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I bit my lip and told myself to stop wondering about my new handsome boss because that could lead to very dangerous things—one being unemployment.
When Brad and Mason bickered or Mary and Sarah started up to annoy each other, Charles silenced them with a few words. When he spoke, there was an authority in his tone that made everyone listen.
“Daddy,” Mary whined, “where’s the food? I’m hungry.”
Charles tipped up Mary’s chin. “Soon.”
“I can’t believe the service right now. Usually, it’s impeccable but not today,” Mason added. “We’ve been waiting over an hour for our food. This is a little bit ridiculous.”
“Mason, dear”—Patty patted his hand on top of the table—“patience. And it seems like it’s a busier night than normal.”
My eyes made it around the room, to the packed restaurant beyond the glass doors. Every table was occupied.
A good while later, the two waiters held two large, circular trays as they entered. When they placed our plates in front of us, my mouth watered as the spices from the steak filtered through my senses.
It had been a good long while since I’d had a steak, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a steak at a restaurant.
When my knife cut into the juicy, tender meat, I frowned. The meat was practically breathing, red and medium rare, if that. I had asked for it to be medium.
“Yeah, that won’t do. I think it’s still half-alive,” Brad peeped up beside me.
“It’s fine.” I could eat the potatoes and vegetables, but boy, did I want a steak. I didn’t want to make a fuss.
Charles’s eyes flitted my way and back to my steak. The muscle in his jaw twitched, but he stayed quiet.
When the waiter came to drop off more food, Charles lifted a finger to get his attention. He motioned to my plate. “Her steak is rare. She ordered it medium.”
The poor waiter lowered his gaze, already grabbing the plate. “I’ll have it up to the kitchen in no time.”
“When can we expect it back?” Charles asked.
The waiter shrugged and teetered back on his heels. “Honestly, sir, we’re kind of backed up. I’d say, ten or fifteen minutes.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “That won’t do. Set it down.”
The waiter grimaced. “Are you sure?”
Charles pointed to the table. “Set it down.”
The waiter did as he had been told, most likely at the seriousness in Charles’s voice.
“Becky, you can have my steak.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”
When he reached for my plate, I took the other side. We both stood, the table between us, playing tug-of-war on a plate of raw steak.
“Just eat mine. It’s a perfect medium.”
“No, really, I can deal. That’s your steak.” My face warmed. I hated everyone’s eyes on me. I did better in the corner, unnoticed.
“Becky …” The tone he used was one he’d used on the waiter and the children, but one thing I did not do was bow down when I was being pressured.
“Charles, it’s fine,” I said, equally as curt. I was feeling the heat of everyone’s gaze on us and trying not to let it get to me.
“Children, there is no need to fight in this fine establishment,” Brad said, reaching for the plate between us, plucking it out of our hands, and replacing mine with Charles’s. “Now, we can all eat.”
My face flushed even deeper, my whole body feeling like it was sweating. “It’s really okay, Brad,” I said.
