Rush (Hector & Millie) (Seaside Valleria #1) Read online

  Her dating experience wasn’t very extensive, but every time things had turned ugly by the end. In her experience, ‘like’ never lasted very long, so she didn’t hold out much hope it would now, either. Yet, no matter what happened, she’d remember his words and the soft, sweet way he’d said them.

  Maybe it was better not to pursue anything with Hector. Besides the obvious awkwardness that he’d be her boss, she didn’t want to lose those words. She didn’t want those words replaced by harsh ones he might say in the future.

  Did that make her a coward?

  Maybe.

  Probably.

  But she hadn’t had a lot of kind words said to her. She wanted to protect those words and keep them close, because they might be all she ever got.

  “Millie?”

  She stiffened and turned to Rob, who must have arrived just after her. He looked ashamed—good.

  “Um, about yesterday. I—”

  Hector stepped in front of her, almost like a shield. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t the two of us talk about yesterday?”

  Rob’s eyes swiveled from Hector to her, then back again. “I was talking to Millie.”

  “Now you’re talking to me. My office. Now.” Hector thumbed a hand over his shoulder toward Piers’s—now Hector’s—office.

  “Listen, man—”

  Hector leaned forward. “No, you listen. We can do this in private, or we can do it with everyone watching. What would you prefer?”

  Rob pursed his lips but, after a beat, walked through the pub and down the hall.

  Hector’s very warm and large hand came to her shoulder. Gosh, it felt so nice.

  “You all right, Amelia?”

  She nodded.

  He gave her an intense stare, squeezed her shoulder, and followed Rob.

  Her cheeks burned as she realized everyone’s eyes were on her.

  Captain waved her over to the bar. “Millie?”

  Anxious for something to do—and some way to avoid everyone’s gaze—she didn’t delay. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Would you like a drink? Hector’ll get started in a few minutes.”

  She just stared. “Why don’t I get you something?”

  He gave her one of his heart-thumping grins. “I asked you, Millie.”

  She gave him a dubious look. “Yes, but it doesn’t feel right, you getting me a drink.” She perked up when she thought of a solution. “Actually, I’m not thirsty at all. So, no need to get me anything.”

  “Millie.”

  “No, really.”

  His fingers, which had been on the bar, tapped in a steady beat. “I’ll get you some water then.”

  “But—” She didn’t get a chance to finish as he’d turned around and reached for a glass, filling it with water quickly.

  He slid down the bar to her. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  She stared at the glass, then picked it up reverently. Could she keep it? Maybe Hector wouldn’t mind if she did. She couldn’t give it back. A prince—prince!—had poured her a glass of water. How many women could say that about their lives? This clearly ranked above being in the same room with the prince as he’d called the future king.

  A hand came to her back and she jerked, spilling some water on her fingers.

  “Sorry, Amelia. You all right?”

  She nodded. As she turned to Hector, she saw Rob storming through the pub, then slamming the door behind him.

  “What happened?”

  “He won’t be back.”

  Was he fired? Or quit? She glanced at the door, then back to him. “Why?”

  He leaned in, their lips way too close to each other, but not yet close enough. “He didn’t help you when you got hurt and ran the first chance he got. I have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to bullshit like that. I’m not gonna have a man like that working in my pub.”

  She felt bad for Rob—she knew how terrifying it was to be jobless and wouldn’t wish that on anyone—but she also felt relieved she wouldn’t have to work with him anymore. He might’ve been about to apologize before Hector got to him, but now she’d never know. Not that an apology would make up for what happened, but it might have proved he wasn’t as terrible as she thought.

  “Take a seat, Amelia. I’m about to start.”

  She nodded and walked over to the tables. She eyed the pairs and groups scattered around and felt as though she were in school again, trying to figure out which group of kids would let her sit with them during lunch. Relief washed through her when the other waitress, Beth, waved her over. She was a bombshell beauty who made loads in tips, even on the day shift.

  Millie placed the glass delicately on the table and sat down.

  Beth leaned towards her, her voice a high, excited whisper. “Can you believe this? Prince Lorenzo owns the bar!”

  Millie nodded. “It’s crazy.”

  “I never thought I’d see the day we’d rid of Pervy Piers.”

  Millie stifled a chuckle. “Pervy Piers?”

  Beth leaned back and scoffed. “He was always looking at my chest before he ever looked me in the face.”

  Millie wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

  “He ever do that to you?”

  Oh, man. Beth apparently didn’t know Piers was her half-brother, and now Millie had to tell her. Just as she opened her mouth, Hector spoke up.

  Saved by the Hot Man Boss.

  “All right, if everyone could settle down. Thanks for coming. As you know, Captain and I bought the bar. He’s a silent partner, though. I’ll be running everything day in and day out, so you’ll all report to me. Here’s why we brought you here today.”

