“I know basic business principles. If the staffing ratio doesn’t match income, the profit margin shrinks.”
“That’s true.”
“Staff to a pattern.”
“Right.”
“The two newest employees are the first to go home early, and they’re the ones who usually need the money the most.”
“I understand.”
“Jack, the waiter, has a wife and baby. Larry is working his way through school.” Tensely, she twisted her fingers together.
Rank has its privileges, Nick thought. Low man on the totem pole was the most vulnerable. But all the logic in the world didn’t make it any easier to stomach telling an employee supporting a family that he wasn’t going to earn as much as he’d thought. Nick knew how hard this was for Abby. She had firsthand knowledge of being on a shoestring budget, the only thing between her and the wolves at the door.
Nick remembered a time he’d been in Abby’s shoes, professionally speaking. Tom Marchetti put his faith in OJT, on-the-job-training. His dad believed that Nick’s advanced degree in business only proved that he was capable of thinking. Each of his four sons had to learn the business from the bottom up. Nick had gotten his real education the summer his father had sent him to Phoenix, to supervise the opening of the first restaurant outside of California. His most lasting lesson had nothing to do with business, he recalled bitterly. His empathy for an employee had led to his orientation in the finer points of getting dumped, big-time, in a relationship. He would never forget it.
But that was his problem, not Abby’s. The restaurant where she was assistant manager was the first in the Marchetti’s chain, started twenty years before. Now the area demographics were changing and impacting business in that location. He was only mildly surprised that Abby had correctly guessed that was the reason he’d been there today to evaluate. She was a sharp cookie, with a very tender heart. She was just filling in, but had gotten her baptism of fire by telling that young father to go home early.
“So what are you going to do about the business?” he asked.
Startled, she met his gaze. “Me? I’m just the relief pitcher.”
“Isn’t it the reliever’s job to save the game?”
She looked at him thoughtfully for several moments. “I guess paying employees for twiddling their thumbs is unacceptable?” she said, half-hopeful.
“It is. Short of giving money away, what can management do?”
She thought for a minute. “Figure out ways to bring in customers.”
“That’s right. You’ve been to a few management seminars. What did you learn?”
“Mission, vision, philosophy,” she said without hesitation.
“Good, you can spout terminology. But what does it mean as far as Marchetti’s Inc. is concerned?”
“Mission?” She thought for a moment. “‘To provide high-quality, authentic Italian food at a reasonable cost, using customer-service skills to ensure clientele satisfaction,’” she recited.
At least someone read the company memos, he thought wryly.
“Okay, so you can memorize.” He pointed at her. “What’s the important part of what you just quoted?”
She frowned. “Which part?”
“Clientele. Do you know your customer base?”
“The area is older. First-time home buyers are moving in. That means primarily young couples, some with children, some without. Most on a budget.”
“Right. How can you make them want to allocate some of their hard-earned, double-income dollars for a meal out?”
“Coupons, flyers, discounts. A special kids’ night. Maybe an all-you-can-eat deal on traditionally slower nights.”
“All good ideas,” he said.
“But don’t they deviate from the company vision—every restaurant is the same, right down to the menu?”
“That was my father’s vision. Times have changed. We can, too. Especially if you factor in philosophy.”
“Let the managers manage?”
He nodded. His three brothers were also involved in the family business. Joe was CEO in charge of personnel and hiring. “If my brother’s done his job, every restaurant has a dynamite manager, in which case all we have to do is stand back and let him or her do what he or she does best.”
“So if every location is made up of specific clientele, aspects of the operation could be altered accordingly?”
“Why not?” he asked. If every employee was like her, his job would be a snap. “Think about it, Abby.”
“I will.”
They grinned at each other for several moments. Nick hadn’t felt this exhilarated in a long time and sensed that Abby felt it, too. Excitement flushed her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes. Her full lips turned up, revealing a rare, beautiful smile. He couldn’t remember the last time talking business had been so much fun.
Then she blinked and her smile faltered. The serious, professional mask was replaced faster than you could say “fettuccine Alfredo.”
She glanced at her watch. “Wow, look at the time. You’re going to be late.”
He suddenly had an idea. “Come to dinner with us.”
Startled, she put a hand to her chest. “Me?”
He looked around. “I don’t see anyone else here. Of course, you.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could. Madison likes you. You admitted you like her. Give me one good reason why you can’t join us.”
“Okay. Car pool.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sarah and her friends got a ride to the movies with April Petersen’s mom and I have to pick them up.”
He couldn’t help wondering how many other things she’d missed because she’d become a mother at eighteen. He was helping her plan a milestone birthday for Sarah. Had anyone made hers special?
“What did you do when you turned twenty-one?”
She looked surprised, then shrugged. “I don’t remember. I suppose the usual—school, took care of Sarah, and work.”
“That’s against the law.”
“Huh?” she said.
“In my family there’s a traditional rite of passage into adulthood that involves going somewhere your ID will be checked. An unforgettable
