Page 12 of Virgin's Stolen Nights with the Boss

As she reached the swing doors to the staff area the speaker was concluding his remarks.

His voice reached her.

‘I’ve been asked, many times, “How do you deal with grief?”’

Carmen, who had been desperate to escape, now found she paused to hear his answer.

The weight of her own grief was unbearable.

Worse even than the day herpapáhad died.

She did not know how to deal with it, and was desperate for answers.

Please, Mr Good-Looking, Carmen thought,tell me it gets better. Tell me how to deal with this ache in my soul...

‘Five years on...’ she heard the slight husk to his tone ‘...I still don’t know the answer.’

His words brought no comfort.

None at all.

She pushed through the swing doors to face her manager.

‘De Luca!’

Her boss was awful.

Horrible.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ He was right in her face. ‘Only, youweren’tthinking, were you?’

‘It was a simple accident,’ Carmen said. ‘And I apologised immediately.’

‘You’ve been here for a week and there’s a disaster every night.’

‘I spilt some water. I don’t see the issue.’

‘I’ll tell you the issue...’

And he proceeded to do so, just as he had every night this week.

Carmen had to bite her tongue, so tempted to pull off the apron of this stupid outfit the female waiting staff were made to wear and tell him where he could stick his job.

That was exactly what she’d done at her last job.

And the one before.

She’d pulled rank, told them what they could do with their attitude, and said that if that was the way they treated staff, no wonder they couldn’t keep them.

Her fiery nature was returning, she realised, but then she checked herself. Tonight shewouldhold her tongue.

‘I amsosorry,’ Carmen repeated.

‘Not good enough.’

He really let her have it then, telling her that she was going to have her wages cut...

They clearly thought she was an illegal worker. That had been the assumption in all the casual jobs she had gone for.

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