  Hector shifted on his feet. “One, to see if you’re still interested in working here. We’re going need to shut down the bar to do some renovations. We’re expecting one more month to finalize the planning—we’ve already been working on it—and two months for the actual work. Add another month for buffer and to finish the other refurbishing work we’ll do inside.” Hector pointed to the booths and other areas that clearly needed work.

  “By law, we’re going to offer everyone a two-week probation if you want to wait until the refurb starts in about three months. That’s when we’ll need staff back in, to clean and set the place before the re-opening.”

  Hector paused to let the murmurs that had sprung up to die down. “I’m going to meet with each one of you individually to see what you’d like to do. I ask that everyone stay here until those meetings are finished, as I’ll make some more announcements then.”

  Millie slumped in her chair. Why hadn’t he mentioned the paid time off? Had she just imagined him saying that?

  Oh God. What if she had imagined him? Of all the things that had worried her last night, having a job hadn’t been one of them. Now, though…

  He’d disappeared into the back office with one of the bartenders. She glanced around as quiet conversation rose up around her.

  Shit. What was she going to do?

  She absently took a sip of water, then almost spat it out. This was the water the prince had poured for her. She shouldn’t be drinking it; she should be preserving it or auctioning it off for money.

  Then again, no one would probably believe that a prince had given it to her.

  Maybe she was being a little silly about the whole thing. It was just a glass of water, after all, no matter who’d poured it.

  Though, after taking a drink, she did feel it was the best tasting glass of water she’d ever had.

  She kept drinking as she watched Captain walk around and speak to them all for a little while. She saw her coworkers go back one at a time to speak to Hector, then come out. Some of them sat back down, the others left the pub.

  He’d said he liked her, that anything that happened between them wouldn’t affect work, but could she really trust that? Trust him? Today was only the third time they’d seen each other, after all.

  One-by-one, Hector had brought them into his office. Last night,
he’d spent hours poring over their records, such as they were; Piers clearly wasn’t one for regular performance reviews. However, Hector had been able to read between the lines. Piers tended to keep more documents for good personnel like Amelia—that paperwork mostly badmouthing her, bullshit he could see straight off—and less for others like Rob who were probably less-than-stellar employees. Based on that and other things he’d seen, he’d offered a severance package to those whom he didn’t want working at the pub. If they declined—and a couple had—he’d weed them out during their two-week probation.

  A soft knock came at the door. Since he’d asked the last person he’d seen, Beth, to send her back he knew who it was. “Come in, Amelia.”

  She entered holding a glass of water, then shut the door and sat down.

  “How are you?”

  A few of her fingers were rubbing the condensation on the glass, leaving clear streaks in their wake. “Fine. You?”

  He sat back in his chair. Fuck, this was going to be more awkward than he thought.

  He got up, wincing at a sharp pain from his prosthetic; it was time to get it adjusted again.

  He walked around his desk and sat in the seat next to hers. “You’re worried about something. What?”

  She blinked. “How did you know?”

  He ignored her question for now. “What are you worried about?”

  She looked away, her eyes trailing around the room. Most of it was just the same as Piers had left it, except for all the photos; Hector had removed every photo of Piers in the place.

  “Yesterday…”

  He waited a moment, but she didn’t continue. “Yes?”

  Her eyes settled on the glass in her hands. “Yesterday, I thought you said you’d give people paid time off.”

  He’d thought for sure she’d talk about ‘them’ over work first.

  Shit.

  Maybe she’d thought about it and didn’t want to try with him.

  Then again, she’d been nervous and awkward with him every time they’d spoken. So, maybe it was easier for her to discuss work first.

  He’d follow her lead for now. “I am giving paid time off.”

  “You didn’t mention it in the meeting.”

  “That’s because I’m mentioning it to people individually, after I get their initial reactions about the changes happening here. Everyone will be offered the same probation and the same benefits.”

  She frowned.

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s nothing. So, what happens now?”

  “Amelia.”

  Her gaze was intent on the water, her fingers drawing patterns against the glass.

  He reached out and tipped her chin up. She let out a gasp but didn’t pull away.

  When her eyes finally met his, he spoke gently. “What’s wrong?”

  All reticence gone, she blurted it out. “I don’t think I can work here anymore.”

  His gut clenched, and his fingers jerked and fell from her face. “Why?”

  She shifted in her chair. “The probation. What if you don’t want to keep me afterwards? I need a steady job. I’ll have to look for another.”

  He let out a single scoffed chuckle. “I’m not worried about you. You’ll make it through just fine.”

  She shook her head. “But you might decide differently after working with me. You’ve only seen me a few times.”

  “Yeah, I have, and that’s how I know you’ll be fine.”

  She pursed her lips, clearly not believing him. So, he’d just have to prove it to her.

  He leaned back, one arm over the back of the chair, the other loose and easy on the armrest. “The first time I met you, your asshole half-brother had you running the floor by yourself. There was practically a full house, but you still went out of your way to make me feel welcome.” She’d been clearly overworked, but she didn’t let out her frustration on him or other customers from what he’d seen; he admired that work ethic.

