Page 109 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“He doesn’t have a choice. He owns three businesses, and I usually work in the offices handling the administrative side of things like payroll, inventory, and everything else under the sun. But the man’s a cheapskate, and there’s a revolving door in this place. Which is why I’m working as a waitress, and he’s got to take what he can get.”

Her employer sounds like an ass. “How long have you worked for him?”

“Too long,” Sammy drawls.

“You’re not wrong, honey, but let’s keep that to ourselves, ya hear?”

“Yes,” he says reluctantly.

Her kind eyes find mine again. “I’ve worked for one of his businesses or another for seven years. Started as a waitress and went wherever he needed me.”

“That’s a long time. Why do you stay?”

“I can’t afford not to.”

“Clare,” the cook calls out from the other side of the pass-through to the kitchen. “The delivery guy needs your signature.”

“Can he wait a minute?” she asks with irritation.

“No, I cannot. I’m already late for my next stop,” a man, who I assume is the delivery guy, says from behind the cook.

She turns back to me. “I’m sorry. Can you excuse me for just one minute?”

“Take your time. I’m not in a rush.” I watch her go into the back and have a sharp conversation with the delivery guy and the cook as she signs whatever was so important.

She returns looking a little harried. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. One latte and a half dozen muffins coming up.”

As she goes to fill the order, I’m surprised to see Ben walk into the café. “Hey, man. I thought you had class this morning.”

“I do, but my mom has to take my little brother to the doctor, so I’m covering for her. Don’t worry. I talked to my professor. He’s cool with it.”

Sammy spins around at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Ben!” He runs to Ben and throws his arms around his waist.

“Hey, buddy.” Ben pats his back. “How’s your ear?”

“Hurts like a somebitch.”

Ben looks at him disapprovingly. “What did I tell you about that language, Sammy?”

Sammy hangs his head. “Not to use it.”

“That’s right, little man. And it’s son of a bitch, not somebitch.”

“Can I say that?” Sammy asks excitedly.

“No,” Ben says sternly, and his little brother pouts. “Little man. Do you know who this guy is?” He motions to me, and Sammy shakes his head as their mother returns with my order.

“Hi, honey,” she says.

“Mom, this is the guy I told you about last night. Clay Braden. The quarterback for the Giants.”

Mom? Pieces of Ben’s life are coming together like a puzzle in my head.

“You’re a real live quarterback?” Sammy exclaims. “Can I have your autograph?”

“Sammy,” Clare chides.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’d be happy to give him one.”