Blake turns to Killer. “It’s good, right?”
Reece rushes Blake, but the fighter expects it and shoves Reece so he tumbles onto the asphalt. He bounces back. Blake goes for him, but Killian steps in his path while I wrap one arm around Reece’s neck from behind.
“Chill the fuck out. Both of you.”
Blake’s grinning, but his fists are still clenched as though he’s ready to dance whenever I give the go-ahead. Reece struggles in my hold.
“Take this to the octagon, boys.” I growl my warning before releasing Reece with a shove. He stumbles forward and gives Blake and Killer the finger before ripping through the front door of the training center.
“I fuckin’ hate that guy.” Blake’s back to calm.
“He’s a dick.” Killer shakes his head and puts out his hand to Blake. “Thanks for having my back.”
Blake shakes and gives him a chin lift. “Reece been at you for long?”
Killer’s eyes dart to me for a split second before he shakes his head. “Nah, not really.”
He’s lying to Blake? Huh.
I scoop up my gym bag that I dropped in the scuffle. “I’m hitting weights.” I don’t stick around for the convo, but my guess is that now that Blake’s on to Reece’s bullying, he’ll keep a closer eye out for the kid.
Three strikes and he’s gone from this organization. If it were up to me, he’d have been gone at one.
A quick change into my work-out clothes and I’m headed to the weight room. I push inside and head straight to the treadmills to warm up. There are a few fighters working out, a couple at the weights, one at the treadmills, and another at the stair climber. I take the treadmill close to Rex, and he turns his head to acknowledge me.
I nod to him, thankful that Rex hasn’t been in any mood for conversation lately, and start a slow jog. There’ve been whispers about what’s going on with the fighter’s sudden mood swing, but the fact is I could give rip what’s going on in his personal life. As long as he’s a competent fighter with a decent attendance, that’s good enough for me.
Cranking my machine up to a sprint, I pound out a punishing run that should knock me out cold and keep my mind off of a certain pretty blonde that I can’t seem to forget.
Nineteen
Eve
I lock the door to the restaurant at eleven on the nose, grateful that the night has finally come to an end. One of our cooks was off his game so food was being sent back and items being taken off bills for the majority of my shift. Usually it wouldn’t be a huge deal, but with Seth, the GM watchdog, following my every move, I fucked up more times than I can count.
No matter how many times I explained that I’m a horrible test taker, that pressure screws me up and his breath at my back every second only makes matters worse, he just smiled and said, “Pretend that I’m not even here.”
Impossible.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I’ve been living off one meal a day for the last few days. Funny, I’m working in a restaurant surrounded by food and starving to death. The good news is my pants fit a little better, but as much as I’d like to be thinner, I enjoy food way too much and marked anorexia off of possible diet options a long time ago.
I’m printing sales figures and adding totals, but everything is a cluster and coming up over by just under one hundred and fifty dollars.
“Crap.” I start over and count the money, even going as far as to add the evening’s sales by hand, thinking maybe it’s the computer, but still. “One forty-eight sixty-three over.” Shit.
We’ve been off before, but as long as I’ve worked here at Nori, I’ve yet to have an overage I couldn’t figure out. My head pounds, and my eyes cross as I go over the numbers again and again come up with the same result. Somehow, with all the refunds, we must’ve screwed up somewhere. Whatever happened won’t be figured out tonight. I glance at the digital clock on my desk. Shit, it’s past midnight.
I finish up, putting the correct amount of cash into the deposit envelope and move to put the overage in the safe with a sticky note when my stomach grinds its hunger again.
God, I’d give anything for a cheeseburger. My mouth waters, and I can almost taste the meat and cheese combo on my tongue. If only I had some money . . . My gaze dips down to the envelope in my hand filled with bills and change.
They’d never know. I mean, as far as the computers are concerned, we never made this money. It’s stealing. But for a good cause, right? I mean I don’t have any money and the restaurant has money that it doesn’t know it has. Would it be so wrong for me to take it? Just this once? I’ve worked here since high school and have never been on any extended vacation. I mean, hell, if I added up all the vacation time this place owes me, I’m sure it’d be quadruple what I have in my hand.