Chapter Text
You were wiping down your workstation when the girl working the counter asked for anyone from the kitchen to cover her while she took a smoke break. You couldn’t imagine how empty it was out front for her to suggest such a thing. Then again, you were fresh fish, so it didn’t come as a surprise when one of the other chefs called your name.
“I’m not a waitress or a cashier,” you reminded the girl, Vivian, as you moved to the sink to wash your hands nonetheless. There wasn’t much for you to do at that moment- you’d finished the majority of your training for the day and the executive pastry chef had left you to the other kitchen staff’s whims and demands.
"Just sell cakes, then,” Vivian retorted, hanging up her apron on the wall and fishing out a pack of cigarettes from her purse. You watched her put one in her mouth backwards as she talked, not missing a beat. “Only call me if someone comes in and wants to order food. I’ll be ten minutes max. Follow the prompts on the iPad.”
You sighed and left the kitchen, surveying the truly empty seating area. It was just past two, and long gone were the clouds that had covered the streets in a rich blue when you’d left your place that morning. Now everything outside the street-facing windows sparkled; you lazily watched passersby glide on the sunlit concrete for what felt like forever. When the saxophone piece on the overhead speaker came to a close, you glanced at the clock.
Twelve minutes.
At least you could give your hands a rest.
You leaned against the humming espresso machines, sipping languidly at a cup of room-temperature water. If this was all there was to your Tuesday shifts, you were grateful. Maybe you’d bring a book next time and enjoy the first quiet place you’d found in a while.
You were broken from your thoughts at the sound of your name again, but not from the kitchen behind you. Frank held the glass door with a grin on his face, pushing a polished Billy Russo into the restaurant. They were in their respective uniforms- Frank’s being plain jeans and black shirt and Billy’s, a grey three-piece suit and a royal blue tie.
“Aw, I didn’t know you took a job at Alma’s!” Frank exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and putting them down on the counter. He squinted at the menu on the wall behind you while Billy hung back.
“Anvil isn’t too far, I’ve been here for lunch. The cream puffs are to die for,” Billy chimed in passively, and for the first time since you’d seen him some two and a half weeks ago, you locked eyes. You felt your face grow warm and you thought back to his car, involuntarily taking a deep breath in the hopes of catching the scent of cologne and leather. His mouth quirked upwards in a knowing smirk.
Frank thankfully took no notice.
“Yeah, can we get two- no, three? Damn, they look good... I’ll save one for Karen. Maybe.” You giggled at the bulky, 5’10” kid in front of you, leaning into the glass display case with a dorky smile. Billy strutted up to the counter to take Frank’s place.
“You made them?” he asked, gesturing to the grand display of croissants and puffs. Though his body was still turned to Frank so as to include him in the conversation, he spoke to you directly.
“I did,” you said evenly, “I don’t work the counter, though- Vivian’s still on her break. I can call her to ring you up if you want, Frank.”
“Oh, we can wait,” he replied, standing back up and looking over to Billy, who shrugged and rolled his shoulders back. “Not much to do at Anvil right now, hm?”
“No,” Billy said coolly. His eyes flickered up to the clock before addressing you. “Are you busy?”
“No,” you repeated immediately, trapped still by his unblinking eyes. For a second you wondered if this was what hypnosis felt like, “I’m almost finished for today, actually.”
“What about later?” Frank pressed, standing up straight to peer at you over the display case. “Football tonight. Russo’s penthouse.” Heat rose to your face as your gaze flickered between the two of them showing off identical, charming puppy eyes. Penthouse ?
“Hi, can I get you anything?” Vivian’s voice as she trotted onto the floor. Thank God. It had been nearly twenty minutes since she’d taken her break. You came around the counter to give her access to the register, accepting a one-armed hug from Frank.
“Three cream puffs please, miss!” Frank ordered resolutely, turning away from you to fish out his wallet. You turned to Billy, who stayed put, and involuntarily took a step toward him. He grinned now and mirrored your movement.
“Well?” Billy was all but hovering over you now. “My place tonight?”
“I’ll catch you next time,” you breathed out. “I have an early shift tomorrow.”
That was only half a lie. Though you were an early riser by nature and necessity, it was better to pretend you weren’t than to let yourself indulge in your stupid fantasies- what it would be like to go to his penthouse , to sit on his couches (he had to have more than one, right?) with his arm on your back. Did he relax there after long days of ordering people around? You looked at his attire now, thinking of his blue tie loosened, the top two buttons of his crisp shirt unbuttoned as he kicked off his spit-shined shoes.
