Riley Lynn (P.O.V.)
"Ratty, table four has been waiting over two minutes for someone to come and take their drink order, could you possibly work faster?" Kevin, the manager on shift, said as he walked by me, heading toward the hostess stand.
I blinked at him, trying to ignore the fact he got my name wrong for the thousandth time while wondering if he noticed my arms filled with plates of food for a different table. Like, the last time I checked I only had two arms…not eight.
When he glanced over his shoulder and frowned at me, I gave him the fakest smile I could muster.
"I will be right over." I said to him in my customer service voice.
"Good."
Rolling my eyes, I hurried back to table number seven.
There was a table in particular that gets on my nerves every time I come to work. I hated table number seven. I do not know if it is just my luck, or maybe the table was cursed, but whoever sat there ended up always being the rudest and most condescending people on the Earth. This time around it was a bunch of businessmen in sNathanielk black suits that tried always try to look down my shirt every time I leaned over to clear a plate or glass.
"Chicken Cordon Bleu," I announced as I set down one of the plates in front of a large man wearing a star-spangled tie.
I tried my hardest not to cringe at it. That is a very ugly tie. I am no fashion designer or anything, but that is the ugliest tie I have ever seen.
"Nice," the ugly tie guy commented, and I was not sure if he was talking about the chicken breast or my breast. Could never be too sure with this stupid uniform.
Still, I held my tongue. If I remained nice enough, these guys would definitely give me a generous tip.
At least that is what I think.
"Do you need anything else before I go?" I asked after I had handed out all of the dishes.
Please say no. I begged internally.
"Another Blue Moon please," Star-Spangled Moron requested.
I flashed him a smile.
"Right away."
As I turned around, I caught sight of Kevin staring at me and pointing to table four frantically.
"Am I the only one on shift? I better get paid overtime for overworking and basically doing everyone else's work" I muttered to myself as I turned toward the table.
Noticing there were only two people sitting at it, I relaxed a little bit. At least it would be an easy one.
"Hi, my name is Riley, I will be serving you tonight," I greeted them, offering the two a wide smile.
The two young men both turned toward me at the same time, and I immediately felt my confidence drop as I recognized the pair. They came in at least once a week, and they were both drop-dead gorgeous. At this point, I had thought I was used to handsome men and beautiful women coming to this restaurant, but the feeling of inferiority never went away. And these two were top tier.
Tonight, they were both wearing button-ups, rolled at the sNathanielves to reveal their veiny forearms. One of them wore a black shirt with a white tie, while the other had a white shirt with a black tie. I could not tell if it was on purpose or not, but either way, they made a great duo.
It made me a little mad.
What was up with filthy rich people being so attractive? Was it not enough that they had money? They had to steal all the good looks too. It was so unfair. Or maybe I was just too bitter.
I had to work on that. maybe. I might consider it.
"A strange name, but I guess that is not important," the man on the right said, his tone smooth and curious.
He had dark, neatly parted hair that was pushed up in the front. It was a little curly at the top and the back of it was styled so that it looked tousled. He studied my face, his dark green eyes squinting a bit. The other tried to cover a laugh and my eyes shifted to him. He looked like your typical description of a boy next door— chestnut-colored hair, brown eyes, a pretty face, and a kind smile.
"Aha, I get that all the time..." I said, feeling like I had been staring at them for five minutes when in reality it was only five seconds.
His comment annoyed me. I hope he can sense that but not really…I want a nice tip.
I had served him a couple of times before. Is this really the first time he paid attention to my name?
"It is a cute name though," the Boy Next Door responded, smiling politely at me.
I stared at his teeth, feeling a stab go through my heart. Of course, he had perfect teeth. Perfectly straight, perfectly white.
Why would I have ever expected otherwise?
These two were on a whole different level than me. I could not look even a fraction as flawless as them even if I took five hours getting ready every day.
"Can I start you off with something to drink?" I asked, wondering if I sounded as depressed as I felt.
Every second in front of them was like a hard kick to my morale.
"A shot of Lagavulin for me, Riley." the dark-haired one said, not even bothering to pick up the drink menu.
"Absolutely and sorry for this, but I need to see some identification please," I responded, offering him a half smile.
I mean he did not look under-aged, and I am pretty sure I had served him alcohol before, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
"What? You Do not know who I am?" the boy next door asked incredulously.
"Am I supposed to...?" I honestly did not know who he is. All I know is that I probably served him before and that is about it.
He looked troubled for a moment before something dawned on him and he nodded.
"I guess I wouldn't expect someone like you to know."
What a condescending a**hole! Something about the way he said that irked me. Was he a celebrity? Was he just butt hurt that I did not know who he was? He looked like he could be an actor or maybe a musician but then again someone like me would definitely know if he was. He was probably the son of some rich guy who made airplanes for a living. I did not particularly care who he was either to be honest.
