BWWM Interracial Romance 6: Her Protector (6 page)

Adriana dropped her head onto the desk with a soft thump, lifting it and dropping it again, letting out a soft groan of frustration. Nothing was working. The restaurant was in worse straits than it had been since she took over. She sighed, and her eyes began to tingle and burn with tears. Adriana sniffed, feeling the frustrated sobs that threatened to work their way up from her chest to her throat, tightening around her neck. It wasn’t fair—it just wasn’t fair.

She had visited with Desiree a few months before, taking the opportunity of working the night shift to meet with her best friend during lunch. They had started out talking about the usual things—about Adriana’s relationship with Sawyer, which was established then in the town gossip, after they’d had a handful of successful dates, about their mutual friends’ dramas and comedies, about upcoming events in the town that they hoped to go to. But gradually, Adriana had come to admit that she was struggling—really struggling—with the restaurant. “We’re tapping into the savings every month,” she told Desiree. “Every month, nibbling away at it, never putting anything back in.”

“At least it’s summer soon—you should have an upswing just naturally then,” Desiree had suggested optimistically. Adriana had shrugged.

“I don’t even know if the usual upswing would do anything,” she had said resignedly. “I’ve been looking over the books for the years that Dad was still running everything, and we’re hopelessly behind for the year. Even with the usual boost from summer, I can’t see how we’ll even manage to break even, much less turn a profit and put anything back into savings.”

“Okay,” Desiree had said, setting aside her finished plate. “There are some things that you can do to try and increase business. I mean—it can’t be that different from any business, right?” Adriana had listened in closely; Desiree had made multiple suggestions, all of them at least a little bit feasible. The restaurant had never done any real advertising that Adriana could remember—and while she didn’t like the added expense, she knew enough about business to know that one sometimes had to spend money to make money. There were some free advertising avenues that she could explore; there was the chamber of commerce, there was participation in annual events taking place in the downtown area.

While she hadn’t liked it, Adriana had instituted a few half off nights and other promotions in the hopes of drawing more people in, and made sure that the younger members of her staff took home fliers to spread around school. It was getting to a point where the more established employees, who had worked at the restaurant for years, knew well the fact that the business was struggling. It was impossible for Adriana to hide the fact, and she was exhausted from pretending. The customers shouldn’t know that they were underwater, thoroughly in the red—but the oldest employees, who eventually would have to start looking for new jobs, deserved the notice, and to know the stakes.

Adriana had consulted with her mother, not wanting to take any measures without Esther’s approval. Esther had told her confidentially that before she had been born, when Richard—her father—had been struggling to establish his restaurant and make steady profits, he had resorted to many of the same strategies; it was hopeful for Adriana that maybe, the same thing would work for her now. She knew that part of the reason that business had died down so much was simply that she wasn’t as established a figure in the community as her father. Richard Ellis had attracted business to his restaurant through dint of charm and participation in the town itself—people came to his restaurant because he was likeable, and because they appreciated the effort he put in. While Adriana would have loved to put in the same level of commitment and effort, she simply couldn’t afford things like the yearbook ad, or sponsoring little league teams. She had to look out for her employees first—she would never forgive herself if she managed to bungle things so much that paychecks bounced.

But after months of trying, Adriana’s consultation on the books told her that none of it had mattered much at all. She had gotten a boost at the beginning of summer, and they had managed to close out one month breaking even, but it was nothing compared to the cost of continually running into the red before and after. The savings were shrinking, and she would have to do something to make the restaurant run leaner, or gain more business. Her forehead rubbed against the old, smooth wood of the desk as she shook her head, feeling a hopeless blue despair sinking onto her. She would have to cut hours, there was no way around it; she would have to pare down the menu to the most successful and popular items and somehow drive more business in the meantime.

Esther came into the office and Adriana sat bolt upright with a start. Her cheeks were still wet, her eyes still stung from her frustrated tears. “You’ve been over those books more hours than you ever spent studying for a final,” Esther said, sitting down in the guest chair on the other side of the desk.

“We’re going down, mom,” Adriana said, taking a deep breath and swallowing down the lingering sobs that crowded her throat. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” Esther pressed her lips together, looking at her with steady, calm eyes.