“That’s too bad,” Billy murmured, his default businessman stoicism broken as he let a disappointed smile slip through to you. Frank thanked Vivian and you heard the clink of his change in the tip jar. Billy took a small step to you, and gingerly placed his hand on your arm. “Catch you next time, then.”
“What, you’re not coming, kid?” Frank blurted, appearing at Billy’s side with a cream puff in hand. The hand on your arm was gone; instead you observed your pastry seeming to diminish in size as he held it in his long fingers and brought it up to his mouth for a slow, pornographic bite.
“Next time,” you promised through a dry throat. Frank wrapped his free arm around your waist again and strode for the door. Billy hung back until he’d swallowed, then he held the cream puff in front of him.
“ To die for ,” he drawled, his accent shining through. The sharp click of his shoes and his voice echoed in your ears after the door shut.
“ He’s hot,” Vivian cooed, successfully catching you off guard. You snorted as you watched the two of them disappear from your view of the street before you returned behind the counter.
“I guess he is,” you admitted. You took off your apron and rolled your shoulders back, moaning satisfiedly at the stretch.
“You seeing him? Romantically, I mean, but I’m not judging if it’s just benefits.”
You shook your head, choosing to ignore the last remark. “I’m not in a place to date right now.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Vivian teased. You raised an eyebrow at her as you walked to the kitchen. She waited patiently for you to get your things and clock out before she continued. “I don’t think I’ve seen that much emotion in your eyes since we met. I’m talking Fuck City, man, and- and him too! He was-”
“I think you need to quit whatever you’re smoking,” you interrupted her, “and I’ll appreciate you minding your own business, Viv. I've seen you and Dave disappearing after morning rush.”
“Whatever,” she laughed, leaning back to make sure the cook in question hadn’t heard the accusation. “See you tomorrow, lovebird.”
Not even a full twenty-four hours passed before Vivian was calling you to the front again. You grunted out something resembling a “no” and turned your focus back to pulling the danishes from the oven. She’d clocked in half an hour ago, surely her precious smoke break could wait until you’d finished prepping, completed any menial upkeep tasks given to you by your superior chef, made sure the front case was stocked, and filled out any special orders. Then you’d take her place until you could clock out and repeat the whole process again the next day.
Your honeymoon phase with New York City’s glamour was coming to a close, plus this morning had been rough. You’d gone to sleep past midnight, and consequently woken up twenty minutes before your shift started. You’d sprinted out, hailed a taxi, and busted your cheek pretty hard on the door when you tripped on your untied shoelaces. Once you’d recovered from that adrenaline rush, you realized your shirt was only half-buttoned, so the taxi driver wasn’t doing a terrific job of keeping his eyes on the road. You’d still stumbled into your shift late, unacceptable for your position, and you were thrown into catching up for the missed time.
Vivian yelled your name again into the kitchen, over the shoulder of another waitress.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you grumbled, not caring who heard. You weren’t in the mood; you just wanted to get the next seven hours over with and go back home to your plants.
You took a deep breath and set the danishes down before trudging past the bustling cooks and waitstaff to the counter area. The restaurant was starting to pick up foot traffic- you recognized some regulars who came for a sit-down breakfast, for a cup of coffee, for a muffin on their way to their own busy jobs. There was one customer though, standing still among the chaos, surveying the staff until his dark eyes settled on you.
“Shit, what happened to your face?” Billy greeted you when he approached.
“It’s not that bad, is it?” you grunted and let your head thud on the wall beside you. You didn’t flinch when he reached out and lightly pressed his thumb on what now felt like a mean bruise. His touch was gentle, his cold hand soothing on your cheek. Your irritation instantly melted away, along with the thought that it definitely wasn’t a good idea to stare too long at his pursed lips as he assessed the injury.
“It is. What happened?” he asked again, brows furrowed intensely.
“I just tripped,” you sighed and pulled back. “Had to rush today, I was late.” You checked behind you to make sure no one was searching for you at your empty station.
“You should’ve asked for a ride,” he hummed matter-of-factly. At that, you raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t-”
“Don’t start with that.” Billy rolled his eyes. “It’s not charity, I’m not hitting on you. You’re not far off my route anyways- you can walk to Anvil from here.”
“I wasn’t going to argue,” you shook your head and watched his face soften as he nodded, satisfied. “I’ll take you up on it. But I was going to say I didn’t have any means to ask you, besides your company number.”
