A few minutes later, my order is taken and I’m left all to my lonesome. The couple at the table beside me hold hands, staring deep into one another’s eyes in a nausea-inducing display of young love. Across from them is a group of middle-aged women with oversized diamonds, carefree laughs, and colorful cocktails. To the far left is a segmented area set up like a party room, and two staff are setting the table with meticulous detail while one is posting a RESERVED FOR THE BEAUMONT PARTY sign.
Jolie returns with my house salad—a soggy, weedy mix strewn with shaved parmesan. I’ve seen bowls of ranch-drenched iceberg presented better than this.
“Can I get you anything else, miss?” Jolie asks, hands clasped behind her back.
“Yes, actually.” I lean in. “Could you send Luca Coletto over here?”
A flash of panic colors her face, but I intervene.
“I’m an old friend of his.” I offer a well-meaning smile. “I saw his car outside, just wanted to say hello.”
At least I assume the blinding-white Maserati coupe with LCOLE86 on the plate is his . . .
“Of course.” Her expression softens as she strolls to the back of the restaurant and disappears down a hallway.
I stab the kale and dandelion greens with my fork before pushing them around and to the side, like a kid trying to trick their parent into thinking they ate their veggies. A moment later, I glance up to find Luca emerging from the dark hallway, Jolie two steps behind him.
He straightens his tie—and stops in his tracks when he spots me.
My lips curl at the sides, and I lift a hand, giving a dainty finger wave. Surrounded by staff and customers, he paints a cordial smile on his face to compensate for the “oh shit” look in his eyes. Forever a man who loathes surprises. Running his hands down the lapels of his suit coat, he makes his way to my side of the room.
“Lydia,” he says when he approaches my table. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I’ve heard so many good things.” I point to my mess of a salad. “Been wanting to try this place. Thought nothing could top the clam chowder your wife treated me to from your little deli yesterday, but this salad is to die for.”
The space above his jaw divots. I must be such an inconvenience to this life he’s built, a speed bump in his fast lane.
A male server walks by, doing a double take at the two of us, followed by a second, less nonchalant one. Perhaps Luca isn’t the kind of restaurant owner who makes personal rounds and this is a new and exciting scene for the staff. Or maybe they’re picking up on the stifling amount of tension that’s suddenly filled the room?
“You having a good day so far?” I ask.
Seeing him so . . . evolved is nothing short of bizarre.
It’s as if he’s a completely different man—like the version he once was died along with me.
“Been busier than usual. Jolie said you wanted to talk to me?” He checks the diamond-encrusted timepiece on his wrist before returning his attention to me. I’ve yet to get a read on him, but with enough time, I’ll get into that head of his.
“Yeah, actually.” I pick at the tablecloth. “I’ve been thinking about my next move.”
“I’d be happy to discuss that with you privately.” His voice lowers. “Preferably in my home.”
“I want a job.” I cut to the chase. “Here.”
He tries to speak, but I wag a finger.
“I’m thinking . . . assistant manager,” I continue. “I want to help you run this place.”
He scrunches his nose. “No. Absolutely not. That’s a terrible idea.”
Tilting my head, I adjust my linen napkin over my thighs. “Not sure if you know this, but it’s pretty much impossible for a dead woman—or someone without any form of proper identification—to get a job. A legit job. With benefits and all that good stuff.”
His focus whips from left to right before he leans over my table.
“You don’t understand.” His voice resides a hair above a whisper. “I’m in the process of cutting jobs. I can’t be adding managerial positions we don’t need.”
“Sounds like we’re both in a hard place,” I say. “As soon as I sort out the death certificate business, I can get a real job. Until then, you’re my only option.”
“I’d love to help you, Lydia, but—”
“Look, you can close this place, walk out of here right now, and find work,” I say. “If you don’t do this for me, I’ll be on the street. And could you really live with yourself if you let that happen, Luca? After everything I’ve been through? After the vows we took?”
He says nothing.
“Not to mention, people love to talk around here,” I add. “It won’t be long before people drag your name through the mud for abandoning your—”
His jaw flexes. “Fine.”
I don’t need to elaborate. He sees where I’m going with this.
“I can start Monday,” I say. “And I’d like an office. A key. A computer. And a generous salary—under the table, of course. Because, well . . . you know.”
His dark eyes narrow, as if he still doesn’t quite know what to think of all this or what to do with me.
I lean close. “A thousand bucks a day to start should be sufficient.”
It’s an insane request. I know. But the way I look at it, I’ve lost out on almost a decade’s worth of earnings, and with these menu prices, Luca’s clearly in a position to help. Besides, it’s not like I’m asking for his unborn son . . .
“I can’t afford that.” His voice is low as he glances over his shoulder.
“I’ve seen your menu.” I shrug and push my limp salad around. “Pretty sure you can.”
“I’m not paying you a thousand dollars a day.”
“It’d be a couple of weeks. Three at most.” I politely nod when I catch the curious eye of one of his servers. Surely he can spare twenty grand, even if it means putting that pretty little missus on a spending freeze.
He studies me with a gaze that could melt steel beams.
The Lydia he knew was never this audacious.
But time changes people. As does trauma. And captivity. And newfound freedom. For the entirety of my twenties, I wasn’t allowed to ask for what I wanted, what I needed. All that changed the instant I was no longer under The Monster’s rule.
I’m taking everything back now.
“You’re putting me in an incredibly difficult position,” he says, voice gruff and hardly above a whisper.
Behind him, Jolie carries a serving tray on her shoulder, headed our way with my overpriced surf and turf. I’ve already decided when the check arrives, I’ll be sure to let Jolie know her boss is footing the bill today—along with a generous 30 percent tip.
“You’re an astute businessman now, are you not?” I sip my water. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MERRITT
I’m parked next to Luca’s Maserati when I notice her. Dashing out the main entrance of Coletto’s by the Sea, a little hop in her step and a hint of a smile on her face, is none other than Lydia—in the white coat and black boots from yesterday, no less.