“We’re struggling, sure enough,” Esther said slowly. “But I’ve been watching the books too. We’re not in the death spiral yet. We can still pull out of this.” Adriana smiled weakly.

“I don’t see how. We’ve managed to break even exactly one month in the last six. Every other month we’ve had to draw on savings to keep things going. That money isn’t going to last forever.” Esther shrugged.

“Nothing lasts forever, little girl,” she said with a smile. “But we’ve got a few more months left in us before we have to seriously contemplate shutting the place down. You’ve gotta keep fighting, Adriana.”

“I’m going to have to cut hours,” Adriana said, scrubbing at her face. She hated that. She hated admitting to everyone that she was failing at what her father had managed to do with what had seemed like no effort at all.

“The staff will understand. They know we’re having trouble.” Adriana nodded. She knew that the wait staff and the bussers and even the kitchen crew would all nod understandingly, that they would all keep their faces polite. But she also knew that there were plenty of people in her employ who were counting on the hours they got every week—people with kids, people who had worked for Ellis American Cuisine for years.

“I just hate doing it. I’m going to have to cut down the menu, too. Some of the things we’re keeping around just aren’t moving enough to make money. I hate it—because dad designed that menu. It’s all him.” Adriana’s eyes stung again and she took a slow, deep breath to stall the choking feeling of sobs that threatened to rise up once more.

“We’re all going to have to make some sacrifices,” Esther said, her voice level and matter-of-fact. “That’s just life in general, baby-girl. Anything you want to keep you have to fight for.” Esther stood up and came around the desk, laying her hands on Adriana’s shoulders. She leaned in and kissed the back of her head, and Adriana took a deep breath. “Get on out of here. Wash your face before anyone sees you.”

Adriana went quickly to the employee restroom and took her mother’s advice. She washed her face and calmed down; she knew what she would have to do—she’d have to make the restaurant run as lean as humanly possible, and she’d have to find another way to get more people in the door and at the tables. They weren’t lost to hope yet—they still had some money in the savings account—but it was the last fight to keep the restaurant afloat, and Adriana knew it.

She got in her car and started for home.
“We’re all going to have to make some sacrifices,”
her mother had said. The words hit Adriana in the stomach like a pound of lead shot from a cannon. She took a deep breath. She would have to spend more time at the restaurant; her time was unpaid, at least from a labor standpoint. She and her mother drew enough to cover their living expenses, but they’d cut back on their own salaries as managers of the restaurant to be able to pay everyone working for them. She’d have to cut back on her gradually growing social life, and that meant, in particular, cutting back on time with Sawyer. They had been dating for a few months; initially they only saw each other once every week or two, when their schedules lined up properly and they both had the time off. But as they’d grown closer, Adriana was spending more and more time with him. It was natural enough, she knew, but it was distracting her from the important work of putting the restaurant back on its right footing. She’d have to hope that Sawyer could understand that her priority simply had to be the business.

Steeling herself, she took her phone out of her purse the minute she arrived at home. She had worked the lunch shift because she and Sawyer were supposed to go out that night; if she was going to pare down their time together, she might as well start immediately. Taking a deep breath, she found his number in her contact list and called him. “Hey, baby,” Sawyer said brightly as soon as he picked up. “I can’t wait until tonight.” They had planned to go to an art opening for one of their high school friends—and then back to Sawyer’s place afterward for dinner together.

“I’m sorry, Sawyer,” Adriana said, trying to suppress the catch in her throat. “Stuff has come up with the restaurant and I just can’t afford to go out tonight. I’ve got to do a lot of work on my own.”

“I could come by, cook you some dinner and look things over with you,” Sawyer suggested, sounding only faintly disappointed. Adriana shook her head, even though she knew that he couldn’t see it over the phone.

“I’ve got to work this out on my own, babe,” she said. She took another deep breath. The thought of not seeing Sawyer hurt—but the thought of losing her father’s legacy hurt even more. “Once I get this cleared away we can hook up for another date. I’m so sorry.” Sawyer told her that he understood, his voice full of concern and encouragement. Adriana struggled to stay on the phone, wanting the comfort of his voice, but feeling guiltier and guiltier as they spoke. Sawyer couldn’t really understand; he still had both of his parents. If he lost his job as a police officer, he would be horribly disappointed, but it wouldn’t be as though he was failing his parents. She managed to keep her spirits up while he stayed on the line, but the moment he hung up, Adriana put her phone down and started to cry once more.

