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He gestured to a sidewalk bench between two Bradford pear trees. “Please, sit a moment.”
With gritted teeth, she said, “I’d rather not. Please forgive my emotional outburst and abrupt exodus from the meeting, Mr. Sullenberger. Now, really, I must be going.”
Mainly because the earnest care in his eyes was starting to get to her.
“Please, call me Jack. May I call you Olivia?” A corner of his mouth curled into a smirk-lined smile, acknowledging that he hadn’t exactly waited for her permission on that front.
The joking tone and flash of amusement in his eyes surprised her. She hadn’t figured him as the type.
She nodded stiffly, keeping her chin down lest she lose her nerve for what she needed to say next. Then she looked up at Jack and said the last words in the world she wanted to say. “The new schedule won’t be a problem. It needs to happen. I know that. It’s fine.”
Jack stared at her. He leaned back, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his lower lip, studying her in that calculating way of his. Shook his head. Leaned forward, steepled his hands and released a breath before raking all ten fingers through his buzz, which looked more light brown than dark blond, as it had in Sully’s photos. “You are one stubborn broad.”
She burst out laughing because he’d muttered it mostly to himself. And because it was true.
His eyes lit at her laughter and then he laughed, too. For a moment she felt frozen in time. He was drop-dead gorgeous, even when he scowled like his father, but with his finely chiseled face all loose in laughter like that, good gravy he was finer than fine.
Where were they? Oh, yes, her stubbornness.
“I’m not trying to be difficult or stubborn. I just don’t know any other way to be.”
“You’ve had it rough. No need to deny it. You’ve had to fight for everything you have.”
She peered at him, shock waves rolling through her. “How did you know that?” Did his dad say something?
“Intuition. And because I haven’t always had it easy, either. In fact—”
“In fact it’s mostly been hard,” she finished for him.
“Exactly. So, will you share with me what the trouble is?”
She nibbled her lip, wondering if she could trust him. Would he use the knowledge as power over her? Maybe. He was a hothead. The next time he got mad, he might revert to meanness and spite, just like her dad always did.
No. She couldn’t risk it.
“No, Jack, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“I guess I have to accept that. For now. But, believe me, I’m not happy about it.”
She could tell that his equally stubborn brain was already churning out ideas about how to get around her resistance.
Speaking of resistance, she needed to shore up some of her own. The way his muscles rippled under that button-down shirt and the attention his intense facial expressions brought to his firm jaw and striking features stole every ounce of concentration from her brain.
She couldn’t be attracted to him. That infatuation would fade soon.
It had to. Trust was too dangerous a journey to embark on. She was not only instinctively wary of trusting, but also unsure of Jack. Sure, he was handsome and she was admittedly attracted. Even if he returned the attraction, she couldn’t let herself acknowledge it. Dwelling on insurgent thoughts of opening up to him as anything beyond employee and employer would be stupid. Trust issues aside, he couldn’t treat her differently just because she had special needs he didn’t know about yet and hopefully never would. Olivia didn’t want special treatment. Her coworkers and work friends didn’t deserve that.
The diner crew was close-knit. At least, her shift of workers. She’d pull Jack into the fray of diner friendship if he let her. But she wouldn’t entertain ideas about ever being anything to him other than his employee.
She was also a pity case his dad had taken under his wing. He’d taught her everything she knew about waitressing, studying and running a business.
But as far as Jack Sullenberger knew, she was just Olivia, nothing special.
The fact that Jack was looking at her with an expression that suggested he thought the exact opposite was something she’d be better off ignoring.
Chapter Three (#ulink_651a1a8e-2bc5-58e6-8096-2e7799ae1eeb)
“You have three months on the nose, Jack,” the loan officer said through the diner office phone the next morning. Jack rubbed tired eyes with his fist, first one then the other. Then he covered another yawn.
He had burned the midnight oil in order to finish going over the books. He’d finished at 5:00 a.m., expecting to find answers regarding the enormous deficit, but ending up with more questions. He’d been going over the books a second time when the loan officer called.
“I don’t need much to live on,” Jack said. “I’ll have most of my checks sent directly to the bank to be applied to the diner deficit until I track down these missing funds.” It would cut into his savings but saving the diner would be worth it.
