Page 1 of My Jealous Boss

Chapter 1

Miranda

Lucky’s.

I didn’t think I’d like waiting tables so much, but I’m quickly realizing this job is perfect for me. I love interacting with the customers, and the people I work with are some of the most interesting characters I’ve encountered. I never know what’s in store for me when I clock in. It’s a type of excitement that I didn’t know I was craving.

I’ve only been working here for a few weeks, but I’m already friends with almost everyone. Frustratingly, I can’t seem to break the ice with my boss, Simon. He’s the tall, dark, mysterious type, rarely fraternizing with his employees. I wish he would – he’s the definition of eye candy. Catching glimpses of his dark brown hair or his chiseled jawline with that seemingly-permanent five o’clock shadow are highlights of my shifts.

It’s not like I’d suddenly hit on him if he were friendlier with me. Up until recently, I wasn’t allowed to date. My parents are strict – so strict that it took me a year after turning eighteen to convince them to let me move out on my own. Their hovering has left me a virgin who’s never been kissed. I’m a little self-conscious of that, especially now that I’m hearing about all of my coworkers’ sexual exploits; I don’t even know where to start. Do I just walk up to someone and ask if they want to kiss me? I know that flirting is a surefire way to show someone I’m interested, but I’ve never flirted in my life.

Whatever. I know that one day, I’ll have my first kiss and lose my virginity. There’s no point in rushing it, even if I am getting a little impatient.

“Miranda, you there?” the host, Nicole, asks.

“Yup,” I say, shaking my head to clear the thoughts. “Just thinking.”

“Well, don’t do that,” she laughs, handing me a roll of silverware. “Leo’s waiting for you at table thirty-three.”

“Again?” I joke, accepting the bundle.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but I’m pretty sure he could burn water,” she grins before heading back to the host stand.

I’m still giggling at Nicole’s joke when I get to Leo. He’s here so often that he doesn’t need a menu, and another server has already put his Diet Coke in front of him. When I place his silverware on the table, his mouth quirks up and he fixes me with a curious look.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” he asks as he unrolls his napkin.

“Oh, nothing,” I say conversationally. “I’m just laughing at a joke Nicole told me.”

“Makin’ fun of me for being here all the time?” he guesses, belly-laughing when I don’t immediately respond. “Oh, come on. Tell me what she said.”

“She mentioned that you’re not the best cook,” I tell him with a huge grin on my face. “She might have said you could burn water.”

“There’s some truth to that,” Leo chuckles. He waits for me to pull my notepad out of my apron before saying, “Since I can’t cook for myself, how about you tell the kitchen I want the steak, medium-rare, with a baked potato and a side of green beans?”

“I’ll have to order that for myself,” I say as I finish jotting down his request. “That sounds delicious.”

“Well, feel free to join me if you decide it’s break time,” he says.

“I wish I could, Leo,” I reply, tapping the edge of his table before turning around and heading to the computer to send his order to the kitchen.

“Miranda,” a deep voice like whiskey says from behind me. Simon. “Can I have a word?”

“Uh,” I stammer, glancing up from the screen. He’s looking down at me, his strong brows furrowed. I can’t quite read his expression, but he looks annoyed. “Sure. I need to finish putting Leo’s order back and check on my other tables first.”

Simon grunts and glances around the restaurant before saying, “Meet me in my office when you’re finished.”

I nod, then turn back to the computer. My mind races as I try to figure out what he’d want to talk to me about. He seemed upset. As far as I know, I haven’t made any mistakes. In fact, this shift might be one of my smoothest yet. All of my tables have left satisfied, and the money in my pocket acts as evidence.

Maybe I made a mistake in ringing something back to the kitchen. The guys working the grill are incredibly skilled. They catch missteps before the servers realize they happen, especially if the food is going to a regular. I don’t know that something like that warrants a talk with the owner, though. Usually, our cooks will just pull aside the offending member of the waitstaff to let them know.

Anxiety builds in my stomach as I do my rounds. When I confirm that all of my guests are comfortable, I wander back into the kitchen. I slip through a group of my coworkers chatting by the warming window and walk to the manager’s office. The door is cracked open, so I knock softly before heading inside.

While the restaurant is full of music, conversation, and brightly-colored Irish decor, Simon’s office is calm, almost homey. It’s a degree or two warmer than it is on the floor, and the warm, soft lighting from his desk lamp makes me feel sleepy and relaxed.

At least, it does when I’m not worried about losing my job.

“You wanted to see me?” I say to Simon’s back, prompting him to turn around and face me.

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