Making You Mine (2 page)

Joey raised his eyebrows. “Good point.”

Grace smiled. Maybe she actually had a chance this time. She could only pray. Time was running out. She needed a job
now,
but she refused to settle for the only ones she could get.

After class, Joey insisted on taking her backpack home so she wouldn’t have to walk into her interview with it. He said he’d drop it off at her apartment later. He felt bad about not being able to offer her a ride but he had another class he just couldn’t miss. He squeezed her tight as he always did, wishing her good luck and she made her way to the bus stop.

~*~

Sal sat in the back room of the restaurant, skimming through the applications from the past week. All of the interviews had been such a waste of time. Alex walked in and dropped a file on the desk.

“Stop being such a hard ass and hire someone already. We need the help.”

Sal picked up the file and pulled out the papers. “I’m not hiring just anyone, Alex. They don’t have to be the best, but we do have standards.”

Ever since they made extensive renovations to their family’s Mexican restaurant, including adding a second floor and expanding the bar area, business had been booming. They could barely keep up. In the restaurant business, customer service was crucial. It could make or break you. Sal knew this but everyone he’d interviewed that week was grossly unqualified.

Technically, his younger brother Alex had taken over the restaurant. But ever since Alex had gone back to school, Sal had offered to help out. Sal had plans of opening up a few more restaurants. His youngest brother Angel and his wife ran the second restaurant over on the marina. Sal was more of an overseer of both. He’d finally gotten his master’s in business management and had big plans for the family restaurant. For now, those plans were temporarily on hold. That was just until Alex could finish school. In the meantime, he was meeting with potential investors and looking into any and all possible options.

As big and threatening as Alex looked on the outside, he was soft when it came to his employees. Sal knew better. They had to hire quality. In a way, he was glad Alex was too busy to do the interviewing himself.

Alex grabbed the book and rushed out of the office. “I’m out, Sal. I’m late. Hire some cooks already. You’re killing me.”

Sal nodded, waving him away. His next interview was probably out front waiting for him. He stood up and walked out the office. He read her application and frowned when he saw the age. Graciela Zendejas, twenty-three.
Great.
And she was applying for the head chef position. Yeah, that was going to happen.

There were only customers out front. Sal glanced at his watch. It was ten after two. Her interview was set for two. Strike two. Punctuality was a must. If this girl couldn’t even make the interview on time, how was he supposed to take her seriously? Everyone else he’d interviewed had either been on time or early.

Sal stopped at the refrigerator behind the bar and pulled out an energy drink. He’d just taken his first sip, when he saw the young girl walk in the front door. He could only assume this was his next interviewee. Her application said twenty-three, but she hardly looked it. Maybe this was someone else.

She
had
to be here for an interview because she held some kind of paperwork in her arm and seemed a bit lost. She wasn’t as professionally dressed as some of the other interviewees but at least she’d worn a dress. A loose, unflattering one but it would do. Her hair was in a tight bun and she wore glasses. The dark rimmed kind, that only teachers and older women wore. He jotted three words down:
trying too hard.

Even though she was late, she didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. She strutted in like she owned the place. The hostess at the front turned to Sal after the girl stopped to ask her something. Sal nodded and waved her over to a corner booth. He walked over already expecting another frustrating interview. Alex wouldn’t be happy.

Julie, one of the waitresses, stopped him on his way to meet with Graciela. “Real quick. Can you make sure I’m off next Friday? I forgot to put in my request.”

“I’m pretty sure Alex already made that schedule.”

She squeezed her hands together in front of her. “Please! I need that day off. My best friend is gonna kill me. I was supposed to request the day off a long time ago.”

Sal frowned but nodded. “If he scheduled you, I’ll change it but next time don’t forget.”

Julie squealed and hugged him. Someone behind them cleared their throat loudly.

Sal turned around. Seeing her this close made her young age even more noticeable. He glanced back down at her resumé. No way was she twenty-three.

She took the initiative. “Hello.” She held her hand out. “I’m Graciela Zendejas.”

She was average height, and average looking all around except for the big brown perfectly almond shaped eyes. He smirked at her attempt to mask her accent. Though she rolled her r’s, she did a good job of toning down the accent, but it wasn’t entirely gone.

“I’m Sal Moreno.” He reached his hand out and took her firm handshake. “My parents own this restaurant, Graciela.” He rolled his r’s pretty well, if he did say so himself. “Is it okay if I call you Grace?”

“No. I prefer Graciela.”

Her immediate and curt response took him by surprise. “Okay… Graciela. Have a seat.”

He couldn’t help notice what perfect posture she had and how she held her shoulders so high even when she sat. Her chin was up a bit as well. Sal glanced down at the paperwork and read the experience she had. She’d written paragraphs about her experience cooking with her grandmother but valid restaurant experience—not much.

“I have a lifetime of experience, Mr. Moreno.” She pronounced his last name just as his parents did, rolling the r and short e as in
end
rather than the long e as in
eat
like
he
pronounced it and had grown accustomed hearing it. “My grandmother owned a restaurant in Juarez and I worked there since I was a child.” She held her chin up a little higher. “As a cook.”