  Her cheeks tinged pink. “I insulted you.”

  Since his accident, he hadn’t smiled much. It was as though he’d forgotten how to do it. When he did smile, it was usually crooked, and his laugh wasn’t much better.

  Yet, at her words, he very nearly smiled his crooked smile. Instead, he settled on a slightly lopsided grin. “You didn’t insult me.”

  She bit her bottom lip, then let go. “I…your disability. I didn’t realize and—”

  He held up a hand. Time to come clean with her about that, too. Shit, he wished his palms hadn’t started sweating. “Do you know what my disability is?”

  She looked back at the glass, clearly uncomfortable. “Um, no. But I know not all disabilities are visible,” she added quickly.

  He nodded; she had that fucking right. His PTSD wasn’t something easily seen. He could, however, show her the disability that was. “You’re right. I have visible and non-visible disabilities. My visible ones? I lost both my legs below the knees in the army. Transtibial prosthesis.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

  He tugged up one pant leg, revealing the prosthetic. The fake foot in the real shoe, the long pylon connecting the foot to the socket above, which was still hidden. He had a foam cover—that better imitated the look of a leg—which he could place over the socket and pylon, but found it was easier to maneuver without it.

  She’d have questions—there were always questions—so he stayed silent a few moments, then dropped his pant leg back down.

  Her gaze moved from his leg up to his face. “Does it hurt?”

  She didn’t look disgusted with him, just curious. Huh. Maybe he was so used to the extreme reactions he usually got from women about his prosthetics that he’d assumed she would be the same.

  He cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the chair. “Sometimes. I’m still…there are still adjustments that need to be made, and I’m on the waiting list for a better set, which should help, too.”

  “There’s a waiting list?”

  He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She glanced back at his legs. “Wow.”

  “I’m going to tell the rest of the staff about it.”

  “Really?”

  He tipped his head to the side. “You don’t think I should?”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean that. You could tell them. I’m just, uh, concerned about some of their reactions.”

  She was worried about him. The thought settled him, and he hadn’t realized he’d been unsettled in the first place.

  “Whose?”

  She looked away, but he wasn’t having it. He turned her chin back. “Amelia.”

  She whispered, as if the staff at the other end of the pub could hear her. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “You won’t be. You don’t have to say anything. If someone says something, I’ll handle it. As I mentioned, I have a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit like that.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He shifted his hand toward her, then hesitated, waiting for her reaction. When her body stilled in anticipation, but didn’t stiffen in rejection, he kept going to cup her cheek lightly.

  He stroked his thumb across her cheek. Her skin was soft with peach fuzz and held a few bumps, but he didn’t mind. She was beautiful.

  She clearly didn’t think so, though, and turned her head away from his touch. Her hand, cool from holding the glass for so long, wrapped around his wrist and tugged it away.

  Maybe he’d been wrong about her. Maybe his disability was more off-putting to her than he realized.

  His mouth tightened into a straight line. “You don’t want me touching you?”

  She shook her head.

  No. Damn it. She’d said no. But why? Not that she needed to explain—no meant no—but he wanted to know if it was him or something else. “Is it because I’m disabled?”

  Her face, horrified, whipped around. “No! Of course not. I’m just…I—”

/>   “Just what?”

  She flushed. “I have terrible skin, okay! It’s just, I know it’s not that nice to touch.”

  He leaned back, surprised. “You think you have terrible skin?”

  She wasn’t looking at him again. He was beginning to find the habit supremely annoying.

  “I just, my skin tends to break out a lot, and I know it’s not attractive, and I know it probably doesn’t feel great when you touch it.”

  She was rambling again, just as she’d done in their first meeting. He still found it cute.

  “Not to mention the hair, which on some parts of my face are not so fuzzy but are more stabby, thick, little annoying hairs. And I know guys don’t like it, but it’s not like I haven’t tried to get rid of it, but I just can’t do anything about it. And—Shit!”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  He gently drew the hand away and cupped her face. “So, what?”

  She blinked.

  “I’m not perfect.” He gestured to his legs. “My body’s not perfect. No one’s perfect. And you. Are. Beautiful.”

  “You don’t think you’re perfect?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  Her gazed raked his chest, dipped lower, then shot back up. “Have you seen you?”

  His mouth opened, but no words came out. She thought he was perfect? “I’m missing parts of my body.”

  She looked at his waist, something he’d really like under other circumstances, but not now with a room full of people on the other side of the door. “So? That doesn’t bother me.”

  That doesn’t bother me.

  That doesn’t bother me.

  Her words swam through his head.

  He cupped the other side of her face, too, piercing her eyes with his to see what lay beyond the surface.

  She was sincere. She meant it. Or she was really good at lying about it, but he didn’t think that was her.

  “You really don’t mind? There’s a lot that comes with this.”

  Her hand waved near her waist. “And there’s a lot that comes with me. I’ve got extra…well, extra on me. Does that bother you?”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “That’s not extra, baby.”