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I am his.
And I am his in ways I’ve never been anyone else’s.
I need him to really get that through his head because until he does, we’ll be missing that vital bit of trust between us that’s crucial in making this last forever.
Chapter 8
Tate
“This is the worst service we’ve ever had!” barks the guest at an uncomfortably loud level.
Seems fitting since this is the worst fucking anniversary I’ve ever had.
“My apologies, again, sir.” I fold my hands respectfully behind my back. “I-”
“Look, boy, I know English isn’t your first language, obviously,” he makes an open palm gesture towards me on a sneer, “but perhaps you’ll understand these next words without a problem. I. Want. To. Speak. To. Your. Manager.”
“I-”
“Now.”
Seething inwards slowly starts to seep outward, yet I manage to stuff it down just enough to deliver a clipped, “Yes, sir.”
Spinning on my heels to retrieve the man he’s commanding to see has the racial insult he’s spewing directed at my back rather than my front.
Thankfully, the restaurant is almost empty – due to the time of night – which makes getting from where they’ve set up their crosses to burn to the back office a very quick task. One tap on his open door is all it takes to pull his attention away from whatever he’s working on and over to me. “I’ve got a table requesting to speak with you.”
Cole Shephard, my six foot five, shaggy haired, middled-aged boss who I rarely see have to do anything other than flirt with women at the bar presents me with a puzzled look. “About?”
“Me.”
“You?!” The bewilderment deepens. “You?!”
“Me.”
“Why?”
“My services…,” English words threaten to completely fail me, “are not what they want them to be.”
He gives a confused head tilt. “Why?”
“I’m not…,” the curling of my fingers occurs to stop me from losing the last bit of self-restraint I have, “coño,” is expelled under my breath during the hunt for a more professional phrasing than I want to use, “American enough for them.”
“I see.” He delivers a slow annoyed nod that’s followed by rising to his feet. “They your last table?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and start your closing duties? I can be American enough for them through the free dessert I’m sure they’ll be having.”
A small smile is attempted to be made. “You sure, boss? It’s my table. I can-”
“Not deal with their bullshit for another twenty-five to thirty minutes for the tip we both know they’re not gonna give?” He shakes his head while heading my direction. “Go do your shit, cash out early with Amber.”
I acknowledge the command with a simple nod prior to heading the opposite direction of him.
Thank fuck for small wins.
I seriously needed one tonight.
