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Chapter1
Sophia
Peoplefrom out of town always assume that since I was born and raised in Los Angeles, my life must be full of the kind of glamour they see in magazines and on TV.
They’re wrong.
Waiting tables is the same anywhere you go. The only difference is that the customers at Rinata, the upscale restaurant where I work, are probably a bit more entitled than the average diner from Arkansas.
The man in front of me was a character actor once. I vaguely recognize him from some movie or other, but I couldn’t tell you his name. I feel like he played an irredeemable asshole in some sort of rom-com, but maybe that’s just because he’s acting like an irredeemable asshole right now.
He rolls his eyes in a furious arc, his steel gray eyebrows bristling. “The soup was cold! How idiotic do you have to be to serve someone likemea hot dishstone fucking cold?Do you know who I am? I could ruin this whole restaurant just like that.”
He snaps his thick fingers, a scowl twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“I do apologize that the gazpacho wasn’t to your liking, sir. I can go ahead and take that off your bill. Is there anything else I can do for you?” I smile sweetly, pretending he’s the most pleasant customer in the world and not an idiot who doesn’t know what gazpacho is.
“You can get me some real goddamn soup is what you can do,” he says with a huff, looking slightly mollified by my apologetic act. “Unbelievable.”
“Right away, sir.”
I give him a quick nod before escaping to the kitchen. No matter how much of an asshole he is, I’m not going to let them him my day. I’ve dealt with worse guys than him, as sad as that is.
Ronnie, the cook, looks up at me with a grin as I lean against the wall and blow out a disbelieving sigh, hugging my serving tray to my chest.
“Rough night, huh?” he calls over, his tone empathetic and mildly amused.
“Eh, about usual. Table seven has requested replacement soup. His gazpacho was cold, and soup is apparently meant to be served hot. Why didn’t we know that?” I reply sarcastically.
Ronnie blinks at me slowly, then throws his head back and laughs. “There’s always one,” he says, still chuckling. “All right, girlie, I’ll get you yourhotpacho.”
I grin at his amusement, then take the next order out into the dining room. Table nine, a four-top, have already finished their appetizers and first round of drinks. I smile and make friendly conversation as I serve their main course, then hurry to refill their drinks. As I return with a tray full of glasses, the asshole starts snapping his fingers at me.
“I’ll be with you in one moment, sir,” I tell him.
“What’s a man got to do to get service around here?” he demands loudly.
Oops, that internal eye roll just about made it to my face. “I’m on my way sir, don’t you worry,” I say, as cheerfully as ever.
“Don’t tell me what to do! Don’t you know who I am?”
I’m tempted as hell to tell him,no, I fucking don’t,but I ignore him instead, turning up the wattage on my smile as I serve the other party. This party includes at least two people I could name without Googling, and two others I recognize as secondary characters. That’s the other entertaining aspect of this job—trying to put names to the faces, and movies to the names. There are plenty of opportunities to practice.
I finish with them and scan my section quickly as I turn back toward the asshole. Everybody seems to be taken care of, although I spot a couple of glasses that will need attention soon. I take a mental note of the tables as I make my way back to him.
“Yes sir, how can I help you?”
“You can bring me my damn soup! You’re servingthem,and you haven’t even solved my problem. By the time you get back to the kitchen, my soup will be cold again! Don’t you take any pride in your work? How do you sleep at night?”
“On my side,” I tell him blithely. “One replacement soup, coming right up.”
He mutters something at my back, but I’m moving too quickly to hear what it is, and I don’t care enough to ask him to repeat himself. Ronnie is placing the heated gazpacho on a plate as I enter the kitchen.
“Doesn’t that ruin the flavor?” I ask with a grimace as I slide the bowl onto a serving tray.
He shoots me a lopsided smile. “That’s why I have two recipes. One to be served properly, and the other for morons like that.”
“You’re a genius, Ronnie.” I chuckle as I spin around to head out of the kitchen.