At that, Billy hummed and let go of your face. He craned his neck to look behind you, making a writing motion with his hand. Someone nudged your back- Vivian appeared at your side to slide a pen to Billy across the counter. He thanked her and you noticed for the first time the paper bag he held in his other hand. He scribbled on it before handing tucking the pen into the folded top of the bag and handing it to you.
“What’s this?” you asked, dumbfounded.
“Yesterday you said you had an early shift,” he shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by on my way in.” You put the pen on the counter and opened the paper bag, immediately hit by the intoxicating smell of a grilled cheese sandwich and the sight of a soup container. It was enough to make your mouth and eyes water.
“God you’re a lifesaver,” you moaned into the bag, and without thinking you set it down to wrap both arms tightly around Billy’s waist. He stiffened under your embrace, but surely enough his hands came around to rest under your shoulder blades, rubbing gently as you both relaxed. He smelled like hair product, and that same cologne...
“I’ll let you go now,” he said. “It’s getting crowded in here, I don’t want to keep you-”
“Oi!” the shrill voice of the executive chef behind you startled you out of Billy’s arms. “An order came in for a cake, you gotta fill that out once you finish the muffins. You’re still ten minutes behind.”
“On it,” you replied, shifting gears back into work mode. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Billy with the bag in your hands. He returned your smile easily, and he turned at your superior- a no-nonsense woman half his height with just as much ability to intimidate.
“I’ll take it upon myself that they won’t be any less than ten minutes early from here on out,” he assured her seriously, before winking at you and heading out.
“She better not be,” she added sharply before leaving you be. You padded to the back to stash your lunch away and return to your station. Your body switched to autopilot, carrying out your duties while you pondered. It felt like you had found a comfortable level of intimacy appropriate to your friendship with Billy. Friends hugged each other, of course, and friends brought each other food unprompted. And now that you knew he was clear on your boundaries, it would be fine to have him drive you to work every day, right? At this point, it was on you to make sure you weren’t leading either of you on. No time for feelings , you reminded yourself. In time with your thoughts, you jumped when you carelessly brushed your arm against the hot oven door. You had work to do.
You took your lunch break at the back of the restaurant a few hours later. With fingers greased by the heavenly grilled cheese sandwich, you texted Billy your schedule. Not two minutes later, he replied. As it turned out, he was able to carpool four days a week, and you could imagine him rolling his eyes in his office when you objected.
No need to thank me. But the coconut bread was really good.
You ate it?! You typed furiously with a hot spoon of tomato soup in your mouth. You’d assumed he’d given it to Frank or Curtis or just tossed it altogether.
You’ll have to try better next time if you want to kill me.
Maybe so, but there was no denying he was close to killing you. Your heart sped up as you thought of his hand brushing your cheek again, and again, and again. His long fingers spread under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. God.
Wouldn't want to ruin your figure, you replied before getting up and throwing the bag in the trash.
Two mornings later, Billy proved to you that you weren’t as much of a morning person as you thought. You were only halfway out of bed when your phone buzzed.
I’ll be there in 10. Be ready outside.
Perhaps it was his Marine training that had him working like a machine before the sun rose? It was much longer than it took to drive to Alma’s before your shift began- maybe he was going to drop you off at Anvil and you’d have to walk. You didn’t mind all too much- the sky was clear outside your windows and it looked to be a promising day.
You got ready in a rush, tripping over nothing more than once as you attempted to dress and look presentable at the same time. When you left your building, only slightly disheveled, at the ten-minute mark, Billy was leaning against his car waiting for you. He greeted you with a smile that made your knees weak, and accepted your hug in return before he opened your door for you. He smelled like he’d just showered, and his black suit felt perfectly crisp in your hands.
“Have you eaten yet?” you asked him once he’d buckled up. He raised an eyebrow and started the car.
“Was gonna ask you the same thing.” He didn’t move; he kept his hands on the wheel while he sat still, facing you.
“I was asleep twelve minutes ago, so no, I haven’t,” you mumbled. You turned your gaze to the window when he laughed softly- the sound both woke you up and soothed you, but your face felt warm all the same. You sat up straighter and looked straight ahead, focusing intently on a plain red fire hydrant.
“I thought we could stop by somewhere,” he said. "I could go for a McMuffin."
“You got me up at buttfuck o’clock in the morning for McDonald’s?" Your head snapped back to him and you drew in a quick breath. Billy laughed louder this time and started to drive.
You ended up going to Dunkin. Billy got a coffee and a breakfast sandwich, and you were so distracted by the way he licked his thumb before counting the bills in his hand that you panicked at the counter and got the first donut you saw without thinking. Given that it was near six in the morning, the maple frosting didn't sit well in your stomach, as you found out soon after you started working.
