Italian Coffee House [BWWM]

- C h a p t e r 3 -

Hey Rom-Cubs,

Who's with me so far? I hope that you're loving it as much as I am.

Here's the third installation.

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Enjoy! XD I know I do.

- Ang

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Niccolo's Chocolate House

Chapter 3

*Dari*

Oh dear God, why am I so proned to accidents, furthermore collisions involving Mr. Casimiro? 

It wouldn't have been nearly as bad had it been a co-worker of mine. Well, maybe it would have been but certainly not as costly. It wouldn't have been this bad.

Colliding with my boss wasn't exactly at the top of my To-do list. Gosh, I felt like crying, I could lose my job over this or worst. There was no other establishment paying well enough to cover the cost of my papa's medical bills. I had looked everywhere but Niccolo's had been the answer to my prayers. Yes, the staff was mistreated in some accounts but it was a small price to pay to ensure my papa's wellness. He was all I had and I loved him beyond the stars.

Tey, my best friend, had always disliked the way the boss treated us and especially me but I always managed to keep her at bay. I couldn't afford to get fired nor could I go to work without having her there to have my back. Sure, Stephan would take care of me if Tey couldn't make it but I felt more comfortable with her.

Like all things, I had my reasons. Whenever Stephan and I worked together I was less talkative and more nervous. The roles were reversed when I was with Tey. I figured out that I was attracted to him about two months into working here. Just because I liked him didn't mean I was going to be less of a klutz around him. Let's just say, I'd have to walk with insurance. I couldn't do that. I couldn't even get each month's rent together without a few extra hours.

So, why would anyone, male included, want to clash with the man? He was so menacing ... so refined ... so large ... and so beastly.

No. Anyone deliberately seeking a clash with the boss either had a death wish or was too stupid or too blind to see that there was no good that would come of it.

Mr. Casimiro groaned in pain as the hot liquid settled into the fabric of his teal shirt. His jacket and slacks were untouched but it didn't take from the pained expression on his face. Heavens, he looked like he could strangle someone this very second. Though Mr. Casimiro lay on the tiled floors of the kitchen, no one dared moved from their stations and it was smarter not to do so or he would have our heads.

As work continued and the kitchen staff busied themselves trying to stay out of the boss' sights, his darkened eyes settled on me in anger. If possible, by now he would've bored holes in my head. It was only inevitable, my demise, his eyes warned me.