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“So what did they teach you?” he asked in that smooth growl. “What did you learn?”
I blushed.
“Well, they taught me about emergency landings,” I said slowly. “How to inflate the life vest. How to direct panicked passengers to the nearest exit, that kind of thing.”
He nodded thoughtfully, steepling his hands.
“What else?” that low voice rumbled.
I fumbled. This was weird. Really weird. But I had no choice but to go with it. Maybe they evaluated all the new girls this way, doing a pop quiz to test our knowledge.
“They taught us how to lay out silverware,” I said slowly. “The knives facing inwards, bread on the left, and drinks on the right.”
The billionaire nodded thoughtfully.
“Getting closer,” came that smooth drawl. “And what else? What else relating to silverware?”
Was he fishing for something? I stared at that big form momentarily, but then caught myself. The first rule of service is that the customer is always right. So no matter how weird this was, I had to respond.
“They taught me how to serve,” I said slowly. “How to open the tray table gracefully, how to place each dish in the right place so that it makes for a harmonious presentation of food.”
“Good,” he drawled. “Very good. I see that you had elite training, the kind reserved for the best of the best.”
I nodded. That was true. During flight school, they’d pulled a couple of us aside for extended classes. I hadn’t realized it was for the best of the best, I’d thought it was because I was clumsy. But thinking back, maybe that had been wrong. Maybe it was because those girls showed promise and the ability to deliver a higher class of service?
Who knew? I was so mixed up at this point.
But Mr. Dawson wasn’t confused at all.
“So what else did they teach you about serving?” he drawled again.
My cheeks colored, mouth opening momentarily.
But I couldn’t think of anything to say. So following the golden rule, I blurted the only thing that popped into mind.
“The customer is always right,” was my blurted reply. “Always.”
And with that, those blue eyes flashed.
“Exactly sweetheart,” Mr. Dawson complimented. “I can see that you were a good student. And now let’s put those skills to use.”
My mouth opened and closed once more without sound, like a fish out of water.
“I’m sorry?” came my flabbergasted voice. “How? What- what should I do?”
And the gleam in his eyes hardened.
“Serve them to me,” he commanded.
I looked around. The only thing I could possibly serve was the nuts.
“Th-this sir?” I stammered, gesturing to the ceramic ramekin. “This?”
He smiled lazily, that big form relaxed.
“That’s it exactly,” he drawled.
But how? What was I supposed to do? Feed them to him?
