Philip stepped within feet of her. He held his arms out from his sides in a way that Tonya found aggressive. As if he might need to come out swinging. “What end-of-shift shot?”

Tonya felt the blood rise to her face. “Sometimes you would give us all a pour of whiskey, remember? Or, sometimes, whoever was working the bar would let us toast at the end of the night.”

Philip’s peaked brows rose. Molehills becoming mountains. “You’re saying Mike gave out free booze on the restaurant’s tab?”

Tonya winced. She was going to get Mike fired instead of furloughed. “No. Not usually. Once in a blue moon, probably when he thought the staff needed a pick-me-up.”

Philip’s hands landed on his hips. “This is why restaurants fail. People take advantage. They take free booze. Free food. They invest so they can seem like big men to their friends and then want to pull all their money at the first sign of trouble. Restaurants fail because everyone is a fucking mooch and no one wants to earn anything.”

Tonya stood a little straighter. “I know that I’m living in your home without paying rent. But I am working here every day and—”

“And the job’s over.”

“What?”

“You cleaned, right? The fact that you’re out here means you’ve finished cleaning?”

“Yes.”

“Then go home, Tonya.”

Philip slipped behind the bar as he spoke, reducing the impact of distance on his size. Standing directly across from him, Tonya could appreciate what a physically intimidating presence Philip truly was.

“I’m sorry, Chef. I shouldn’t have thought to pour myself a shot. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, and I would have definitely asked you if I’d known that you were still here. You weren’t in the kitchen, and I didn’t think to check anywhere else—”

“Where else is there?” Philip cut her off. “There’s nothing in the dining room anymore.”

Something about Philip’s voice drove Tonya several steps back. He wasn’t yelling. But there was a seethe in his tone. He sounded like water in a pot, right before reaching a rolling boil.

“I’m sorry. I won’t come back in here.”

Philip’s cold blue eyes seemed to register the tremble in her voice. They softened along with his body language. “Sorry. It’s just that the kitchen is the only place we’re really maintaining at the moment. We don’t want anyone leaving food or spilled liquor in the other rooms. The pandemic is driving the rats insane. If anyone gets bitten, or news gets out of an infestation, that will be the end of everything.”

Though Philip’s voice was back to normal, the memory of his prior tone kept Tonya timid as she slid from behind the bar. “I understand.”