Chapter 4

Saturday came.

At noon, someone started pounding on my front door.

"Amy! Open up!"

Denise's booming voice cut straight through the door. "We're here to get you! Amy!"

The knocking turned to full-on fist-pounding, hard enough to shake the whole building. A neighbor stuck his head out to look, and Denise called over to him, all smiles. "We're Amy's coworkers, here to pick her up for a meal."

Then she turned back to the door, and her smile went cold. "Amy, your grandmother's still at the nursing home, isn't she? If you don't open this door right now, we'll go pay her a visit instead."

My temper flared. I yanked the door open, and before I could get a word out, a hand grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"What took you so long?" Denise's grip was brutal. Without another word, she hauled me toward the elevator. A couple of other coworkers grabbed my arms and wouldn't let go.

"Amy, you're the guest of honor today. How could we do this without you?"

I stumbled down the stairwell, my scalp burning with pain. A dozen or so coworkers were waiting downstairs, and when they saw me, they rolled their eyes.

"Look at her. Not even a real employee, and she's already acting like she's better than the boss."

"A whole group of us are waiting on just you. You should be ashamed."

They shoved me into a car and drove straight to the restaurant. Denise pushed me down into a chair, flipped open the menu, and started rattling off orders to the waiter.

"Lobster, five per table. King crab, three ways. Live grouper, freshly caught. Tuna belly, extra-thick cut, double servings—"

Every time she named a dish, she glanced sideways at me. "You're not going to get all worked up over this, are you, Amy? We're all coworkers here, not strangers."

She added twelve New Zealand abalone to the order. "It's not every day Gerald has a birthday — we can't cut corners. You don't have a problem with that, right, Amy?"

I said nothing. Beside me, Kevin Brennan laughed and jumped in. "Look at her face. She doesn't care about the money at all. No need to hold back on her account."

Denise went on to order every single dish on the menu. The table ended up piled so high there was barely room for anything.

Once she'd finished, she looked at me, pleased with herself. "Why so quiet, Amy? You're not upset, are you?"

Gerald rapped his knuckles on the table. "Amy, think about company unity. Who exactly are you making that face for?"

With that, he was the first to pick up his fork. "Everyone, eat up. This is a company outing, and an intern doesn't get to call the shots here."

Everyone dug in at once.

By the second half of the meal, people were taking two bites of tuna and spitting the rest out. Kids were flinging pieces of foie gras around like toys. A few of the men splashed cognac on the floor just to liven up the mood. Every one of them looked at me like they were enjoying themselves at my expense.

"You're not upset about the money, are you, Amy?"

"Why would she be upset? Denise already paid. She's making a profit off this."

"Fair point."

By the end, everyone was slumped in their chairs, stuffed. Denise had people start packing up the gift bags. Every guest walked out with three or four bags stuffed full, grinning ear to ear.

"We don't even eat this well at my house on holidays. Amy, your family's restaurant is the real deal. We're making this our regular spot for company dinners from now on."

That was when the waiter walked over carrying a long printed bill.

Denise's expression shifted. Without a word, she shoved me forward. "Amy, I already transferred the money to you. Go settle the bill. We're heading out."

She bolted for the door, and everyone else followed right behind her.

A second later, the private room's door was blocked solid by a dozen bald men in black work uniforms.

The one in front had arms thicker than Denise's thighs, tattoos running all the way up his neck. His gaze swept slowly over everyone in the room.

"Six tables. Thirty-six lobsters, twenty-five servings of king crab, fifteen New Zealand abalone, twelve grouper, eighteen servings of thick-cut tuna belly, twenty-four bottles of cognac... fifty-three gift bags of caviar, foie gras, and dried scallops.

"That comes to Eighty-three thousand and seven hundred dollars, total."

Denise forced herself to stay composed, shoving me forward with everything she had. "We're Amy's coworkers. If you're looking for her—"

The man raised a hand. "What does this have to do with Amy? I own this restaurant. And you're the one who placed the order." He watched the color drain from Denise's face and gave a slow smile.

"Pay up."