“Maternity leave,” Ruby says.
I hesitate. “What about it?”
“You need to go on maternity leave,” Ruby repeats grimly. She’s eyeing my stomach.
Sometimes, it feels like my pregnancy is the only thing that defines me anymore. That’s all people see. It’s the first question they ask.
“I will,” I say. “But not yet.”
“When, then?” Ruby asks. “When the kid pops out between table three and table four?”
“I’m fine,” I argue. “I feel strong and fit and capable.”
“Do you know what you look like?” she asks.
“Umm…”
“You’re the skinniest pregnant woman I’ve ever seen,” Ruby continues impatiently. “You’re skin and bones and the biggest fucking stomach on the West Coast.”
Ouch.
“You’re making customers uncomfortable.”
My eyebrows knit together. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t get all bent out of shape,” she sighs. “You always sound like you’re two seconds away from completely breaking down. And it doesn’t help that you look twelve.”
“Are you not happy with my work?” I ask bluntly.
Ruby meets my gaze. “You’re a hard worker, Emily,” she says. “And I hired you because you were determined, confident and honestly, a little desperate. But you need to take a fucking break.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. “If I do, will I have a job here when I get back?”
Ruby hesitates. “You’ll have a baby.”
“I can still work.”
“And who’s gonna take care of your baby?”
It’s a really good question. One that I can’t answer just yet.
But that won’t stop me from trying my best to salvage this situation.
“I have family,” I blurt out in desperation. “They’ll take care of the baby while I’m at work.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ruby says, with raised eyebrows. “Who?”
“My… uh… great aunt and uncle,” I say. “Tío Charlie.”
“You’ve never mentioned them before.”
I shrug. “Don’t bring your personal life into the workplace, right?” It’s a lame lie but it’s the best I’ve got.
Ruby sighs, obviously onto the fact that I’m just blatantly making shit up. “I won’t tolerate a baby at work, Emily,” she says. “Got it?”
“Got it,” I note. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d still like to keep working.”
Ruby groans. “Jesus! Fine. Just go deal with the mess on table three.”
Sighing with relief, I head over to table three just as Sara, the other waitress working today, swings by.
“You okay?” she mutters to me over her shoulder.
She has beautiful blue eyes that remind me of someone I knew in my old life. The life I ran from. I have to focus hard every day not to be distracted by them.
“Fine.” I brush a flyaway bang out of my face. “Ruby’s just trying to get rid of me.”
“She’s brusque,” Sara acknowledges. “But her heart’s in the right place.”
“I know, and I get it. But I really need this job.”
Before Sara can respond, the door to the diner opens. A small group of four men walks in.
I’m immediately on high alert.
They are dressed in dark sunglasses and dark coats. All of them are stony-faced, tattooed, and intimidating as hell.
Please don’t pick my section, I pray silently. Anywhere but my section.
Which means that they of course head directly for my section.
I sigh with frustration as they take the table I’ve just cleaned up. Shitty luck.
I put my game face on and walk over to them. There’s no point putting it off.
Their eyes fall on me wordlessly and nerves claw at my throat. I’ve known men like this my whole life. I’ve learned the hard way not to stick around for a second longer than I have to.
“Good evening,” I say politely. “What can I get you guys?”
“I want a steak.”
I turn to the burly man who spoke. He removes his shades to reveal dark, piercing eyes that might be considered attractive if the rest of his face weren’t so… threatening. My eyes flicker down to the massive eagle tattoo that takes up the entire left side of his thick neck. It looks shitty, blotchy, amateurish.
A prison tat, if I’ve ever seen one.
“Rare,” he tells me. “I like my meat bloody.”
I have to resist the urge to cringe at the salacious way he gives me his order. His gaze roams down to my stomach and he licks his lips. Goosebumps prickle my skin, but I manage to hold it together.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, keeping my tone professional. “We don’t have steak.”
He raises his eyebrows while his friends snicker. Clearly, he’s the ringleader and he’s so predictably menacing that I almost want to roll my eyes.
If only he knew the kind of life I’ve had.
“I want steak,” he says. “So do my men.”
So do my men. Those words aren’t lost on me.
They’re definitely mafia, probably small-time drug runners operating out of nearby Tijuana.
But I’ve had enough of the mafia for one lifetime.
“I’m sorry—”
“Let me put it to you in a way you can understand,” he interrupts. He leans forward a little, scanning me from head to toe, though his eyes linger on my stomach and breasts. “I want fresh meat. One way or the other. You know, I’ve always had a thing for pregnant women.”
My forced smile turns sour. I take a step back. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I back away and head straight for the kitchen. Once I’m in the safety of the kitchen, I can breathe a little easier, but the thought of going back out there turns my stomach.
“Emily, you okay?” asks Jose, the line cook.
I nod and force a smile back onto my face. “I’m fine,” I reply. “I just…you know, difficult customers.”
“What else is new?” Jose asks, rolling his eyes.
“Not shit. Anyway, can you whip up four steaks… rare?” I ask desperately.
“Steaks?” he repeats. “We don’t have steak. Tell them to pick something off the fucking menu. That’s what it’s there for.”
“I can’t tell these customers that,” I groan.
He walks past me and peers through the little partition that looks over into the restaurant area. “Table three?” he asks.
“That’s the one.”
“Fuck, those dudes look scary.”
“My point exactly.”
“I’ve got some pork ribs though. Go ask them if they’ll have those?”
“Jose, please,” I
