Читать книгу The Game Never Ends - Zaire Crown - Страница 14

Chapter Seven

Marcus and Tuesday didn’t go out often, especially with her husband playing hermit lately. However, Tuesday talked him into a late dinner at his favorite restaurant. They left a sitter at the house with Tanisha and Danielle, who was still giving Tuesday the cold shoulder.

It was ten thirty when they arrived at Dominic’s on Wilshire Blvd. It was a family-owned restaurant that had been serving Los Angelinos the finest Italian cuisine for close to sixty years. Marcus had been a regular and then converted Tuesday when he introduced her to their veal scaloppini.

Even without a reservation, she and Marcus insisted on a table that gave them a view of the entrance without putting them too close to the bathroom.

Sometime after their order was taken, Tuesday presented him with a box containing a new Parmigiani watch from Cellini Jewelers. When he asked why, Tuesday simply said because she wanted to. They met over the table for a kiss.

Of course, the dinner and gift was just Tuesday trying to cushion the blow. She wanted to resign as CEO. She spent the whole afternoon looking for the best way to tell him.

After the lunch break she spent another hour poring over the reports before she finally gave up. The decision had been made right then. For the rest of the workday she just trolled social media and played games on her phone.

She needed to explain to Marcus that he might have changed her name but couldn’t change what she was. Tuesday Knight was not Tabitha King. Tuesday Knight was a hood bitch, not cut out for this corporate shit. She was not some lazy bitch who wasn’t down to pull her own weight, but she couldn’t handle running his company. She just wanted a cute little clothing boutique where girls larger than a size four could come get fly for a fair price.

Because of how they met, Tuesday always felt like she had to prove herself. She came into his life only looking to seduce and rob Sebastian Caine before she fell in love with Marcus King. Guilt over that kept her never wanting to disappoint her man. This made it hard for her to tell him how she felt at times.

She figured the conversation could wait until after they had eaten. Marcus might be less combative with a stomach full of pasta and wine.

While he inspected his new gift, Tuesday looked around the restaurant to notice something odd. Nobody was eating. The place was three-quarters filled with diners, most of whom had arrived before Tuesday and Marcus, but no one had been served. Most of the other patrons were couples, a few were in groups of three or four, but nobody had any food in front of them. Diners were laughing, talking, or in hushed conversation, all over spotless white linen tablecloths that held no Italian cuisine.

Dominic’s had a long-standing reputation for fine food as well as excellent service. Two waiters were coming back and forth from the kitchen, but Tuesday didn’t see either carrying plates. It also dawned on her that twenty minutes had passed since their order was taken and their table had not even received bread.

What seemed merely strange slowly started to appear ominous. Nobody was complaining or demanding an explanation. The fact that everyone was chatting and laughing as if totally oblivious made her suspicious.

Tuesday’s pulse quickened. Something felt wrong. It became hard for her to breathe. Her anxiety started to build the same way it used to just before she had a panic attack.

But that was impossible because she was over her OCD. She hadn’t suffered an attack in almost three years. Tuesday tried to calm herself with deep breaths and rationalize away her fears.

It wasn’t like she actually saw anything to trigger her anxiety. In the past, her obsessive compulsive disorder manifested as a need for neatness and order that was mostly restricted to her condo. The rooms had to be spotless and sometimes she would remake her bed six or seven times before it was just right. At her worst it never reared its ugly head in public. Plus there was nothing messy or unsanitary about Dominic’s. The dining area was immaculate. The oddity was that they refused to serve food.

Tuesday fought to get control of her breathing. The oxygen helped to beat back the rising tide of panic cresting within. She maintained her cool because she didn’t want to bug out over something that might be as simple as a slow night for the kitchen staff. She chalked up the phantom fear to just nervousness over speaking to Marcus about the job.

He was still consumed with his new watch, turning his wrist this way and that way when she grabbed his attention. “Bae, don’t you think it’s kinda weird that ain’t nobody got served yet? Come to think of it, I don’t even smell no food cookin’.”

Marcus slowly surveyed the restaurant using his peripheral vision then flagged down one of the waiters.

“Hey, is it gonna be much longer? We’ve been waiting a while for appetizers.”

The young Latino server was humble and apologetic. He confessed there was some problem in the kitchen causing the delay but promised it was being resolved. To make up for the inconvenience, he announced to the room that everyone’s dinner would be free and this earned applause from all the other diners.

This explanation put Tuesday at ease. She felt silly for letting herself get so paranoid. It may have been a residual effect from all her years in the stick-up game.

As the waiter left, Marcus slowly scanned the restaurant again. He threw his head back for a laugh before he leaned in for another kiss.

Marcus was still wearing a broad smile but his voice was deadly serious when he whispered: “We gotta get the fuck up outta here right now.”