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.”
If she lost her job, she couldn’t pay for school and she’d fail at life.
He blinked in surprise, then quickly covered it by scowling as he waved her comment off. Still, the little telling gesture made her think there may be some Sully in Jack after all. “I’m not going to fire you, Olivia. But I am going to ask for your cooperation in doing what I say so things can run smoothly for all of us.”
“I know. When you ask me to do something, you expect me to do it.”
“That lecture is not why I called you in here and if you were getting proper sleep, mistakes like overfilling the syrup and sugar wouldn’t be happening.”
She stood. “How do you know I’m not getting proper sleep?”
He gestured toward her apron. “It’s on seam-side out.” Next he pointed to her name tag. “And, last I heard, you aren’t Oliver.”
She looked down and clenched her eyes shut. Groaned. Felt like giggling.
In her defense, Olivia and Oliver were very close in spelling.
