Mr. Douchebag tells her something, but I can’t make out the words.
There’s a ping-pong exchange between them.
Harley shakes her head.
She’s about to turn around, but Mr. Douchebag grabs her wrist.
I’m going to destroy the motherfucker.
Chapter 3
One Big Disaster
Harley
Shit.
The woman gets up, places her fists at her waist, and shoots lasers at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I grab a cloth napkin and dip it into a glass of water with the intention of wiping the gunk off this poor woman.
“Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?”
All movements freeze.
More money than I have to my name.“I’m sorry.”
“What kind of incompetent waitress are you? Don’t you have eyes? My suit is ruined. RUINED!”
A lump forms in my throat.
I can’t even do this stupid job without screwing up.
Everything I do ends up a disaster.
“I’m so, so sorry, ma’am.”
“Your apology is useless to me. You’re useless. USELESS!”
Thanks forripping me a new one.
My gaze shifts to Mr. Asswipe––the real culprit in this shit show.
He winks and smirks.
I want to pluck the pasta from this poor woman’s suit and force-feed it down Mr. Asswipe’s throat to wipe that smirk from his face.
Suit lady gasps.
I follow her gaze to her Hermes crocodile bag sitting on the chair.
“Thank God at the last minute I decided to go with the black bag instead of the white one,” she says.
I can’t imagine ruining a six-figure designer handbag.
“I would’ve lost my shit had you ruined my beloved white Birkin.”
Because you aren’t losing your shit right now?
