Page 1 of Sexting the Don

Chapter 1

Mandy

“Hey, are you paying attention?”

Jimmy, or Dad, as he’s repeatedly told me he prefers to be called, grumbles in his seat at the table across from me.

“Sure, Jimmy.”

“God, I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“I bet you wish a lot of things.”

We’re at La Serna, the upscale Italian place in Silver Lake where I work. Serving’s hardly my passion, but at the moment, I’d sure as hell rather be slinging chicken parm and stuffed bell peppers instead of chatting with my mooching, low-life dad.

“Pops, Old Man, Daddy-o,” he says, running his hand nervously through his thick dark hair. “Anything other than freaking Jimmy. It’s disrespectful.”

I flick my eyes at him. “It’s not really necessary to have this conversation. You know my stance.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he reaches for his glass of Cabernet. “Yeah, you’re right about that. I definitely know where you stand. You’re as stubborn as your mother, and one thing I’ve learned over the years is there’s no damn point arguing with her once she’s put her foot down.”

You actually learn things? You sure fooled me.

The thought pops into my mind. but I don’t say it aloud. My goal is getting Jimmy out of my hair, and arguing with him would be the least effective way to do that.

“Anyway, do you want to tell me why you’re here in the middle of my shift? You’re lucky it’s a slow day.”

La Serna, one of the new hot places in town, boasts a chic ambiance with dim lighting, elegant furnishings, and a menu that features classic Italian dishes alongside modern culinary creations.

Tonight, however, the place is unusually quiet, with only a few tables occupied, which is a small blessing as I endure this conversation.

Jimmy purses his lips and drums his fingers on the table for a moment, and then, he takes another sip of his wine.

“Any chance I could get another glass of this stuff?” He taps the rim. “It’s good shit, and I know you get an employee discount.”

My patience is dwindling by the moment. Jimmy’s got a hell of a lot of annoying qualities, almost like an onion that’s past its prime where you constantly peel away the layers only to find new rotten bits beneath.

Right now, he’s stalling, which means he’s got some bad news to relay. That’s usually the case with him. My father is one of thosehumans who always seems to have a black cloud hanging over him as a result of his own bad choices.

Typically, his bad choices involve only him, but the worried look in his eyes and the way he’s frowning make me wonder if it’s worse than usual this time.

Finally, he speaks. “You remember that investment I made a while back, the guys who were looking to start a little casino operation in Reseda?”

I sigh. “You mean the illegal sports betting ring?”

He winces again. “It was onlytechnicallyillegal. Everything was on the up and up. No one was getting scammed or anything like that.”

Part of me wants to argue about the stupidity of what Jimmy just said, but there’s no point—he’s got a supernatural ability to rationalize his bad behavior.

“What about it?”

This question causes him to gulp down the rest of his wine. When the glass is empty, he waves to Kurt, our bartender, for a refill. Kurt glances at me and arches his eyebrows, asking without words, You want me to cut him off? I shake my head no. A few moments later, a fresh glass of Cab is placed in front of Jimmy.

“The guys I was working with,” he begins to explain. “Well, there’s no way to sugarcoat it. They screwed me. They fucking screwed me. They took all that fucking money I gave them and either pissed it away or ran off with it. They fucked me over!”

He slams his fist on the table, shaking the glass and silverware, the exclamation point at the end of his frustrated rant. Therearen’t many diners in the restaurant, but those who are there look up. I gesture to Jimmy to chill.

“This is where I work,” I remind him, leaning forward and tapping the table with an index finger. “Please don’t make a scene or make me look bad.”

---