She looks me up and down, her lips curled in disgust. “Everything about you screams disaster. One big DISASTER.”
I flinch.
Ouch. You don’t even know me, and yet, you’ve sized me up so well. And for shits and giggles, you put it out there so the whole world can stamp the label on my forehead.
“You’re costing me money. MONEY!”
Her habit of repeating everything twice and yelling the insult is grating at my nerves.
“I’ll have to cancel all my afternoon appointments because of you.” She brushes a lock of jet-black hair with blonde highlights behind her ear, smearing bolognese sauce in her hair. “I need to speak to the manager.”
No, no, no. I need this job. I can’t afford to lose it. My life is in the midst of a deep nosedive and this is my lifeline out the financial mess I’m in.
The determination in this woman’s eyes is unsettling. She wants blood.
I sigh, defeated. “I’ll get him––”
“No, one of your colleagues needs to get him.” The woman’s face is as red as the stains on her suit. “You’re not getting out of my sight. Someone needs to get the manager. I’ve been violated.”
Violated? Seriously? Dramatic much?
“And if you think you’re going to wiggle your way out of this situation, you have another think coming. I’m not leaving this restaurant until I get your contact information.”
I draw in a breath. “Why do you need my contact information?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks down at me from her six-inch white high heels, which are also stained with tomato sauce.
I cringe.
“Who do you think is going to pay for my sixty-five-hundred-dollar suit?”
My eyes bulge out of my skull.Sixty-five-hundreddollars?“I… I don’t have that kind of money.” My voice spikes upwards.
“Tough luck, hot mess.” The woman sneers. “I don’t care if you have to prostitute yourself, I expect you to cough up the money.”
God, I wish I could bitch slap her.
Maybe I should become an escort instead of busting my ass as a waitress. The pay would be a lot better, I wouldn’t be catering to entitled assholes, and I’d be rubbing elbows with the rich and famous at galas. I wouldn’t have a toxic, helicopter boss hovering over me when I’m at work. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of drama.
“But—”
“I won’t hesitate to sue you or this restaurant for restitution.”
Restitution?
Take a number, girlfriend.
As if you’re the only person walking on planet earth who’s been wronged.
You’re privileged enough to have the money to buy obscenely expensive suits and designer shoes. I can’t afford ramen noodles.
A burst of giggles threatens to erupt because only I would find myself in this situation.
This job was my lifeline to dig myself out of a precarious situation.
Mr. Asswipe’s inability to understand the meaning of the word no lands me in a sea of trouble.
Fuck, I’m going to sink further into a financial abyss.
