Page 20 of Release Me

My brows pull together, and I’m tempted to ask him if he’s having a stroke or something. We’ve already established that I’ve never worked in a restaurant before—though technically that’s not true— so I’m not sure what makes him think I can run one.

“Besides the obvious reasons?”

He wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin that was resting on his lap. “Last night at the bar when Marcus didn’t have the wine you requested, you could have panicked but you didn’t. You found a way to make what you had work and flipped it into an amazing experience for your client.” The muscles in his throat constrict when he says ‘client’ and I wonder if it’s the word in general or the person it refers to. I don’t have time to ask because he starts talking again. “You demonstrated the ability to think on your feet in a high stress situation. That’s something that can’t be taught, and I need someone with that skill running things on the rooftop.”

“Don’t you already have someone up there running things?” I arch a brow and take a bite of my steak, hoping none of the juice from the tender cut of meat has dripped onto my dress. Sebastian grimaces like thoughts of Vince send chills born of displeasure and annoyance rushing down his spine as well.

“We parted ways.”

“Amicably?” I spent all of five minutes in Vince’s presence, but I can pretty much guess that it wasn’t. Still, I feel the need to ask, to make sure that he’s being as honest with me as possible.

“No, it wasn’t amicable.”

He takes a sip of his wine, and I watch appreciation skate across his features as the crisp, acidity of the dry white cuts through the rich, buttery notes of the sauce coating his pasta. What I don’t see on his face is surprise, which kind of catches me off guard. It’s almost as if he had no doubt in my ability to choose the perfect wine pairing for his meal. Sebastian doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who gives away his confidence easily, so for him to extend it to me, not just in relation to his dinner, but to his business means a lot.

“Did I make a good choice?” I ask, just to be sure I’m reading him correctly.

He nods, licking his full bottom lip to capture the minuscule droplets lingering there. “You did, but then again, I knew you would.”

“You have a lot of confidence in someone who’s a virtual stranger to you.”

Storm clouds gather inside the pools of champagne he calls eyes as they bore into me, and I get the sense that he’s trying to figure out if I’m always this hard to give a compliment to. I want to tell him that it’s been years since I’ve received one that had nothing to do with how soft my breasts are or how tight my pussy is. I want to tell him that I used to be a different person, a girl with confidence in her looks, but more importantly, in her mind. That’s the woman my parents raised, not the one sitting in front of him wondering why his vote of confidence makes her feel, for the first time in a long time, that she can find her way back to herself. Sebastian taps his fingertips on the white linen table cloth, regarding me with a stare that makes me squirm in my seat. When his lips finally part, I let out a silent breath of relief.

“I know talent when I see it, Nadia.”

“Do you also know a hot mess when you see one, Sebastian? Because that’s what I am.” A self-loathing laugh punctuates the proclamation, and I’m so ashamed of the sound, I turn my attention to my plate, using my fork to push my food around so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “I know wine, and I know that free shit always stops people from whining about what they didn’t get. You say it’s talent, but I know it’s just a result of eating at a lot of nice restaurants with a lot of impatient men.”

Suddenly, there are fingers under my chin, tipping my head up so I have no choice but to look him in the eyes. He’s barely shifted in his seat, but I guess that’s not really necessary when you have the kind of wingspan he does. Everything about him is just so damn big and long. Even his fingers are thick, so thick I think it’d probably take two of mine just to make one of his. I meet his eyes, and there’s impatience there. The emotion is so familiar on his face it makes me want to laugh, but there’s no place for humor here. Just the disconcerting echo of his touch spreading through my body. Just the lethal slash of his thick brows as they pull together to form one, dark, disapproving line.

“I don’t care about what you’ve done in the past. The choices you had to make in order to survive aren’t anything to be ashamed of, and they damn sure don’t disqualify you from the future you were trying to create for yourself when you applied to work at Cerros.”

I wrap my hand around his wrist and push his hand away. “It was just a waitressing job, Sebastian.”

“It was a conscious decision to seek out something different from the work you were doing before.”

“Sex work. Don’t try to tell me it’s not something to be ashamed of if you can’t even call it what it is.”

“Sex work,” he repeats, nostrils flaring. “Applying for the job at Cerros was a conscious decision to seek out something different from sex work.”

He’s grimacing again, and I don’t know why. Obviously, he doesn’t have an issue with sex workers or else he wouldn’t own a place like Ludus. I study him, trying to figure out if there’s another reason why he looks like I just forced him to swallow glass and coming up empty.

“Maybe I just wanted a change of scenery.”

“Or maybe you wanted to prove to yourself that you could earn money on your feet instead of on your back.”

The urge to slap him is so strong my palm vibrates with the desire to collide with his face. “Do you really think being an asshole is going to increase the likelihood of me taking you up on your offer?”

“No, I think being honest with you is going to increase the likelihood of you taking me up on my offer.”

He’s not wrong. I prefer his cut and dry assessment of my thought process when I applied for the job at Cerros to the pretty euphemisms meant to motivate me into believing I can do a job I know I can’t.

Not because I’m not qualified.

Honestly, I’m more than qualified. The degrees I hold in Viticulture & Enology and Hospitality and Restaurant Management plus a lifetime of watching my parents run one of California’s most successful Black owned vineyards have more than prepared me for this job. The problem is those degrees and that experience belong to someone else. Not just in name, though that’s definitely an issue because Nadia Hendrix has no degrees or relevant job experience to speak of, but also in spirit.

I’m just not that person anymore. That girl who was so sure she could lead, teach and inspire, who learned the ins and outs of running a business from her father and the intricacies of hospitality from her mother is gone. Maybe Sebastian caught a glimpse of her last night. Maybe that’s who he’s looking for, but she’s not here. I am.

And I am broken and scary and anxious. I am a hollowed out shell who can’t be trusted with her own future let alone that of a restaurant.

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