“Because the holidays are coming up and you need money, genius,” Jenna ribbed.
“That would be a horrible conflict of interest, Jenna.”
“Pfft. No, it wouldn’t. I don’t think you understand what conflict of interest means, Samantha,” Jenna schooled her.
“Yes, I do. It means—”
“You never slept with him,” Jenna snapped. “You weren’t a couple.You guys basically just hung out since August. It’s not much different than him offering a job to a friend. There’s nothing inappropriate about that.”
“It’s totally inappropriate,” Samantha insisted.
“How many other options do you have at this point?”
Samantha bit her lip. “Well … not many.”
“So take the job.”
Samantha flipped her eyelashes and shook her head. “There is no way in heck that I’m taking that job.”
* * *
“Hi, Samantha!” Kimberly greeted her after unlocking the front doors and letting Samantha inside.
“Hey there,” she replied, smoothing her skirt.
“I’m excited that you’re going to be working here!” Kimberly exclaimed. “There’s like no other girls on staff.”
“Well, I’m not sure how permanent this will be,” Samantha clarified. “I’m mostly here to help Nick with a few things while he gets back on his feet. Then I’ll probably help him find someone else.”
“This is a great time of year to be here,” Kimberly chirped as she led Samantha down the hall toward the office. “It gets super busy, but the restaurant is kind of magical during the holidays.”
Samantha said nothing as she noticed that Nick’s office door was closed.She wondered why.
Kimberly knocked with the back of her knuckles. “Are you decent?” she called through the door. “Samantha’s here.”
“Come on in,” came his immediate reply.
Kimberly swung the door open and waved Samantha in.
“See you later, Samantha,” she said as she disappeared down the hall.
“Thank you, Kimberly.”
Samantha stood still in the doorway like a stone statue, as Nick made his way around the desk with only a minor limp. She was pleasantly surprised that he was not dressed in the waitstaff uniform, rather a dark suit, with no tie; an ensemble that made it clear to any patrons that he was in a position of authority. In her mind, this meant he was probably making good on his claim that he was no longer the guy who posed as a waiter in an effort to flirt with customers. That seemed to count for something—for what, she was still a bit too mad to know or consider. But it was something.
He gave her a warm, but polite smile.
“Hey there,” he greeted her, as he stopped in front of her somewhat in her bubble.
She took one step back and immediately stuck out her arm in an effort to deter any intention he might have to hug her or something.
“Hi.”
She noticed he shook her hand with his left one so her gaze instinctively darted to his right one, which hung at his side, encased in a brace of sorts.
She glanced at his face. “What happened to your hand?”
“Oh.” He lifted and shook it slightly. “It’s just a minor fracture.”
