Probably. But what about after the first argument? Who’sto say that they won’t cut and run at the first chance when things get hard? All I’ll be left with at that point are the memories of what I had, and the pain and absence of their loss. Fuck that.
I print a chunk of applications for Atlas and shove them into a folder. He can look at them later on when he’s doing invoices or whatever he does in the office. I fulfilled my duty; I have an appointment to get ready for.
Chapter Four
Mila
Icheck my phone for the third time to make sure I’m not late, or early. I have to be up early to prep for the day, and I don’t know why I agreed to this date. It’s going on seven thirty, and I’m starving. My twin had the bright idea to set me up with one of our regulars, Marcus.
I’m not sure how I feel about him, but he seems nice enough. He’s not the typical guy I would go for, although now that I think about it, I’m not sure I have an actual type.
He’s some type of banker who’s always dressed nicely, whether it’s eight AM, or lunchtime when he occasionally pops in. It’s weird how his blond hair is lighter than mine, almost to the point of being white, but he has so much product in it, I doubt it’d move if he stood by a jet engine.
“Mila?” A voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance around to find the source. Looks like my date has finally arrived, only thirty-five minutes late. Marcus stands in front of me in khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a navy sweater tied around his shoulders. Oh my God. I didn’t think people outside of movies actually dressed like that.
I’m not trying to be judgmental, but we’re in the middle of an Italian restaurant. I take in the purple sweater and black, skinny jeans I’m wearing and solidify my fear this may have been a mistake. Who wears a sweater over their shoulders to an Italian restaurant?
Remembering my manners, I stand to greet him, “Hi, Marcus.” I lean forward and give him an awkward side hug.
“Sorry I’m late. There’s no valet around here and I had to park myself, so it took me a bit longer.”
Nodding like I sympathize with him, I move to sit back down.
“Wait. Do you mind if I sit there? I prefer to sit at the left side of the table.”
Freezing, I look at him to see if he’s joking, because surely, he must be. Judging by the hopeful expression on his face, I realize he’s serious. “Oh, of course.” I move to the other side and inwardly cringe when he hands me my jacket that was draped on the back of the chair I was sitting at.
Once he’s settled, Marcus glances at the table. “Don’t they usually bring out breadsticks or something to munch on while we wait to order?” He scoffs.
Oh boy. I have a feeling I’m going to kill Mara for this. I hope he remembers that I work in food service. You can learn an awful lot about a person by the way they treat staff.
Before I can answer, our waiter comes around the corner and gives me a knowing smile. Mara and I come here sometimes with our friend Cora, and Mateo is our favorite staff member. He’s younger, probably around nineteen, but his parents own the restaurant, and he’s saving up for college. We like to sit in his section and tip him well. I remember those broke college kid days all too well.
“Oh good. Service,” Marcus begins, his eyes moving over the menu. “Can we get a bottle of red wine to start and calamari. I’ll have your mussels and my date will have a salad with the dressing on the side.”
Mateo’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t say anything. We’ve been here enough that he knows I have a shellfish allergy; plus, we’ve talked at length about my feelings on red wine. My go-to is the rigatoni vodka because everyone knows that carbs are a girl’s best friend.
“Actually—” I start.
“It’s fine,” Marcus interrupts. “I’ve got you covered, babe.”
Babe? This son of a?—
“If I may,” Mateo interjects. “Miss Mila usually enjoys adifferent kind of meal.”
I watch the expression on Marcus’ face turn from disbelief to anger. “I think I know what my date enjoys, kid. You can run along and put in that order.”
And now I’m done.Giving Mateo an apologetic look, he winks at me, then heads to the back without another word.
Turning toward Marcus, I take a deep breath before I start yelling. I am going to kill Mara for this.
“What was the deal with the wink? That kid has a crush on you. ‘Miss Mila usually enjoys a different kind of meal,’” he mocks. “I hope he’s not planning on getting a good tip from me.”
I will not reach across the table and hit him. I will not strike him in a public space. I am not a violent person, I tell myself as he stares at Mateo’s retreating form.
“So, now that we have dinner ordered, let me tell you about this client I had today. The guy was the absolute worst.”
“Would you excuse me a moment?” I interrupt. I need to get away from this table and him. Not waiting for a response, I discretely grab my phone and head to the restroom. On my way there, I glance behind me and see that Marcus has already pulled out his phone, not caring that I’m gone. I need an exit plan, fast.
