Page 17 of Alpha Daddy

“Wait–training?” I ask, my heart crashing painfully into my ribs. Did I miss something? Am I confused? “There’s… no interview?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Mr. Costa said he gave you enough of an interview yesterday that a follow-up wasn’t needed.”

My insides twist, but I try to look unbothered. “Right. I was… just checking.”

After the momentary shock wears off, it’s quickly replaced by mild irritation.That man is definitely getting a piece of my mind.

A drink? Fine.

A meal? Okay.

But handing me everything on a silver platter isn’t what I want. I’m willing to put in the hard work, to learn what I need to learn, but he isn’t giving me a chance to prove myself. What if I’m awful?

He has way more faith in me than I do.

Damon hands me the menu he’s been holding onto. “I’ll be back in a little bit to see if you have any questions. You obviously don’t have to memorize everything right away; just get an idea of the categories and things like that. If you want to take notes, I can find some paper.”

I shake my head. “No, no, I’ve got it covered.” I never go anywhere without a notebook and pen, just in case I need it for random occurrences like this.

“I’ll be back. I have to check on the kitchen staff.”

I mumble a thank you as he walks away. My eyes fall to the menu in front of me, but my thoughts are far away from fettucine and gourmet salads. They’re wherever Alessandro is, forming a million questions I’m dying to ask him. There are so many things I want to say, and if he’s lucky, I might throw in a thank you amidst the snark.

If only he’d show up.

Is he off today?

I think about the way he looked at me across the bar, his bold, intense eyes stabbing into me like hot knives, the fierce, protective gaze of a true alpha. I recall the way his delicious bourbon and smoke scent swirled around me, dancing along my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I’m pretty sure the image of him is branded on my memories at this point.

I can deny it all I want–he’s way too old for me to be thinking about this way–but the man is sexy, all raw power and dominant energy, prickling sarcasm wrapped in a charming package. If he wasn’t old enough to be my dad, I might be singing a different tune, but as it stands, Alessandro off limits.

That doesn’t mean I can’t harass him a bit, though.

Damon returns after several minutes and takes me on a tour of the restaurant. I've never been in a commercial kitchen before, and it's way bigger than I expected; all stainless-steel appliances, gray tile floors, and bright, florescent lights overhead.

The chef on the line is a young beta, probably a few years older than me, with dark tan skin and shoulder length black hair tied back in a ponytail. There are a few assistants milling about, refilling things and cleaning.

Damon shows me everything, from the refrigerator to the bathrooms to the upstairs storage area where they keep their catering equipment, and I try to keep up with the information he's spilling along the way.

"We're open from ten to ten every day, easy enough to remember, and you'll probably be on the night shift, which comes in at four," Damon rambles. “Our uniform is all black–pants and shirt–and slip-resistant shoes, so you’ll need to get those if you don’t have them.”

My stomach sinks. He’s just listing off simple articles of clothing, but all I see are dollar signs. How much are these special shoes I need? Will the dwindling dollars in my bank account cover them? Will they let me wait until my first check to get them?

That might be a problem.

“I-Is Mr. Costa here?” I ask, hoping I’ll be able to ask him my questions. Surely, he wouldn’t have offered me a job knowing I didn't have the money for a uniform. Maybe he thought I was exaggerating about not being able to afford my drinks yesterday?

But then why did he make sure I had food to eat?This alpha is just getting more confusing with every new revelation.

Damon shakes his head. “No. He took the day off.”

I frown. Well shit. That doesn’t help me at all.

“He did leave a folder with your new hire paperwork,” he says, gesturing toward the office. “You can fill it out at home and bring it back tomorrow.”

At home. Alessandro didn’t tell Damon about my living situation.

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