She sat at the kitchen table, remembering all of the fun times she had had with her parents—with her father—in that room. She couldn’t escape the feeling that running his business into the ground was not just a personal failure; she would be tarnishing his memory if she couldn’t get the restaurant to turn a profit. She would lose one of the things that had been so essential to her father’s life, his entire passion, his biggest accomplishment. If she couldn’t find a way to make the restaurant work, she didn’t know how she could even consider herself her father’s daughter anymore.

Adriana stood from the table as the last of her sobs worked through her body and dried her face. She would pull up the schedule on her own computer and she would start deciding where to make cuts. She would schedule herself for as many hours as she could possibly stand, and she would find a way to make it all work. Sawyer might not understand, but she had to make her own sacrifices—and if that meant putting a love life on the back burner, she would pitch that particular luxury onto the bonfire without even looking back.

There were only a few employees left in the building as Adriana sat at the desk, counting the cash for the third time. It was late; the kitchen had closed down for the night more than an hour before, and the servers had divided up the tips and were doing side work. She had sent a few of them home as the evening rush started to dwindle, not quite meeting their gazes as she responded to their questions about whether they could stay to do side work with a negative.

The meeting to inform her employees that the restaurant was going to start running lean had been the week before, and everyone was still adjusting. In the interest of fairness, Adriana put all of her tips in the communal pile whenever she took a serving shift on—she wasn’t an employee, and with hours being cut all around, she wanted to give her staff whatever extra she could. The oldest employees hadn’t been at all surprised at the revelation that things were going to have to change, at least temporarily. “I hate to do this because you’re all like family to me,” Adriana had said at the meeting. “But the fact of the matter is that I have to make a decision to have a little pain now or a lot of pain later—and I don’t think any of you want to lose your jobs entirely any more than I want to have to close this place down.”

The older employees had expressed their commitment to doing whatever it took to keep the business running; the ones who had been hired more recently were not quite as gung-ho—but then, Adriana thought, there was no real reason for them to be. Most of them hadn’t been around long enough to have really gotten to know her father, and some of them had never met the restaurant’s namesake at all. All they knew was that Ellis American Cuisine was a mainstay in Portland, and it had been a fairly safe bet for a job when they signed up.

Becky came into the office, knocking on the door lightly. “Hey, Adriana,” she said, yawning slightly and then shaking off her fatigue. “Everything’s done out on the floor.” Adriana nodded. She felt tired down to her bones. She and her mother had both been putting in extra hours, but since she was the legal owner of the restaurant, and because she was younger, Adriana felt like she had a greater responsibility to shoulder the added burden. Esther was still somewhat sickly from her older age; on top of that, Adriana knew that her mother was still mourning the Ellis patriarch’s passing, even almost a year later. She didn’t want to put any more strain on her mother than she could help doing.

“Go on and head home, just have a couple of things left to do here,” she said, summoning a smile for the server from somewhere in her worried, occupied mind. If she could get the paperwork together for either a grant from the chamber of commerce or a loan from the bank to cover the next several months, Adriana thought that she might be able to potentially satisfy everyone; at least, she could until a loan came due, if she wasn’t able to make the restaurant turn a profit. At first, Esther had been adamantly against taking on any debt; Richard had worked hard through high school and college to be able to afford to open the restaurant, and he’d taken the money that his father had set aside for him to buy a house to finish off the expenses that opening the restaurant had incurred. Never had he taken a loan from a bank, never had he run the risk inherent in debt.

But Adriana pointed out to her mother that it was one of a scanty list of things that they could do to save the business. Eventually, Esther had given in, with misgivings. “Make sure that you’re only taking out the minimum you need to keep afloat for six months,” she had said over and over again. Adriana had started—in the late hours, after everything was shut down, and early in the mornings when nobody had come in yet—to compile the documentation she would need to demonstrate that, while Ellis American Cuisine wasn’t turning a profit currently, it could, and had. At that, the only collateral they had on the loan was the property and building itself, along with the contents. It took a lot of money to keep a restaurant running, and Adriana, even after paring her estimate of what they needed down to the bare minimum—enough to keep everyone employed, and to cover the overages in supply and maintenance—was daunted by the total that would be hanging over the restaurant.

