Todd calls home. It’s impeccably clean, with more steel than the Empire State Building. Todd settles in to his prep area next to the other chefs, and I remain silent next to Lucy, waiting for instructions.
Shawn dictates to the staff their table assignments and the private-party arrangements for the night. He’s six-three with broad shoulders and a small gut that strains over his belt. His voice is commanding, and although he was nice and polite to me yesterday during the interview, I’m positive he wouldn’t think twice about putting me in my place.
“Let me introduce Amelia Fiore, our new bartender,” he announces.
Some heads turn my way, and others don’t. As I mentioned, the restaurant business resembles high school.
I offer a wave of my hand and a small smile while heat rushes up my neck. Lucy’s hand wraps around my wrist, and she reassuringly squeezes it.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Amelia Fiore. Welcome to CHOPs.”
The shock from hearing the deep voice next to me causes my shoulders to jolt.
A wave of masculine scent floats across my nostrils, and shivers prick my skin. A pair of alluring brown eyes with long, dark eyelashes stares right at me. I draw my head back to gain personal space.
“Thank you,” I say, astonished that I’m mere inches away from him.
Davis Morgan is more edible than the mouth-watering dishes he creates. For two years, he’s been Brooklyn’s most eligible bachelor. He’s been featured on every type of media filmed in the city. He’d be the city’s prince if there were such a thing as royalty. Okay, maybe that’s a little bit of an exaggeration.
“Davis,” Shawn says, stepping aside to allow him to take over.
Davis’s lips turn up one more time before he flips his attention to his employees. “Thanks, Shawn. I was just welcoming our new . . . bartender?” he questions.
Shawn nods.
“Where do you find these girls?” His focus turns to me. “Can you even lift a keg of beer?”
The room bursts with fake laughter. Yeah, these people know who signs their paychecks.
His eyes find mine again and my throat constricts, attempting to swallow the little amount of saliva in my mouth.
“She’s Todd’s friend,” Shawn says, answering a question I’m not sure Davis was seeking an answer to.
Davis turns to Todd then looks back my way again.
My cheeks must be flaming red about now. I’ve hated being the center of attention ever since that time in fifth grade when I had to do my presentation on Indonesia, only to stutter my way through the word archipelago.
A look of disbelief and curiosity crosses Davis’s face for a second. “Well, welcome, Amelia. If you need assistance with those kegs, come grab me. I’d be more than willing to help you.”
He winks, and three gossiping girls’ heads snap my way.
Oh, my God, I think I just stopped breathing. I try to collect myself after flirting with the boss. As I pick up my head, I find Todd’s eyes locked in my direction.
Focusing his attention on the staff once again, Davis discusses the specials for tonight, and I attempt to focus on the dishes he’s featuring instead of his strong hands gripping the chopping knife slicing through onions. I try to remember the savory ingredients rather than noticing the light stubble across his cheeks and jaw. His eyes veer my way when he finishes a sentence, and my breathing halts again.
Five mini heart attacks and half an hour later, we’re released to our stations to prepare the restaurant for opening.
I dash to the restroom to compose myself. He’s your boss. He’s your boss.
Oh, how I can already visualize those hands gripping my hips and hoisting me up onto that metal table. My legs would easily slide open to allow him entry, and my back would arch off the cool surface as his hand cupped my face. His warm fingertips would breeze over my breasts, igniting a rush of tingles—
“Get your ass out here!” Todd hollers into the women’s restroom, my daydream screeching to a halt.
Stopping my wild imagination, I inhale and exhale, repeating my mantra to the mirror. Resting with my hand on the restroom door handle, I close my eyes and suck in one last breath before opening the door.
My heart drops when I find Davis waiting on the other side. He pushes himself off the wall and breaks the distance between us. “So, let’s see how great of a bartender you are. Come make me a drink.” He nods in the direction of the bar.
“What’s your drink of choice?” I attempt my best casual and easy voice, praying my nervous stuttering can stay hidden for a little longer.
“Guess.” He smirks and sits down on one of the barstools. “What kind of guy do I seem like? Beer? Rum and Coke? Maybe a wine spritzer?”
Our eyes meet with amusement.
“I hope you aren’t a wine spritzer guy, but I’d bet you had your fair share of Zimas back in the day.”
He shrugs, clearly keeping that information under his vest.