"Your identification sir," I repeated.
The guy dug out a black leather wallet from his jeans and stitched along the lower left-hand cover was the word Hermes. He held out his hand.
"Here you go."
I took his identification card from him, my eyes sliding over the name on the card before I could stop myself.
Vincent Luciano.
Really? I thought.
Vincent? Couldn't his mother be any more unoriginal?
Needless to say, his name did not ring a bell, either so he probably was not famous. Pursing my lips, I scanned over his birth date. The twenty fifty of the twelfth month nineteen-eighty-nine.
"You are a Christmas baby?" I said, handing the card back to him.
Vincent nodded, tucking his identification back into his wallet.
"Since the day I was born."
I felt my lips twitch into a smile before I could stop myself.
"Does it not suck to have your birthday be the same day as Christmas? I bet your Christmas and birthday presents are combined as one."
Without even blinking his response was a nonchalant, "No, never."
I just kind of let out an awkward laugh.
Figures.
"Anything for you?" I asked the other man.
"I will have a glass of ice water," he said.
"No, he would not. He will have a nice shot of whiskey with me," Vincent cut in.
"Give her your identification card." Vincent ordered but his friend was not having it.
"I am going to stick with water."
Vincent shook his head, giving his friend a disapproving look.
"I am going through a crisis right now and it is your duty as my best friend to drink the night away with me. Give her your identification card right now."
I wondered what kind of crisis this probably filthy rich, twenty-five year old could be going through, but figured I was better off not knowing. If I heard anything along the lines of "not being able to afford three Porsches" I would probably off myself. I hated to believe first impressions, but this guy kind of looked like the type of spoiled person who would consider that a crisis.
"Vin, I would not really call this a crisis—"
Aha! It probably was a three Porsche ordeal! What a world I lived in.
"Liam, we are keeping this lovely girl from doing her job. Just give her your identification card. I promise I will not make you take more than a couple of shots. I know you are a lightweight."
The light-haired man hesitated for a moment before grinning and pulling out this wallet.
"You are a pain in my a*s you know that right."
"Make those two shots of Lagavulin," Vincent said smugly.
After checking his friend's, identification card— Liam was his name and it rather suited him— I went over to the bar to give our bartender, Marcus, their order. When I glanced back at their table I saw Vincent eyeing me and I stared directly back at him until he noticed. At this point usually the other party would look away, embarrassed at being caught, but this guy just held my gaze with a pleased expression on his face.
Feeling awkward, I turned away first and saw Star Spangled Moron at table seven, waving me down.
Crap.
The Blue Moon.
"Can I grab a bottle of Blue Moon?" I said to Marcus.
"I totally forgot I was supposed to get him one."
Marcus peeled the cap off on the edge of the bar and handed me the open bottle.
"He has been watching you like a hawk all night. Twenty bucks says he asks for your number." Marcus stated and at this I pretended to gag as I walked away, reluctantly heading back to table number seven.
As I grew closer, I summoned the sweetest smile I could.
"I am so sorry about the wait for this, Sir." I said in an almost apologetic tone.
"Maybe I will forgive you if you give me a kiss," he joked, causing all of his douchey colleagues to laugh along with him.
For the tips, for the tips, for the tips, I chanted in my head.
"Maybe when I get out," I flirted.
His eyes flicked up and down my body and I felt my skin crawl.
Ew, just Ew!
"Anyone else need anything?" I inquired.
One of the other guys muttered something which I know I definitely did not want to hear under his breath. I decided to take their silence as a no, so I flashed them a quick smile and hurried away.
Tables two and eight needed to be wiped down still and I could not see either one of the two busboys on shift around to clean it. Just as I turned to head into the back Kevin appeared in front of me, scaring me a bit.
"Geez, warn a girl when you are approaching her like a ninja. I could have knocked your lights out!"
"Please wipe down tables two and eight," he requested, pulling at his necktie.
"They have been dirty for the past fifteen minutes."
"I am way ahead of you," I said, letting a little irritation seep into my tone.
Why did he always feel the need to tell me to do something? I knew what needed to be done before he probably did. He pissed me off.
"Oh— now guests are coming in, go greet them, Radley. What are you waiting for?"
"It is Riley," I gritted out before heading off to go do the hostess's job now.
Honestly, working at Michelangelo's sucked. It sucked hard.
However, the money I made; that did not suck. Since this was a high-end restaurant for even higher-end people, I made a good sum of money every shift I worked. So even though I usually played waitress/busgirl/hostess/bartender while the other employees barely did their one job, the money kept me going. I could deal with Kevin being a weird creature and never knowing my name. I could deal with the creepy, old businessmen hitting on me all night. I could deal with it all because I needed the money, and the money was worth it.