As her vision started to blur with fatigue, Adriana’s mind drifted. It had been weeks since she had seen Sawyer. He had tried to set another date, and she had put him off, saying that things were still uncertain at the restaurant, that she needed to be there as much as possible to keep labor down and still maintain standards. “You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate, Adri,” he had told her, his voice full of worry.

“I’m getting six hours of sleep a night,” she had countered, feeling irritable in spite of his offer to come in with several of his friends on the force and have a big meal. She had been relieved at the offer, and had seen him—for a few minutes—when he came, but knowing that she had to put their relationship on hold, even for a little while, made her fatigue and edginess seem even more useless. Sawyer didn’t have to worry about losing everything; if he lost his job, he was qualified to work security, to do something else. Technically, so was Adriana—she had education and experience in business—but the blow of losing the last link to her father was something she wasn’t sure she could stand. She had managed to keep in touch with Sawyer, but she was feeling something like physical withdrawals, compounded by fatigue and stress. She had even cut back on the time she spent with Desiree, only seeing her best friend when the petite blonde came in for lunch or dinner.

Adriana reeled slightly as she stood up from the desk. She was more than capable of realizing that much though she would like to continue working—and she felt the pressure to do just that—if she kept up when she was so tired, she was going to make mistakes, miss pieces of information, and otherwise create more work for herself later. She would go home, get some sleep, get a good breakfast and a cup of coffee, and tackle the paperwork again while Esther ran the restaurant for the lunch shift. Satisfied with her resolution, Adriana gathered up her purse and keys, looked around the office to make sure there was nothing out that anyone couldn’t see, and made her way to the back entrance. She detoured to the front of the house, dragging her feet tiredly as she looked over the dining room. Everything was put away, everything was clean, and it was perfectly ready for the first arrivals in the morning. Adriana smiled to herself. She may be in dire straits, but it warmed her heart to know that she could depend on the hard core of staff members that had been with the restaurant when her father had been well.

Adriana took a deep breath, rubbing at her eyes and gathering up the last of her energy. It wasn’t a long drive home, but she wanted to be alert for it. She went to the security system console close to the employee entrance and keyed in her code, waiting for the chirping beep that announced that it was timing down to armed. She opened the door and slipped through it quickly, slamming it shut and locking it behind her. It was a routine ingrained in her so thoroughly from before she had even taken over the business that Adriana didn’t even spare a single thought to look around as she moved from the door to her car. She didn’t hear the rasping grit of dirt under someone’s foot, the rustle of movement.

“Hey! Hey you!” A dull, growling voice cut through her tired preoccupation and Adriana looked up in confusion. A dark figure came out of the shadows of the building, looking strangely menacing—Adriana’s heart started to pound and she reached into her purse for her phone.

“What do you want?” she called back, moving closer to her car. If she could get in, if she could close the door behind her, she would have a measure of safety.

“You’re that bitch. The one who’s fucking the cop.” The figure resolved into the form of a person, a little taller than Adriana. It wasn’t heavily muscled, but looked bulky in a dark sweatshirt and jeans, something covering its head. There was a long, heavy-looking tool in the person’s hand, the sight of which made Adriana’s body break out in a cold sweat.

“Who are you? And what do you want with me?” Adriana swallowed against the convulsive tightening of her throat, feeling her mouth go dry.

“You bitch. I’m going to go to prison because of you! Tell your monkey-screwing boyfriend I’m going to come after him next.” The man rushed forward unsteadily and Adriana fumbled for her keys, her heart racing as she struggled to unlock the door to her car. They fell from her hand and she dropped down to grab at them, wrestling to get her phone out of her purse in the same moment. She heard the man breathing heavily as he came closer, and knew that she had to make a choice—get into the car first, or dial to the police first. She dialed 911 and hit the send call icon, darting to the side to get away from the first swing of the man’s improvised bludgeon.

