Riley Lynn (P.O.V.)
I let out a long breath of air. My body felt gross, and I knew I would have to take a long, hot shower to feel clean again. Where did men get off acting like they could do as they please to women? I should have punched that guy more than once.
"Crap! That is right. I punched him," I groaned. "And my boss saw. He is so going to fire me. I messed up."
"That guy deserved it." Vincent said in an attempt to comfort me.
"You should have punched him instead of telling me to do it," I muttered. "Then my job would not be at risk."
Vincent stared at me flatly.
"My hands are too delicate." Vincent answered.
I caught myself staring at his hands. They did look pretty dainty... no, I should not be thinking of that.
I scratched my head.
"I really cannot afford to lose this job. I cannot lose the money. What am I supposed to do? I do not think I will be able to find another place and make this much money. Ahh, crap."
"So, you do need money huh," Vincent mumbled under his breath, and I barely caught it.
He hiccupped and I ignored him, too busy with my mini mental breakdown. It took me a moment to notice he was swaying. Finally, his hands found my shoulders again, trying to secure himself.
"I am going to be sick," he announced, letting out the most disgusting burp I had ever heard.
"Ugh, ew, come on," I complained, putting my arm around his waist, and hurrying him back to the men's room. After setting him up in a stall, I left the bathroom and heard a strange hiss.
Pausing, I looked around but did not see anything.
"Rally," it came again.
My head swung toward the back room, where Kevin was beckoning me, hiding half his body behind the door. He is so weird.
"It is Riley," I told him as I approached.
"And listen, that guy grabbed my a*s—"
"Language," he warned shrilly.
"You punched a guest."
"Yeah, but—"
"A very important guest."
"Yeah, but—"
"Do you know who he is?" Kevin asked in a strained voice.
I was sure if he went any higher he would reach a level where only dogs could hear him.
I felt my shoulders slump. Yep, I knew I was in trouble. Even though it was not my fault at all.
"No, I do not, but—"
"I cannot let this slide no matter the reason," Kevin told me, letting out a deep sigh.
"You cannot just punch a customer. That is abuse."
"I had every right to!" I piped in quickly so he could not interrupt me again.
"I should fire you on the spot."
My heart skipped a beat.
Fire me?
Oh no, I could not afford to be fired.
"I am really sorry," I said, deciding to be apologetic rather than angry. I had to have this job.
"I would not do it again. I am sorry, I was not thinking."
"You are right you weren't. But as I said I cannot pretend that did not just happen. The whole restaurant watched it happen. I am going to have to give our patrons coupons to make up for it. Coupons, Rally."
"It is Riley," I told him, but at this point, it felt mute.
"I am going to have to suspend you for a month," he decided. "You are a good worker and because of that, I do not want to lose you. But if I let this pass with no consequences, who knows who will think they can punch the next customer they do not like? We need to give this time so everyone will forget."
I wanted to say that it probably does not work that way, that no one would punch a customer just because they did not like them. I wanted to say that I definitely had the right to punch that perv. I wanted to say it was messed up I was getting in trouble for this. I wanted to say screw your crazy rules and your weirdo personality, I am out of here. But I did not. Because I needed the money.
"I am sorry," I apologized again for what seemed like the billionth time tonight.
I knew the conversation was over. There was no point in trying to fight.
"Go apologize to the guests and finish up with table four and then you can go home," Kevin instructed, putting a hand against his forehead. "Man, I am beat."
I felt my annoyance flare up again. He was beat? Somehow, I managed not to say a word. I could definitely win an award for Best Patience When Dealing With Idiots. So, I went around to all the guests and apologized for my behavior.
Fortunately, the majority of them congratulated me on punching the bastard and told me if he ever gave me trouble again, they knew what company he owned. When I got to table four again, I realized that both Liam and Vincent were missing.
Upon closer inspection, I found a receipt. They must have gone up to the hostess to get their bill.
What, they could not wait for me to come back? I felt faintly disappointed. I had not gotten to thank Vincent or say goodbye to Liam, but I suspected Liam had decided to grab the barfing Vincent and hit the road.
If they really were significant to the high society, getting drunk to the point of throwing up at a five-star restaurant probably did not look too good. So, as any other good waitress would do, I picked up the slip to check the tip. There was a little note scribbled at the top of the receipt. It was almost unintelligible, but I managed to decipher it. I figured writing drunk was a lot like trying to walk drunk. I gave him props for making it look a little more like print than hieroglyphics.
Riley, you need money. I need a girlfriend. I think we would make good business partners. Please call at your earliest convenience, but not before 9AM. x-xxx-xxx-xxxx Vincent Luciano. P.S your tip is an advance.
Curious note aside, I looked at the tip amount.
$10,000.43
I nearly fainted.