The next day, you anticipated his early arrival and sat outside on your building’s front steps to wait with your breakfast. The sun was barely starting to light up the sky, though today it wouldn’t be as visible through the thin blanket of clouds. Billy’s Rolls Royce appeared and parked just around your corner, giving him enough time to stride around the front and open the passenger door as you started to walk to him.
“I made you muffins,” you said. “I hope you’re not allergic to raspberries.”
With his gloved hand wrapping around yours, he took the bag and pulled you into a hug that lasted no more than half a moment. Though it was less than two feet between you, it felt like the breath was knocked out of your lungs.
“Thank you.”
Then he was gone as fast as he had been there, his back already turned to you as he walked to his door without a word.
A week flew by in the sort of passivity that came with routine. You woke up promptly at five-twenty, met Billy at five-forty, and he dropped you off at Alma’s by five-fifty-five. On the first day you had to take transit to work later in the morning, you left for your lunch break with two to-go containers of savory waffles from Dave. You took it as a sort of hush-hush payment while he left with Vivian during the midday lull, so when they came back, you set off for Anvil. The building was considerably less daunting than the last time you’d been there- not only was it the sun that shone on the brick and the tall, wide windows reflecting the life of the passersby around you, but you knew the man at the top of the chain better than you had a month ago. It wasn’t exactly home, but when you looked at Anvil and walked inside by yourself, you felt almost as comfortable as you did when you were with Billy. As if it was an extension of him.
“Hi, is Mr. Russo in?” you asked the lady at the reception desk.
“He’s out for a meeting, but he’ll be back in the next hour or so,” she intoned. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t. I’ll just leave this, then.” You took the pen on the desk and signed your name on one of the paper containers before sliding it to her. You left the building and began your walk back to Alma’s.
If you’re going to start bringing me lunch, I might have to invest in a fridge and microwave, was the reply you received near the end of your day.
All that office space and no microwave? you texted back.
One in the employee break room, but I didn’t want to share.
How typical of you, you replied, and after a few minutes of no response you turned off your phone and laid back in your seat, waiting for your stop. There was no reply when you got off the train, and none still when you walked from the station to your apartment. You unlocked your door and hummed a whimsical tune as you took your shoes off and tossed your keys on the table. Your phone was silent when you changed out of your work uniform, when you ate your microwave dinner, when you browsed furniture websites for a bedframe.
And that was okay. It meant that you were becoming accustomed to Billy’s presence in your life. You were getting used to him being there, so maybe it was just a silly crush after all. If it were, perhaps you’d be lying facedown on the floor, cursing yourself for your four-word response, as if that was the reason he hadn’t replied to your text after five hours.
It wasn't until you closed your laptop and fell back onto your mattress that your phone finally buzzed underneath you.
Had an appointment.
That was his reason. You didn't care to ask what kind of appointment took six hours, but he didn't give you time to voice that before another text came.
I’m willing to challenge your perception of my selfishness.
You rolled your eyes.
I can be very giving, he continued.
You thought you'd be more invested in the suggestiveness of his words, but instead you found yourself as tired as you were before you'd read them. By that, you felt more assured than ever as you typed a response, plugged your phone in and rolled to the other side of the bed.
Lucky me. Start giving tomorrow.
The phone buzzed a few more times after that, but you were already halfway succumbed to the call of sleep. You imagined passively, Billy texting you, calling you, from his penthouse somewhere in the city. You could almost hear his voice, confident- but careful. He was always so careful with you.
You wrapped your duvet tighter around you, despite the mugginess of New York's encroaching summer. The cotton was definite against your skin- it was there, and if you moved a even a centimetre, you could feel it. You could take into account everything around you in your apartment- the steps of your upstairs neighbour, the low hum of the building working underneath you, in the walls. Sounds and vibrations so material you'd feel their presence in your sleep. And that should have been comforting. Instead, they felt intrusive.
Instead, you found yourself falling asleep to the thought of Billy’s calloused hands ghosting upon your face the morning you were late for work. A barely-there touch, yet as real and tangible as anything else you could see. You remembered him holding your chin, turning your gaze upwards, but that felt wrong. When he was there, you felt like you were always looking at him. When he wasn't, you were left looking forward to the next time you'd see him. No matter how often you could assure yourself that words and intentions drove your friendship and left the impression of Billy on your mind, it was those phantom touches that resounded within you and ached the most.