IV. The Way Things Are.

Nine days passed without another Hot Boss meltdown, mostly due to him not being there. As it was easier to keep my wits about me with the object of my affection absent I kept my head down and focused on my job. Since summer was in full swing I inevitably ran into countless Yale alums, former sorority sisters and pre-law majors. It was always the same questions:

You're working here? Did your parents lose their money?

Why don't you come out and party anymore?

Is it true you went to rehab your last semester?

Blah blah, ing blah. I usually gave them all some generic it's all good answer or ignored them completely. The plus side? They always tipped well thinking I was destitute and I was happy to keep up the façade if it meant going home with a couple hundred dollars every night. I could have taken offense, but I chose to keep everything as bright and breezy as I could.

Three in the morning on a Friday I found myself sitting at the bar alone, silence surrounding me except for the Barefoot Contessa on one of the flat screens mounted above me. Sometimes Tony would leave me his keys to lock up -- usually if he had a hot piece of to get to -- and I'd have one drink and watch other people cook on TV when I wasn't ready to go home. I probably could have picked up any number of guys who hit on me when I served drinks, but drunken jackhammer-style wasn't my idea of a good time. I kept telling myself I was holding out for something epic and lifechanging, but I was starting to have a feeling that wasn't the reason anymore. It was easier to call it being picky than it was to admit to myself that the thought of being intimate with anyone scared the living hell out of me. So, I did what I do best, which was to push it aside to deal with later. If ever.

The telltale swish of the kitchen door opening broke me out of my trance, and assuming it was Tony coming back for receipts I kept my eyes glued to the screen. "Dude, the things Ina does to vegetables is obscene. She fire-roasted some cauliflower earlier and I damn near had an ."

"I'm very sorry I missed that."

Looking over my shoulder I was greeted by, not Tony, but Baek in a black tux. His bowtie was undone, slung around his neck with the top buttons of his white shirt parted. He took a seat one stool over from me and I returned my attention to Mrs. Garten. "Sorry, I thought you were Tony...but look at this ! Food does not look that ing good in real life."

"Miss James, are you always so crass? Every third word out of your mouth is obnoxiously profane."

I rolled my eyes at his unbelievable uptightness. "Indulging in profanity is but one of life's simple pleasures I choose to participate in, yes. What's with the penguin suit?"

"I attended a charity event this evening." I rotated my h