“Another thing to consider is that perhaps your dad’s faculties were failing and he got confused keeping records.”
“Yet his inventory records and every other record stayed impeccable? Not likely. Things don’t add up.”
But the more likely scenario wasn’t any more appealing to Jack than the possibility that his dad had made accounting errors.
Had someone been stealing from the till? Taking funds from somewhere? Too much money was missing and unaccounted for—this wasn’t a simple record-keeping mistake.
He ended the call with a bad feeling.
From this point onward, Jack would trust no one. Not even Patrice. Frankie, that creep boyfriend of hers was a bad influence. Jack knew his type—spoiled, entitled and cunning as a conman. Bad morals corrupted good character. Without exception. No telling if he’d had access to the register. Jack didn’t like him hanging around the diner.
Darin’s face appeared in the office doorway. “Jack, sorry to interrupt you, man, but I’m getting slammed out here.” Sweat dotted Darin’s forehead. He mopped it with a paper towel.
Then Jack realized his entire apron was soaked. And sudsy. Which could only mean one thing.
“Perry isn’t here yet?”
Darin averted his eyes. Then returned to face Jack with honesty. “No. He hasn’t called, either.”
Jack rose to help wash dishes. He studied the clock. Perry was thirty minutes late so far. He shook his head, irritated at the lack of work ethic. He sighed, knowing he was in a precarious spot.
Perry was late.
But Olivia had been late, too. Only by about ten minutes, but still.
She’d rushed in much the same way she’d entered the meeting yesterday—tardy, flustered and fatigued. If he disciplined Perry, he’d have to discipline her, too.
He grabbed the dish towel from Darin. “I’ll handle the dishes. You go man the grill.”
Darin nodded and Jack headed to the sinks. He passed Olivia on the way. She stood at the condiment prep table filling containers.
Filling containers all the way up. Sugar. Syrup. Salt. Pepper. Ketchup. Mustard.
Then she placed every single one of them, filled to overflowing despite his request not to, on her rolling cart and took them toward the dining area.
He stared in disbelief as she started plunking down mustard and ketchup containers on every table.
Just as he’d asked her not to do.
He counted to ten before he blew his stack.
Not only did he likely have a thief on the loose—which meant he was going to have to be diligent in watching everyone like a hawk every minute until evidence presented itself—he had to contend with gross disrespect of his authority.
Naem rounded the corner whistling. He was in a perpetually good mood—it was hard to stay in a bad mood around him. Jack’s lightened mood dampened when Olivia passed by looking irritated.
Actually, it didn’t seem as though she saw them. Her back to them, she darted into the supply closet across the hall from the office. Seconds later, she groaned. “Mister Tough-Guy-With-All-His-Rules. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Ugh!”
Who and what was the addled woman talking about?
Naem stopped in front of him. And grinned. “You look about to blow a gasket, boss. What’s she done now?”
Jack shook his head. Then he heard another groan coming from the supply closet.
“You heard her call you Mister Tough-Guy-With-All-The-Rules or what?”
Jack almost laughed at that. “She actually said that about me?”
Naem flipped a stack of cloth napkins over his arm. “Hey, if the combat boot fits...”
Olivia jerked her apron string tight as she exited the closet and started shoving more salt and pepper shakers on the wheeled cart to distribute to tables.
He realized on closer inspection that she actually looked more frazzled and drained than irritated.
Empathy filtered in until he noticed something else. Every shaker was full.
He fought another surge of anger as he realized she’d defied him again by filling every single one of those containers to the hilt, as well. He watched as she doubled the efforts of her rebellion by tromping over and setting mustard on every table.
Mister Tough-Guy-With-Rules?
If that was the case and he was stuck in his way with rules, Miss Olivia Abbott seemed bulldog determined to break or at least bend them all.
* * *
Olivia remembered halfway through her table-to-table setup that she wasn’t supposed to be putting the containers on tables unless customers asked for them. She groaned for the gazillionth time today and started taking them back off. One hour of sleep was not nearly enough. She felt disoriented and memory challenged.
By now, Jack had marched to the kitchen in that clenched-jaw way of his, stopping only to help Darin by heating up the extra grills since they’d been busier than anyone had anticipated at breakfast. Jack headed to the back leveling a firm look her way. If the pans banging around the sink now were any indication, Jack had seen her mistake with the tables. Uh-oh.