She shrieked as he rebounded, turning to take another swing at her with what looked—in the darkness-like it might be a pry bar or a crowbar. The call connected and Adriana dashed to the front of her car, breathing heavily, feeling sluggish in spite of the adrenaline rushing in her blood, the pounding of her heart and the flurry of her mind. “This is Adriana Ellis,” she said, panting, as the operator came on. “I’m outside of Ellis American Cuisine in the downtown area, the employee parking lot, and a man is attacking me with some kind of crowbar.” She tried to dodge the next swing of the man’s weapon and let out a grunt as it just barely connected with her arm. The man rushed her and Adriana struggled to hold onto the phone, catching herself on the injured arm and wrenching her wrist as she tried to keep her feet underneath her. “Please send police right away, I can’t get into my car!” the woman on the other end of the line—Adriana couldn’t recognize her voice—said something about dispatching to her location, and then the phone fell from her slick hands.

The man let out a roar of rage, snatching at her wrist and sending a shockwave of pain through Adriana’s body that left her unable to even think. She cried out as the bar landed against her leg, just above her knee, knocking her to the ground. The man was shouting, cursing; she thought she felt the spatter of his spit landing on her arm, her cheek, as he kicked and swung. She curled up on herself, shouting for help, trying to slither underneath the body of her car where she might be at least a little safe from the ongoing attacks.

Her pain and fear were cut through by the sound of sirens, the screech of tires. The man let out another shout and Adriana heard him running—but he was clumsy, exhausted and drunk. “Put the crowbar down!” someone was shouting. “Put the crowbar down and put your hands above your head!” Adriana shuddered, relief flooding her. The police were there. They had gotten there before her assailant could get away. Pain throbbed at her arms, her legs, her ribs. Adriana’s heart was pounding in her chest but even adrenaline wasn’t enough to keep her from slipping slowly into the welcoming darkness that flowed over her.

***

Adriana came back to herself slowly, feeling the aching throb of pain up and down along her body, with sharper jolts at her arm and ribs. She groaned, realizing that someone was moving her—that the sharp shocks of pain were from her body being moved. “Stop, please,” she moaned, trying to pull away from the strong hands that had hold of her at the shoulder and the thigh. She was so tired, she hurt so much. The hands gripping her drew her inexorably forward and Adriana opened her eyes, trying to summon up the energy and courage to fight whoever it was.

Her gaze focused on the face leaning in close to her. “Adri, are you okay? Adri, come on, baby, come on back.” She could hear the chatter of voices, someone asking if they needed to call an ambulance. Blue and red lights flicked through the air. For a moment, confused and exhausted, Adriana couldn’t recognize the face right in front of her; the next instant her eyes widened and she picked out the features: the bright blue eyes, the slight stubble, the hair in disarray. It was Sawyer, hovering over her, his hands on her body pulling her out from the shelter of her car. “Adri, you back with the living?” he asked her, his voice concerned but a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sawyer,” she said, smiling slightly. “What are you doing here?” Sawyer rolled his eyes.

“I’m on duty tonight,” he told her, his smile broadening. “When the call came in, me and my new partner rushed over. There’s another pair here too.” Adriana nodded.

“It was that drunk,” she said, remembering suddenly. “That guy you took out of the restaurant, the one at the bar.” Sawyer frowned, nodding slowly in agreement.

“Yeah, the other two are taking him in to be processed. I’m going to get your statement. But first I think you need to get to the hospital to get checked up.” Adriana shook her head—not in disagreement with the notion of needing to be checked on, but because she realized that her mother would be worrying, not knowing where she was.

“Let me call mom, first,” she said, turning her head around to try and find her purse. She realized she had no idea what had happened to it or her phone—the memory of her phone falling out of her hands as the man attacked her flashed through her mind. “Where’s my phone?” she asked, frowning. Sawyer looked around.

“Here. Little banged up, but seems to still be working.” He handed it to her. “Make it fast—you might have broken bones or internal bleeding, and you went unconscious.” Adriana made a face; she was hurting, but she didn’t need Sawyer’s overweening protectiveness. She called out to her mother’s number, putting the phone on speaker. Sawyer sat her up and Adriana groaned as she felt a new flare of pain shooting through her body. Her mother picked up on the second ring.

“Mom,” Adriana said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. “Mom, someone attacked me when I went to leave the restaurant.”