Page 57 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Seven

The memory flashed before him and Jameson quickly shut it down. The past was past for a reason. He re-focused on the conversation. “Fine. But he better behave or he leaves. Understood?”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

His lips firmed at her obvious snark. “Put on your uniform and let’s get going. You need to look over the new menu and specials.”

With a last pat on the beast’s head, she sauntered over. “Why’d you change the menu? Everyone loved it.”

“Change equals growth. The place needs freshening up and I’m happy to do it.”

“How’d you get Marcus to go along with you?”

The lie about the chef eased from his lips. “He was excited to do something different.”

Her snort said she knew the truth but he refused to spar with her. She finally gave up on arguing and left to change. Jameson glanced at the dog, who suddenly looked fearful of being without his mistress. Those big dark eyes fastened onto him and the beast whimpered.

“Ugh, she’ll be back soon. Just chill.”

Another moan. Sweat broke out on his skin. He couldn’t deal with this now. He was going to kill Devon. Having her fill in wasn’t worth this emotional hostage situation.

Thankfully, she came right out in a snug black t-shirt and skirt. He tried not to stare and freak her out. Her long hair was braided and swinging down her back. The uniform was simple—Mac had refused to make the staff dress universally so he’d taken care of that—but the fabric clung perfectly to all her curves, showing off muscled calves and an ass that made his mouth water. Jameson had a sudden impulse to close the distance, tip that stubborn chin up, and press his lips against hers. He wondered what she’d taste like.

Holy hell, he needed to stop. The woman was irritating and stubborn. He preferred his dates to be amenable, gentle-natured, and easy to please. Working in the restaurant business was too stressful, and he didn’t want to waste his time fighting over why he was so busy or refused to commit. He had a feeling Devon wouldn’t agree to his terms. She’d probably insist on her own.

“I don’t like these uniforms. They’re boring and too tight. I don’t like skirts.”

Jameson grabbed onto his patience. “It’s a traditional uniform and you’re the only one who’s complained.” He refused to share that the rest of the staff had said the same, asking for red and pink and yellow instead of black. And shorts—none of the women liked the skirts.

“Just trying to help.”

He shook his head to clear it and handed her a menu. “Memorize it. Here’s the table chart. Layla is hostessing so she’ll help with any questions.”

He pivoted on his heel.

“Wait! Where’s the pancake charcuterie board?”

“I got rid of it. Do you know it’s been on the menu since the place opened? Too basic.”

He kept walking but she trotted after him. “Wait! That’s everyone’s favorite. You never take away a signature dish.”

He tamped down an impatient sigh. “Anyone can get pancakes, bacon, and sausage.”

“Not two kinds of bacon with fresh fruit and Nutella!”

He lifted a brow. “You can purchase each of those ingredients at any supermarket. Vintage is better than that.”

“No one wants a fancy lobster taco that costs fifty dollars. And what’s up with the cocktail menu? There’s a big ass sign saying all BYOB requests will be denied, and you’re pushing blood orange mimosas and jalapeno margaritas? People want to bring their own alcohol to save money. Or buy a Cape May White and call it a day.”

He gave her a good hard glare. “Everyone loves lobster and a specialty cocktail. We’re at the beach. It’s expected.”

“Breakfast platters and BYOB is expected at Vintage. It was built on traditional favorites. You’re ruining it.”

He leaned in. “I guarantee the lobster breakfast tacos and drinks will be a hit.”

“And I guarantee your customers will complain about the pancakes.”

“Wanna bet?”

He didn’t know what made him say it. Maybe the smug expression on her beautiful face, or the way she was constantly trying to challenge him on anything he did. All of his testosterone exploded and he only knew he wanted to win. Her moss green eyes lit up with interest. “What do you mean?”

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