Only she doubted he’d believe it was a mistake.
“I forgot,” she said to Patrice who raised The Mom Look eyebrows at her.
“Did you also forget he said he didn’t want the syrup filled up all the way?”
Ack! She’d forgotten that, too. Her brain was foggy from fatigue. Admittedly, Jack’s ideas made her bristle. “That’s dumb. That means more work for the next person on shift. He’s trying to save money. I get that. But filling the dispensers only half full will not make customers use half as much. It will just make us have to work twice as much to keep things refilled.”
“You may be right, and he’ll eventually figure it out...” Patrice bit her lip but Olivia knew the rest without Patrice having to spell it out.
“Fine. Whether I agree with him or not, it’s what he requested and I need to honor his wishes.” Olivia shrugged, feeling bombarded from all directions. He wouldn’t understand that she’d barely slept a wink because she’d been too stubborn to be straight with him yesterday when he’d probed her with questions on the sidewalk after the employee meeting.
Just knowing she’d had to get up earlier had set off her insomnia like a bull running through her bedroom. Her thoughts had been a dizzying array of chaos and she could not shut them down. She’d started counting sheep and ended with visions of them turning on her with loaded shotguns.
The longer she’d lain there trying to fall asleep, the sooner morning came, and with every hour closer to the time her alarm was set for, her anxiety grew into a frenzy over having one less hour to sleep. She’d finally given up, gotten up and studied, hoping that would help. It hadn’t.
Olivia slipped outside and went for a walk, hoping the cool air would help her feel more alert. On the way back in, she passed Jack’s truck—a Ford, of course. It reminded her that Sully had often spoken of frequent Ford-versus-Chevy sparring between he and Jack. Olivia sided with Sully on that one. Chevy rocked! She fought the urge to write a note on his truck. She’d promised Sully to razz Jack about his love of Fords. But somehow Jack didn’t seem the joking type now that she’d met him in person.
Adding to her stress was the pressing reminder that, at some point, after sneaking downstairs overnight to study in her favorite corner booth, she realized she’d studied the wrong chapter and therefore put herself in danger of not passing her test later today.
Maybe she needed to just be honest with Jack about her limitations.
Would it make a difference? She went to the supply room to run it by Patrice.
She, of all people, knew how much Olivia hated to be treated differently or given special attention. Yet did she have too much pride to admit that she may need extra help?
Also, telling Jack would mean running the risk of him hiring someone else, which neither of them could afford.
The hair on Olivia’s neck stood at attention—she sensed Jack’s overpowering presence before she saw him.
“Miss Abbott. I need to see you in my office.”
Jack stalked back to the office and Olivia stood amid the patriotic diner decor feeling as if she were in the middle of one of the wars the wall images depicted. She fought fear and hyperventilation. She liked it soooo much better when he called her Olivia. Addressing her so formally meant she was in trouble.
Patrice started to head back toward the office looking intent to be a verbal buffer but Olivia stopped her. “It’s sweet of you to want to defend me but I need to face the music myself.”
Patrice paused. “You sure?”
Olivia nodded. She didn’t want to put her friend in the line of fire. “Jack looks too angry to bend even if you try to talk him out of whatever he plans to say.”
Patrice nibbled her lip. “Or do.”
“Oh, Patrice, what if he fires me? I should have remembered what he said in the meeting.”
“Go, before he gets madder.”
Olivia made the trek feeling as if she was marching to a chopping block. First, he cut her off from seeing Sully. And now...he may boot her out of her only source of income. Not that she didn’t deserve the latter.
She stepped inside Sully’s office. Jack was sitting at the desk with his head bowed over a spreadsheet of some sort. He didn’t even bother looking up before saying, “Please close the door and sit down.”
She obeyed instantly—as she should have all along this morning—as she tried to figure out how to explain what had happened. He’d never believe her, after she’d questioned his money-saving judgment yesterday, that her actions today hadn’t been defiant or deliberate.
Maybe she’d assumed wrongly that he was like Sully, often forgiving to a fault. Something about Jack’s silence told her that he was not the same way. She gulped. Hard. Felt a fidget coming on but was too terrified to move.
Jack stopped writing on the sheet and stood so calmly, she shivered.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “Please let me keep my job.”