So, I greeted the new guests as pleasantly as I could, still trying not to feel inferior in my black pencil skirt and white blouse while standing next to gorgeous women in silky red cocktail dresses. And then I wiped down the dirty tables. And then I got another beer for Star Spangled Moron. By now, I knew someone would have to take his keys from him. And then I completely forgot about table number four until Kevin was on my a*s for forgetting about them.
Fortunately, Marcus had seen I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off and had delivered their shots of whiskey, which were empty on the table when I finally got back to them.
"I am so sorry," I said immediately, lowering my head and praying they did not yell at me. There goes a good tip.
Liam offered me a sympathetic smile when I raised my head.
"Do not worry about it."
"Are you ready to order? You probably are. I have been gone for like five years. I am really sorry." I rambled on apologetically.
"Hyperboles aside, you have been gone for fifteen minutes," Vincent informed me, glancing at his watch.
"Do you usually make your customers wait this long to take their food order?"
I opened my mouth to reply, but I was a little too caught off guard by his curt words to think of anything.
"Sorry?" I finally said.
"Typically, a customer should spend a little over an hour in a restaurant. Drink orders are taken upon immediate arrival, food order taken after five minutes. This allows about twenty minutes for food to be prepared and about half an hour for the customer to consume it," he explained, speaking very matter-of-factly and very elegantly.
I hated it.
"We have been here over half an hour and have only had our drink orders taken when at this point in our visit we should already be receiving our food."
Liam shifted in his seat awkwardly while I gawked at Vincent, speechless. I so did not need this today.
"Um, okay. Sorry." I said, hoping he would accept that and run with it.
"Sorry does not make up for poor service." Vincent retorted.
I clenched my jaw and bit my tongue.
Stay cool, Riley, stay cool.
"I am sorry," I said….. again.
"I wonder what the owner would think of how his employees run this place. Surely this is not suitable for you. How much do you make to act like this?"
"Listen, I apologized so is it really necessary to be so rude about this?" I snapped, feeling my hands start to shake in humiliation.
Did he really have to go as far as making fun of the fact that I worked as a waitress? I did not make enough to put up with this.
Vincent jerked his head back.
"What?"
"I really am sorry about forgetting your table and I will admit it was my fault, but it was only fifteen minutes. You could have flagged me down, or anyone else for that matter." I spat out at him. At this point, I was beyond livid.
"I do not expect you to know who I am, but—" Vincent started but I cut him off.
"I am sorry, but I do not really care who you are," I interjected. "Is there a level of importance that makes it okay to make fun of someone's job? If you want a new waitress, fine, I will send someone over. Although I cannot promise that you will have better service since I am probably already taking care of her tables."
Vincent furrowed his eyebrows.
"That was not going to be a threat. I was just going to say I admire your courage to stand up for yourself."
"Uh." I blinked. "Oh."
I feel stupid now. I must admit.
"I was not trying to scold you, either. That was a piece of information that would be useful for you to tell your boss. Not that I expect this place to have such high standards."
"Vincent." Liam said and sighed.
"Nothing against you," Vincent added, directed to me. "My words are mainly directed to your so-called coworkers who seem to think chatting in the back is more important than the guests on the floor. When I asked how much you made, it was because you clearly deserve more."
I looked between the two of them, feeling confused. So, he was not trying to be a jerk? He was just spreading his knowledge...? Either way, I probably should not have snapped. I was seriously lucky he did not seem offended by it.
"Vincent is pretty oblivious to the way he speaks, so you will have to excuse him," Liam said as to excuse Vincent's behavior.
"He means well... usually."
"Oh, um, that is okay. I really should not have snapped at you either and for that I am sorry."
"Do you make enough money here to live okay?" Vincent asked.
"What?" I asked, taken aback by the sudden intruding question.
Liam elbowed Vincent in the side.
"Ignore him. We have held you up enough. Should we give you our orders?"
"Oh, yeah! Sorry." I said while I took out my notepad to jut their orders.
"No need to apologize," Vincent said, rubbing his side.
"I will have the herb encrusted pork chops with asparagus. Another shot of Lagavulin with it, please." Vincent ordered politely.
I nodded and began scribbling away on the notepad.
"I will have the ginger-glazed Mahi-Mahi," Liam said, taking the menus off the table and handing them back to me.
"And a glass of water."
"Sure, and sorry again."
"I will let you off this time because you seem nice," Vincent said, lounging back in his chair.
I raised an eyebrow.
Rich people have weird personalities.
The next hour passed slowly. The businessmen at table seven were steadily getting drunker and drunker as each minute passed and I wondered what Vincent would have to say about their average consumer time. The whole lot of them had been here for more than two hours.
