Page 55 of Tame Me

‘You sure?’ Kiri chuckles mid-sprint from counter to flaming grill. ‘I think you’re a goddess.’

I’m not. But Iamused to working back-to-back shifts. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen and got my first kitchen-hand job. When Romy—owner of the café I work a day shift at—phoned half an hour before closing saying the manager at the gondola restaurant was down with flu and they desperately needed a head waiter, I said yes. Sure I’ve already worked a twelve-hour day, plus I have a midnight-till-closing shift at a dive bar later tonight, but I need the money. And not just because of the cost of living here.

Queenstown is mega-expensive. The snowy mountain paradise in New Zealand’s South Island is stunningly beautiful with incredible views and adventurous opportunities. It’s super popular with the wealthy—there are vast numbers of stunning, luxury leisure homes everywhere. It feels as though every other café customer is a billionaire. They dress in sleek merino jumpers, rock-star jeans and mingle with the travellers who flit in to enjoy the slopes and adrenalin hits. Theyallhave high expectations of service. Because I’m reliable I’ve got more work than I can manage. I hold down multiple food service jobs while building a social media side hustle because, not only do I need to make enough for my own survival, but I support my sister. Ava’s four years younger than me and a genius but even with her scholarships she needs additional support, and I don’t want our screwed-up family stopping her from succeeding.

So I quickly head out to scope the situation. Honestly, it’s pretty wild. Primary guest Simone Boras is Australian, as are her mostly female guests, and for her seventy-seventh birthday she’s booked out the entire restaurant. They’re loud, they’re laughing, they’re definitely here to have a good time and we’re going to need that entertainment soon to keep the energy up and divert attention from the delay on dessert.

‘Simone, I’m Talia.’ I smile at her. ‘I’m here to make your martinis.’

Simone’s polite and charming enough but I recognise the slight edge in her smile. She expects the best. If I deliver, she’ll approve. So I move fast. It doesn’t take me long to get to grips with the coffee machine and I make her martini. No one makes a meaner coffee than me.

And her delight is genuine. ‘Thank you, Talia.’

I don’t mind guests with high standards when they appreciate my work.

‘Can we get two more of those?’ one guest calls to me. ‘They look amazing.’

‘Of course.’ I smile. ‘I’ll bring them right over.’

As I make more martinis I talk strategy with the servers and send them out with the cocktails. The vibe of the room lifts. When I get a chance I check on Kiri. She’s still sweating bullets but the kitchen feels less chaotic.

Pleased, I take a breath and roll my shoulders. While I’d managed a swift shower, put on a clean dress, redone my hair and minimal make-up, my freshen up was only superficial. I’d kill to put my feet up. Instead I head to the storeroom to find those extra glasses. Hopefully a few moments’ respite from the noise will help. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows on the way certainly does. The sun is just setting. Wild clouds skitter over the wide sky, threatening to cloak the mountains in a moody shroud. Below, the city lights twinkle obliviously and the lake stretches into the distance. Some time I’ll actually have a day off. I’ll not stand for hours, not wait on others. I’ll curl in front of a cosy fire and a big window, drink something hot and sweet and donothingbut gaze at the view. I’ll justbreathe.

But right now breathing is theonlything on that list that I can accomplish. I go into the storeroom, lean back against the door to close it and—

Breathing stops. Jaw drops. Brain...brain...?

Tall. Muscular. Shoulders. Ruffled hair. Rippled abs. Blue eyes. Intense blue eyes. Very intense.

In a succession of still shots, details imprint on my mind one at a time. Matching the frantic beat of my heart.

I know about the abs because he’s half naked. He’s a chiselled, X-rated, total wow of a man. And he’s half naked.

He has a crisp white shirt in his hand and apparently does not give a thought about his state of undress and my observation of it. As I stare he shakes out the shirt and shrugs it up over those broad shoulders. I realise my mouth’s ajar but it’s dry and I don’t shut it. I can’t. I can’t doanythingbecause my brain is completely incompetent. The visuals are more than it can handle. He leisurely begins buttoning the shirt, his abs and pecs and other muscles ripple. He’s honestly like not from this earth. And that’s when it dawns on me.

‘You’rethe entertainment...’ I slowly mutter. And yes, I’m marvelling.

Wow. Good for Simone. I really want to be her when I grow up.

His long fingers pause on the third button down. His eyes widen.

‘You’re late,’ I add after an uncomfortable beat. ‘It’s okay though. They’re not even onto dessert yet. They’re too busy talking but you’re going to stun them into silence.’

There’s silence right here, right now. And it only grows.

He’s frozen—the half-buttoned shirt still reveals a wide expanse of muscled body. I feel my face getting hotter.

‘Is there a problem?’ I blink and the smallest portion of brain comes back online. I’m used to sorting problems. ‘Do you need help or something?’

‘I had to sponge a mark off my shirt.’

‘Where?’ I squint. It looks perfect to me.

‘Here.’

I have to step closer to spot the small smudge.

‘Oh, they’re never going to noticethat,’ I scoff. ‘You should’ve made it more wet,’ I joke. ‘That would be...’

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