“Can I get you two anything else?”
“Another margarita,” the girl says, raising her empty glass.
“You got it.” I spin around, but the second I do, I see the hostess seating another table in my section. My gut knots.
“Excuse me,” a voice calls as I pass another table. “I ordered mashed potatoes with this and I only got the Caesar salad.”
I wanted to say, You’re welcome since the woman looked like she could use less calories, but I swallow it.
“So sorry, I’ll bring those out right away.”
The new table is looking around, waiting. I rush over, heart pounding, and ask what they’d like to drink.
Just water. Thank God.
Back in the kitchen, it’s chaos. Steam fogs the air, metalclangs, oil pops like gunfire. Garlic, butter, sweat—it all hits me at once, making my stomach roll. I grab the water and call out to the line.
“Can I have a side of mashed potatoes, please?”
“It’ll have to wait,” Leroy grunts without looking up.
“What do you mean? Don’t you have some ready? She’s been waiting?—”
“I said it’ll have to wait.”
Where the hell did Nick find this guy? He’s like a cartoon of some greasy, pizza-slinging New Yorker who talks to calzones in his sleep.
“What’s your problem? Haven’t gotten laid in a while so you’re taking it out on the new girl?”
“Fuck you.”
“Nah, I’d rather suck on a donkey’s dick than let you touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
I turn—and there he is. Nick. Watching. Again. His stare feels like a drill to the temple.
“I told you not to cause trouble in my kitchen.”
“I’m not. He’s the one who started it,” I snap, jabbing a finger at Leroy.
“What are you, twelve? Leroy’s my best cook. If he says you’ll get the potatoes, you’ll get them. It’s not his fault you forgot them in the first place.”
“I didn’t f?—”
“Yes, you did.” He cuts me off hard. “I checked on the table myself. She said everything was fine except that her waitress took too long to greet them, brought the wrong wine, and forgot the mashed potatoes.”
My jaw locks. “You trying to find something to bitch about, or write me up on my fourth day?”
“No. I do this with all new hires. And you should be glad I did—because I fixed it. Complimentary cocktail. Fifty-dollar gift card. And I told them you won’t be their waitress next time.”
“Wow. Real morale booster there. Pretty sure that’s not something a boss should say to an employee.”
“Take your waters out. The mashed potatoes will be ready when you’re back.”
I clamp my mouth shut and do what he says. My blood is boiling, but under that, something’s wrong. Off. My body’s buzzing, but not in a good way. My vision flickers at the edges. I’m lightheaded. Empty.
I call to Alexa, “Two more margaritas.”
“Don’t worry, the girl came up and said she’s been waiting ten minutes, so I made her one.”
