Preston's Honor(56)

He turned so quickly he almost seemed like a blur and shocked me by throwing a plate on the floor with a purposeful flourish. “?óooorale!” he shouted over the sound of the shattering dish, scooping Lia up off the floor in one elegant movement and dipping her as she let out a squeak, her eyes wide and still full of what looked like shocked horror.

As he pulled himself straight, supporting Lia with one arm until she was standing, he said with a grin, “We’re here every night, folks. Don’t forget to tip your food server.”

The diners around me laughed and clapped at the impromptu show—what had turned a cringe-worthy moment into something light and funny—then turned back to their meals.

A couple of busboys rushed in to clean up the mess and the waiter who’d held me back and helped Lia up—Raul I assumed—ushered her in the other direction and quickly toward the back. I looked over at Alicia who was smirking as she sipped innocently on a margarita.

Red rage clouded my vision as I walked over to her table and put my hands down heavily on the edge, startling her as I leaned forward. “Leave. Now.”

Alicia’s face screwed up before she laughed. “Or what, Preston?”

“Or I’ll forward every lewd picture you ever sent to the guys you dated in high school straight to Vera Wang. Maybe I’ll post them in the Linmoor Times. A full-page ad. I’ll at least put them on the Internet. And you know how it goes once something’s on the Internet. It’s forever. I have a lot of material to choose from, don’t I, Alicia?”

Her face drained of color and her smile faded. She looked at her friend who was staring at her and then around at the other diners. “You liar,” she hissed.

I narrowed my eyes and smiled. I was bluffing. I hadn’t kept any pictures, and I had no idea if anyone else had either. But the horror in Alicia’s eyes told me my bluff was working. My smile increased. “You don’t think men keep that type of thing? You don’t think we share them with our friends? Not only do I still have the ones you sent me, I could make six phone calls and have a hundred saved pictures to choose from in ten minutes. Too bad you burned so many bridges. I imagine quite a few of them are looking for an excuse to burn you right back. Now I’ll say it once more, get the hell out of here. Now.”

Alicia gave me one final look of death, reached for her purse, and threw some money on the table. “I’ve lost my appetite anyway,” she bit out. “Come on,” she said to her friend, standing up and bumping me as she moved to leave. Her friend kept her head down as she followed behind. I stayed in place, looking over my shoulder to watch the door shut behind them.

Huffing out a breath, I returned to Tracie. I sat back down, grimacing as I finally made eye contact. “I imagine this will go down in history as the worst date of your life.”

Her lips tipped up in an amused smile. “It’s been . . . interesting, I’ll give you that.” Her face became serious. “I think it’s time you drove me home and figured out what you’re going to do about Annalia.”

I flinched but it ended on a sigh. Yeah. That’s exactly what I needed to do. No matter what, she’d always be the mother of my son. I only wished she wasn’t the one who still owned my heart.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN


Annalia



I stared at myself in the mirror, the eyes that gazed back full of all the misery I felt in my heart. Could this night have been any worse? Only if I’d gotten fired . . . which I still might.

A tear slipped down my cheek and I swiped at it hastily as I turned away from the mirror. I’d cleaned the food splatters that had been in my hair and on my shirt as well as I could. It was time to face the music. But I couldn’t. I sagged down onto a small, upholstered bench in front of the female employee lockers in the women’s restroom and let the tears fall.

My shoulders sagged and I felt the mortifying weight of the earlier catastrophe. For a few brief moments I just let it hurt. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to do more than that.

I heard the door swing open and sat up abruptly, attempting to clear the wetness from my cheeks. I was more than willing to linger in self-pity for a little bit longer, but less inclined to do it in front of anyone. When I looked up, Rosa was standing there. The look on her face was sympathetic, but I was so embarrassed I was falling apart in front of her—my boss—the woman who’d been so kind and patient with me all week, making me immediately feel a part of the team.

I had worked hard to learn the menu and table numbers and figure out the computer system in record time, not only in order to make things easier on myself, but because I wanted to show my gratitude by being the best employee I could be for the people who’d already been so good to me.

Not only was I thankful for the job, but I genuinely liked it, too. The food was amazing, the people were welcoming, and I loved that my ability to speak Spanish allowed me to talk to other employees and customers who spoke limited English. Yes, I already loved working at Abuelo’s.

And now . . .

Rosa sighed. Helping me to my feet and hooking her arm in mine, she led me out through the door and across the short distance to her office. “Sit down, cari?o.”

Cari?o. I felt the tears rise again at the sweet term of endearment, at the hope that rose inside me that she might be kind to me about the terrible scene on the restaurant floor.