“Did the stupid dog bite someone again?”
“Worse. They fired Marina.”
Brit sighs, slow and long, like she’s losing patience with the world. “Rich people are disgusting,” she says, unknowingly echoing Jake, and the three of us laugh. Mine catches in my throat when I see the next group of people that walks through the door.
“No nono.Nottoday,” I say with a groan.
I watch Christian and his posse stop at the hostess stand, and when his eyes lock on mine across the room, my stomach sinks. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s my name rolling off his tongue, and sure enough, Kirsten leads the rowdy group to my section.
I turn quickly to Ollie. “If you cover for me, I’ll bake those strawberry cupcakes whenever you want. I’ll bake them tomorrow. Whenever. Please pleasepleasecover for me.”
“Tempting,” says Ollie, tapping his chin.
“Oh, come on. Do us a favor and cover for her,” says Brit. “He’s so much worse with the girls.”
“He’s pretty bad with the guys, too,” Ollie says, but then takes one look at my pleading face and sighs. “Fine. But you owe me cupcakes. Lots of them.”
“Thank you!” I cry and throw my arms around him in a quick hug.
“Maybe I should have offered,” mutters Jake, watching the exchange.
I pull away from Ollie and wink playfully at him. “You can cover next time, Jakey.”
“Never mind. I rescind the offer after hearing you call meJakey.” He shudders.
We part ways, and I deliver the Dysons their overpriced shellfish and drinks before taking orders from a few other tables. Not ten minutes later, I’m heading toward the kitchen when Ollie steps into my path, a sour expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, already dreading the worst.
“They refuse to interact with me,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Not until they speak to you.”
I frown, a pit forming in my stomach. “Should we tell Brit?”
“She’s on her break. Maybe we should tell Rachel.”
“No, no. It was supposed to be my table.” I sigh, putting my hands on my hips. “I’ll suck it up and handle it.”
Ollie grimaces. “Are you sure? They’re on one today.”
I nod slowly, uncertain if I’m trying to convince him or myself. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks for trying, though.”
Plastering a phony-ass smile on my face, I deliver a few entrees to one of my other tables—if Christian and his cronies are going to be difficult, then they can sure as hell wait—and then finally make my way toward the arduous group.
“Daisy!” Christian shouts. “Are you in bloom, because you look absolutelyravishing?”
“Almost as good as that Instagram photo,” says Kurt, practically undressing me with his eyes.
“Nothing can top that photo,” says Shay, doing the same.
“True,” agrees Christian. “It was absolute perfection.”
I do my best to hide my disgust, trying not to picture what these guys were doing while ogling the image of me in a bikini. Ignoring their comments, I focus on getting straight to the point.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, feigning ignorance. “Your server said you wanted to speak to me.”
Christian leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “We told Bean Pole over there that we’re not ordering anything until you agree to our date. You never responded to my message, and it took a lot of digging to find your account.” He juts out his bottom lip. “It hurt my feelings.”
The table stares at me as I fumble for a response, and I can feel their eyes straying away from my face and taking a little detour down my body. I focus on keeping my smile intact as I try to figure out the best way to handle this situation.
