Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,44
Just Do Me under it.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“I ordered Genuine Draft.” He held up his glass as if it had piss in it. “This is light.”
“Oh. You’re right.” She glanced at his friend, who was staring at her boobs. They weren’t that impressive, but she’d discovered a Wonderbra did wonders for her tips. “I’ll bring you a new one. You want to keep that or—”
“You can have it.” He plunked it on her tray, throwing it off balance, but she caught the side an instant before it tipped.
“Be right back.”
She whirled around and darted a glance behind the bar. No sign of Theo, her manager, and she’d been watching for him all afternoon, panic growing inside her as the hours ticked by.
She’d been a wreck for three days, jumping at shadows and constantly looking over her shoulder. She’d had to close last night, and she’d practically sprinted home, clutching her tube of pepper spray in her hand.
“Miss? Waitress?”
She turned around.
“We’re still waiting on those nachos.” The woman looked tired and annoyed as she pointed at the tray. “And is that my wine?”
“Yes. Here you go. Sorry for the—” Tabitha tripped, sloshing wine on the table. “Oops! My bad, I—” She looked down and saw that she’d stepped on a tote bag someone had left on the floor. “Sorry.” She set the half-empty glass down in front of the customer, who looked even more peeved now as Tabitha mopped up the spill with a stack of napkins. “I’ll bring you a new one.” She turned away before the woman could reply.
And spotted Theo walking into the kitchen.
Tabitha hurried to catch up with him, unloading her tray at the bar before entering the kitchen. It was hot, crowded, and noisy, with dishes clattering and music playing on a radio somewhere. She caught sight of Theo as he ducked into the office next to the supply room.
Tabitha stashed her tray in a corner and rushed over before he had a chance to close the door.
“Theo?” She stepped into the cramped room, which was barely big enough for his desk and the putty-colored computer that took up most of it.
He stood at the file cabinet and tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Not now, Red.”
“I just needed to ask—”
“Not now. A food delivery just pulled up, and I’ve got ATC here.”
“ATC?”
“Alcohol and Tobacco Control.” He jerked a file from the cabinet and turned to slap it on the desk. He flipped the folder open and grabbed the reading glasses from the top of his bald head.
Would ATC be looking at employment records? Tabitha’s stomach did a somersault as Theo read the file, ignoring her.
She’d selected O’Shea’s carefully. It was one of a dozen bars and restaurants she’d scoped out when she first came to town. None of the kitchen staff spoke English, and she had a hunch some didn’t have papers. When she’d turned in her job application, she’d waited until Theo was looking at her breasts to mention that she’d lost her social security card. His response was a shrug, and it hadn’t come up again. As far as she knew, he had no idea that Rachel Moore was an alias, and since everyone called her Red, he might have even forgotten her full name. Theo seemed happy to have an off-the-books employee, and every other Friday he paid her wages in cash, no questions. It was all very wink-wink.
He glanced up. “What? I told you, I’m busy.”
“I just wanted to see if I could get a small advance on my next payday.”
“What, do I look like a bank?”
“I’ve been working a lot of doubles and—”
“I don’t do advances. Shit.” He turned back to the file cabinet and started thumbing through the drawer again.
“I wouldn’t normally ask, but my car is in the shop and it turns out it needs new brake pads and—”
“Not happening.” He slapped another folder on his desk and ran his hand over his bare head. Then he looked at her and his eyes softened. This was why she liked him. One of the reasons, anyway. He talked with a lot of bluster, but he had a generous streak, too. He was protective of his employees, and she’d seen him turn a blind eye when people took home leftover food.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Her stomach did another somersault. “You mean . . . today?”
“Today’s not happening.” He darted an anxious look at the door. “Maybe tomorrow. You’re working, right? We’ve got that wake tomorrow at four. I need