Not like Vincent could really talk either, as he himself was a little past tipsy and on his way to a drunken state as well, so he would probably be here awhile too. He had switched to beer though so I would assume it would be a while before he becomes completely drunken.
Just as I was about to start cleaning off the countertops, I saw someone waving at me in the corner of my eye.
Groaning, I went back to table seven.
"We are r-ready fer the check," one of them slurred.
"And some cabs, huh?" I joked.
"I want you to take me home," Star Spangled Moron purred, eyes lighting up mischievously.
Trying not to make a face, I forced myself to laugh.
"Ah, if only I could leave this place. Do you guys want me to do separate checks?"
"Put it all on mine," Star Spangled Moron said, and I took his credit card from him and brought it up to the register to ring him out.
I balked at the final total.
It was more than I could make in two weekend nights waitressing. I had not realized how much they really ordered until now. And he wanted it all on his card? How generous.
On my way back to the table a hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
I jumped a little bit, relaxing when I realized it was just Vincent.
"I have to pee," he stated.
I pointed to the far left corner of the restaurant.
"Over there."
Using me as a support and almost taking me down, he pulled himself up and then stumbled to the bathrooms, muttering something about marriages.
I glanced at Liam, who shrugged at me.
I returned the card to Star Spangled Moron, and he filled in the tip and signed the receipt, handing the notebook back to me. It was hard to resist the urge to see how much he tipped, but I managed to slide it into my back pocket.
"Thank you very much, have a good night you guys. Get home safe."
As I turned to walk away, I felt a heavy arm across my shoulders.
"You said you were going home with me."
I saw the spangled tie and felt my stomach churn.
"Please do not touch me."
"I know you like me. You were eyeing me all night. Lucky you, little blonde girls like you are my favorite."
I tried to duck under his grasp, but he only held me tighter. He placed his other hand in my hair, his breath heavy on my neck.
"I have to go check on the other tables," I said.
"What are you, just a tease?" Star spangled moron said, almost tripping over his own feet.
When I signed up to be a waitress, I figured I would have to deal with a little bit of harassment from creepy customers. It was a given in any customer service job, unfortunately. So yeah, I was a little pissed at this guy, but I could handle it.
I had done it before.
If I made him mad it would only make my manager mad too, because you never knew just who these people were and what kind of influences they had. Me flipping out at Vincent was a mistake that could have been ten times worse than it was. I could not let it happen again.
So, I took a deep breath.
"I am sorry, I am just really busy."
"So, you are interested?"
How that translated into that, I had no idea.
"Please let me go."
That is when I felt it. A massive hand on my a*s, pinching it roughly.
I felt the blood rush to my face as a wave of nausea coursed through me. Okay, this was crossing the line. This was sexual harassment. I was not sure what to do. I really did not want to cause a scene. It could cost me my job, but did I call my manager? Call the cops? I could not let him keep touching me.
"Hit him!" someone barked out and without really thinking, I listened to the voice, bringing my fist around and straight into the pervert's jaw. He let go of me and I shoved myself away from him and into a hard body.
For a moment we both wobbled but then a pair of hands clamped down onto my shoulder, steadying us both. I turned my head to see it was Vincent.
"You bitch," Star Spangled Moron spat out, moving toward me.
I flinched a bit, pressing myself more firmly into Vincent.
"Enough," Vincent said.
"Who do you think you are talking to?" the moron spat toward Vincent.
Vincent raised his eyebrow at the older man.
"Who do you think you are talking to, Mr. Trevor Johnson?" Star Spangled Moron—well Trevor actually— froze, his eyes widening in recognition and maybe fear?
I glanced at Vincent, who picked a piece of lint off his shirt and flicked it onto the ground. There were not a lot of people in the restaurant, but they were all staring at us.
I saw Kevin in the far corner looking like someone had run over his cat and I knew I was in trouble.
"M-Mr. Luciano," Trevor greeted, sweat starting to form on his fat neck.
"Good seeing you."
It surprised me to see this pervert—who definitely had more than two hundred pounds on Vincent and was probably twice his age— look so terrified of the younger man.
I wondered why could that be? Was Vincent part of a mafia or something? That would not be surprising because he does have an Italian name.
"I wish I could say the same about you," Vincent remarked. "However, any man who could watch what I just witnessed and still be glad to see the man involved would not and could not be a friend of mine. Maybe I will rethink our friendship."
"It is her fault—" Trever said, and I scoffed.
"Oh please—" I started but Vincent cut me off.
"Whether it was her fault or not, you simply do not touch women without their permission," Vincent said. "Please take your leave now."
And amazingly, Trevor did just that. Not even another word back. The group of men he had been with had already dispersed, leaving him to waddle away alone with his head down.