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Edward rubs his hand together like a cartoon villain, his thick brows rising in a sinister grin. “I’m upping the stakes on this one and if your idea is as brilliant as you say it is, then you simply cannot lose,” he teases.
“Anytime you’re ready,” I tell him, tired of his games. “You’ve been going on and on without actually saying anything of any-”
"If you can get her to actually marry you then I’m all in," Ed announces.
I look across at him and throw back my drink, finishing it in one gulp. I reach across the desk and shake his hand.
“Then get your tux pressed and ready, Ed. In a few weeks, I’m getting married,” I say confidently.
8
Cassidy
It’s been a few days since I last saw Ethan. He hasn’t come to the club, called, or anything. It’s exactly what I thought it would be, what I guarded my heart against. And I guess I’m okay with it.
It’s pouring outside and me and my tiny umbrella are dodging the rain and gusts of wind when a car right outside the club sends a spray of dirty water flying my way. I’m soaked with a whole shift ahead of me and nothing to change into. My only saving grace is my black slacks and no stains on my white shirt.
“Cassidy? Thank God,” my manager says as soon as I walk through the door. “We’ve got three waitresses off sick and it's going to be a busy night,” he sighs, throwing my apron at me.
He’s not wrong. The dining room is fuller than I have ever seen it before and so is the bar. There must be some sort of billionaire’s convention by the looks of it.
I move quickly between the dining area and the kitchen, swerving to avoid tables and chairs being pulled out suddenly in front of me. Engulfed in the chaos, I bring several dinners to the wrong guests and get countless drinks mixed up before my break.
In the staff locker room I stand staring at myself in the mirror and wonder how I’m going to make it to the end of my shift.
“Cassidy, we need you, it's Bedlam out there,” my manager calls from the open door.
I drag myself out and paste a smile on my face. It isn’t the patrons fault we’re understaffed and having a crazy day, right?
Three hours in and just as the kitchen is about to close I walk out carrying the last bowl of piping hot tomato pasta made especially for Edward’s date for the night. A tall, slender blonde, she might have looked elegant in the beginning of the night, but now she is teetering and loud and obviously had too much to drink. I walk up to their table balancing the hot pasta on a tray and she shoots up to her feet, dumping the entire bowl of pasta onto my shirt.
“Oh my God!” I scream, and not for the first time in the weeks I have been working at the club all eyes are on me.
“Oops!” the woman giggles and starts to clumsily dab at me with a napkin.
“It’s okay, I’ll take it from here,” my manager says, sweeping in from nowhere. “You can go home now, Cassidy. I’m really sorry.”
The tears pool in my eyes as I slouch back into the staff room. There is nothing I can do to save this shirt so I pull my hoodie on over the mess and walk out dabbing at my eyes.
I take a deep breath finally out of view from everyone who witnessed the incident and see Ethan.
He’s leaning against a stretch limo with the biggest bunch of star lilies I’ve ever seen.
“Hi, beautiful,” he smiles.
Even after an awful evening at work, his smile is contagious. I find myself smiling back and feel the tears running down my face.
“Hi,” I croak.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” he asks, folding me into his arms.
I pull back, not wanting the pasta sauce on my shirt to seep through onto his suit.
“Rough day?” he asks, stepping back trying to mask his dejection.
“I’m covered in pasta sauce,” I laugh through the tears. “Hot date?” I ask, taking in his outfit.
“I’m here for you,” he says simply.