Sal had to glance away from the big dark eyes that peered at him accusingly as if he just insulted her. “I see.” He examined the rest of her résumé. “I was talking about professional experience.”

“Mr. Moreno—”

“Call me Sal,” he said, without looking up from her résumé. Her icy demeanor was beginning to annoy him.

“Mr. Moreno,” she continued, ignoring his request. “My grandmother’s restaurant in Juarez was one of the most renowned restaurants for years and she trusted me in the kitchen even when I was ten, because she taught me everything she knew.”

Sal glanced up at her, noticing how her eyes seemed to have darkened even more. “That’s great,
Ms
. Zendejas.”

Knowing it would be inappropriate, not to mention illegal, to ask he emphasized the
Ms
. and waited for her to correct him. Her expression remained rigid. Though he was certain because of her age, that she was a Ms. and not a Mrs., for some reason he was relieved that she didn’t correct him. Maybe it was because he found her obvious contempt for him somewhat amusing. He wasn’t used to women being put off by him. “It’s just that for head chef, we’re looking for a little more experience than—”

Sal pressed his lips together breathing in through his nostrils and nodded. “I’m sorry, Graciela. Our restaurant is quite renowned in San Diego County—”

“I’ve heard plenty about your restaurant. I only apply where I’d be proud to work. Moreno’s has an impeccable reputation for serving only the most authentic dishes. I think I would bring my experience as a lifetime chef—”

“Graciela, you’re only twenty-three. As much as I would love to accept your experience in cooking at your grandmother’s restaurant, as a
lifetime
of experience, I just can’t justify hiring a culinary student as a head chef.”

Sal glanced up at her. She looked so determined—and angry. “Well, I have openings for bartenders. We need them immediately.” He went back to reading her résumé because her dark piercing eyes were beginning to distract him. “You have a lot more experience in that area. I could consider you as a bartender and maybe when things got slow, I could get you in the kitchen to help out.”

“I could cook something for you; so you can see for yourself.” The detail of her eyes was becoming increasingly distracting. She wore no makeup. He was just beginning to take in the mesmerizing way her lashes draped over them, when her eyes suddenly crossed completely, as if to stare at her nose. She took her glasses off and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You okay?”

Her eyebrow lifted again, and she put her glasses back on. “Yes, I’m fine.”

He shook off the distraction. “Ms. Zendajas, I have no doubt by your passion that you’re a good cook. Unfortunately, we need cooks with working experience in a fast paced environment like—”

“Have you ever been to Juarez, Mr. Moreno?” She spoke almost through her teeth. Sal wondered if she’d ever looked into interview etiquette. Did she really think her constant interruptions were going to buy her points?

“Yes, I have, actually.”

“It doesn’t get more fast paced than that, when it comes to preparing Mexican cuisine, Mr. Moreno.”

“Can you stop calling me that?” Unlike his brothers, Sal had never been short on patience, but something about her refusing to call him by his first name had begun to get to him.

Sal tried not to, but he couldn’t help take in her long legs and the behind that swayed just under the soft fabric of her dress. As annoying as she was, he had to admit she’d managed to intrigue him. Aside from her eyes, nothing else really stood out about her looks; in fact he probably wouldn’t have looked twice if he passed her on the street, but in a weird way her spunk had amused him. He sat down to examine her résumé a little further. It didn’t take long to find a small, but significant, inconsistency about her age. He knew it. The disappointment came as a surprise. Strike three.

The bus rolled through the picturesque streets of downtown La Jolla and out into the beat up neighborhood of Chula Vista. Grace stared out the window, mentally going over her last interview. She’d thrown the stupid glasses away as soon as she walked out. Wearing them that whole time had been torture. Her headache had just begun to subside.

She exited the bus two streets before her usual stop. She had to swing by the meat market and pick up a few drumsticks. Chicken soup was on the menu for tonight’s dinner.

She hurried into the small mom-and-pop market, trying to snap out of the mood she’d fallen into during the interview.

“
Buena’s tardes senorita Zendejas
.” Armando, one of the butchers behind the counter, smiled brightly.

“
Buenas tardes.
” She didn’t even try to match the smile.

She pointed at what she wanted and let him know how much. Taking deep frustrated breaths, she grabbed an onion and a few carrots while Armando bagged up her drumsticks.

The disappointment weighed heavily—another interview gone south before it even started. Grace had seen the way he looked at her before he even knew anything about her. Only that she was way too young, which meant inexperienced. She was so sick of the assumptions.

So much for
younger
meaning
open minded
. The brother she spoke with dismissed her experience as unprofessional. It was infuriating. For him to deem her experience as unprofessional just because it was in her grandmother’s restaurant in Mexico was reprehensible. Where did he think all of his authentic dishes originated anyway? The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her.

The only thing the girls in her class had been right about was his looks. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes. But even his heavy lashes and perfectly dimpled smile didn’t erase the fact that he’d been just like all the other presumptuous hiring managers. That unattractive quality alone was enough to ugly any man in her head, no matter how good-looking he was on the outside.

She purchased her items and walked out into the declining sunlight. The damned buses were so undependable. She didn’t bother waiting for one. Instead she hurried along the few blocks to her apartment.