Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [26]
“Boss’s office is back here. It’s a hike—I’m real thankful the kitchen’s not down here, too. I’ve worked restaurants in Manhattan that were set up like that, and they were hell on the knees, let me tell you. All that running up and down stairs in the middle of rush dinner service! Awful.” He gave an exaggerated shudder, and Jess let himself smile. Not too much; there were all kinds of cues, and Jess knew how to project the ones he wanted.
“But what can you do in Manhattan?” Grant continued. “Space is at a premium, you can only build up or down. We use the basement mostly for storage. Some pantry items are kept down here, and there’s a walk-in cooler. And of course, office space,” he finished, as they reached the end of the hall.
There was a handwritten sign posted on the metal door that said BOSS IS in large black letters, and beside it, a cockeyed paper tag that read IN THE KITCHEN. Scattered around the door were other possible ends to the sentence. Jess read HAGGLING WITH SUPPLIERS, AT THE UNION SQUARE GREENMARKET, and A WANKER, before Grant pushed open the door and led him inside.
A large metal desk strewn with papers, files, and an antiquated computer on one side dominated the room. But Grant didn’t head over to sit behind it. Instead, he gestured toward a narrow sofa along one wall and sat down next to Jess.
“So,” he began brightly. “You’re transferring from Brandewine to a school in the city?”
“NYU,” Jess confirmed. “I was studying visual media, graphics, and stuff like that. But I’m actually more into photography, and NYU has a great program with some really awesome professors.”
Grant tilted his head, those light blue eyes uncomfortably piercing. “And that’s why you’re transferring? To take advantage of the NYU program?”
Danger. Jess fought to keep his expression from broadcasting his sudden, intense desire to be elsewhere.
“That’s right,” he answered.
Grant pressed his lips together as if he knew Jess was lying. Sweat prickled at the small of Jess’s back.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Grant said. “Lord knows, it’s not my business. But I don’t like secrets that might come back to bite me in the ass. It’s my job to make sure the front of the house runs smooth as glass. And I aim to do just that, no matter what it takes.”
Jess felt a flash of anger that this total stranger thought he could make Jess say it when he hadn’t even told his own sister, but he swallowed it down. His stomach twisted into knots.
“Look, if you don’t want me here, tell me so. I’ll get out of your way.”
“I didn’t say that. And if you hold up your end, I won’t have to.”
Jess ducked his head, almost dizzy with relief. Grant gave him the shrewd eyes again. “Don’t be so quick to give up on what you want. I assume you do want this job?”
“It’s not only that I want it,” Jess assured him. “I need it. Tuition at NYU is way expensive, and even living with Miranda instead of paying room and board . . . it’s going to be tight. I don’t want to be a burden on her. She says she won’t let me have a job once school starts, because she wants me to focus on my future. But I’m hoping I can change her mind, because the kind of future I want to have involves me being independent and not relying on my big sister to take care of me.” A hot mixture of shame and determination boiled in his gut, but Jess kept going. “I’m not telling you this to be like, ‘Oh, poor Jess,’ or anything. It’s not a sob story. It’s just—you should understand what’s at stake for me. I won’t let you down, I swear.”
Jess met Grant’s eyes dead-on, steeling himself for pity or derision or even indifference. What he saw was more like recognition. And Jess, who’d never believed in “gaydar” or any other sort of sixth sense, suddenly found himself wondering about the restaurant manager. Grant arched a brow, as if he were perfectly aware of the new direction of Jess’s thoughts, and gave him another of those big, easy smiles.
“Good enough.”
Jess blinked, train of thought effectively derailed.