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.
“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 the slimeball––the real culprit in this shit show.
I want to pluck the pasta from this poor woman’s suit and force-feed it down the idiot’s throat to wipe that stupid 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 huffs.
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?
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.”
Shit. My life is in the midst of a deep nosedive. I can’t afford tolose this job.
The determination in this woman’s eyes is unsettling. She wants blood.
I sigh, defeated. “I’ll get him––”
“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. 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 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.