I investigate the foreign bar, biting the inside of my cheek. Lifting the cooler, I spot the supply of beer. Grabbing a chilled tall glass, I place it in front of him on a cocktail napkin and he smiles, revealing that I’m getting warm. Now that I know I’m close to his drink preference, I decide the middle of the road is best. Pulling out a Stella Artois, I grab a bottle opener and easily pry open the cap on the glass bottle. He slowly nods, and I pour the beer into the glass. Our eyes lock, and the light-colored sudsy liquid almost spills over the edge.
“So, I was right?”
“Very good choice, Miss Fiore.” He lifts the glass to his mouth, sipping the beer. His tongue snakes across his upper lip to lick the white suds off. “Just the right amount of head.”
He winks, and my stomach somersaults.
“I’ve never had any complaints.”
“I’m sure you haven’t,” he says with intense, seductive eyes piercing into my own.
An awkward silence fills the small space between us, and my body leans over the bar. His crisp cologne surrounds us.
“Well”—I clear my throat—“I’d better find my way around this place.”
He’s your boss, Amelia. Stay away . . . far, far away.
“Thank you for the beer.” He raises the glass in the air, sips it again, and places it down on the cocktail napkin. “Time to dictate to the chefs.” His lips curl at the corners and he steps through the swinging doors, giving me no time to respond.
The rest of the evening goes by like the flick of a lighter. Luckily, Victor, the head bartender, and Megan, another bartender, were here to show me the ropes. They saved me too many times for me to ever pay them back. Saturday night packed the stools, which profited my pocket.
A big ole hug to Todd is in order tonight.
Once Shawn escorts the last table out the front door, he locks it then leans against it. “That’s it tonight. Great job, everyone.”
The last of the wait staff and I shuffle down the hallway to the employee locker room.
I push my shoulders back, stretching the ache that formed from hunching over coolers and faucets the whole night. I would have thought my body was conditioned to being on my feet all night, but I’d never opened as many wine bottles in any of my other jobs. My eyes peer up to find my way to my locker.
Dressed in his street clothes, Todd is sitting down on a metal folding chair, fiddling with his phone.
“What are you doing here?” I go to my locker to get out of the cardboard-stiff white shirt.
“I’m here to walk you home.” He tucks his phone away in his jacket pocket. “Or entice you to have a nightcap with me.”
I peek over my shoulder and shake my head. “A nightcap? What decade did you morph back from?” My locker clicks open, and I debate in my head about sneaking off to the restroom to change. I have a tank top on, but it doesn’t cover a lot. Looking right and left, I find most of my coworkers are ignorant of me, so I go for it.
“Figured we’d have a congratulations drink on your first day.”
I sense Todd behind me as I sneak my arms out of the shirt. God, I hope he’s concentrating on anything but me.
“A simple ’way to go’ is good enough.” I shed myself from my shirt and throw my sweatshirt over my head like a teenage girl in a locker room.
“I know you made killer tips. You at least owe me a thank-you drink.”
From the distance of his voice, I gather he’s still on the chair. I pray his eyes were fixated on something else, or that he had the decency to look away.
“Fine.” I release a huff. It’s not because I wouldn’t love to show my appreciation to Todd for finding this position for me. I’m just completely exhausted from being up early for my day job at Art on Wells.
I twist around and swing my purse over my shoulder.
“You know how many girls would kill to go out with this?” He lifts his shirt, showing me his six-pack of well-defined abs.
“Put those away. You forget, I’ve photographed you, so I’ve seen it all.”
His abs still make my pulse quicken, but I’d never tell him that.
“Bye, guys,” Victor says. He and Megan wave good-bye and exit through the door.
“Bye,” Todd and I respond in unison.
I shut my locker.
He stands up and swings his arm around my shoulders. “You can thank me another time. I know you’re probably dead tired.”
I tilt my head up to look at him, and ours eyes meet. He’s so handsome in the high-school-quarterback kind of way. I imagine he was Mr. Popularity or the King of Prom—the guy who never gave me the time of day, the guy I was invisible to in the halls. But Todd is so sweet and kind; he may be a little self-centered, but I swear, he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.
“What?” he asks, his strong hand gripping my shoulder tight.
I shake my head and smile. “Thank you for getting me the job.”
“Sure, Noodle, but I have a favor to ask.”
My feet skid to a stop right before we venture outside, and I quizzically look up at him.
