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Right, this is why we’re angry at him. He’s a dick. He’d caused a scene when Camry had spilled his drink onto his lap. His friend had left to get him a pair of replacement pants, but he’d continued to loom over Camry. I finally intervened when it looked like Camry was on the verge of tears. She’s the pushover out of the both of us, but sometimes I try to let her fight her own battles.
“I washopingshe’d apologize by getting me another drink,” he says, swirling the leftover ice in his cup, looking bored with the conversation.
“Iwas hoping you’d apologize for being a douchebag.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.Don’t say anything else. Don’t say anything else.“It was clearly an accident. Everyone saw Amanda trip Camry.” I continue because I’m on a roll now. “It’s customers like you, sir, who give rich people a bad reputation. You come into restaurants with your bad attitude, expensive suit, pretty face, and inflated self-importance. Then you make employees cry to feed your fragile ego and expect us to kiss your ass.”
Camry gasps and squeezes my hand again, harder this time. A warning that I’m venturing into dangerous territory, but this blowup is a combination of many things. Not just the way he’d spoken to Camry when she’d spilled the scotch on him. It’s the stress of working extra hours to make enough to pay the mortgage and outstanding medical bills this month combined with lack of sleep from staying up even later than usual to finish assignments and stay on top of my coursework and the upcoming anniversary of my mother’s death.
“News flash, buddy, no matter how expensive your suits are or how much you make, you aren’t entitled to a damn thing!” I don’t know when we got this close, but my finger is jammed into his chest, and he’s staring down at me with an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. Something dark and hot. My instincts scream at me to step away from him, like a siren going off in my head, warning me that I’m in danger. His jaw is clenched so hard the muscles in his cheeks jump erratically. I get the feeling he’s struggling to control himself. Holding himself back from lashing out.
Camry tugs me back, and I stumble into her. “I’m—I’m so sorry,” she stammers.
I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to apologize, but she shuts me up with a glare. The man continues to stare at me, though I’m staring at Camry in disbelief.
“I’ll get you a new drink, or p-pay the dry-cleaning bill for your pants. Just—please forgive us.”
“Forget it,” he says. His tone lacks the annoyance from before, but there’s something there. Something that melts into my stomach like hot wax. Something carnal. He hasn’t looked away from me, but the intensity of those storm cloud eyes has my skin heating. “Your friend is ri—”
“What’s going on here?” Henrietta’s grating, high-pitched voice interrupts him.
Camry and I share a nervous glance as the man’s attention settles on the older woman. We turn to her, releasing each other in the process. Since arriving at the restaurant earlier this evening, we could tell that Henrietta rules it with her perfectly manicured fist. Her reputation for firing and blacklisting employees doesn’t help. She’s exactly the kind of beautiful woman Disney would hire to play a villain. Platinum-blond hair, sky-blue eyes, perfectly symmetrical features. If she weren’t close to fifty years old and obviously injecting Botox like it’s a cure-all, she might even be easy on the eyes.
“Nothing,” Camry squeaks. She clears her throat and tries again. “We’ve dealt with it. I was just going to get him another drink—”
Henrietta gasps dramatically when her eyes land on the man’s damp crotch. Her wiry hands cover her mouth. “Oh dear, did they do that?” she asks.
Camry and I narrow our eyes at the faux sympathy in her tone. “I am so sorry. They’re not ours. They’re from a waiting agency the hotel insisted on hiring to help out with the charity event Mr…”
“Emory. Call me Emory,” the man says. His expression has shuttered, his eyes so dark now they’re almost black as he takes in Henrietta.Emory. The name suits him.
“I’m so sorry, Emory. I’m Henrietta. I’m the maître d’. None of my employees would’ve caused such a mess,” she flounces closer to him, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she steps between Camry and me to get to him. “Did none of them offer to clean this up? You can use my office to change, and I’ll deal with them immediately.”
She sends a scalding glare our way, and my knees tremble.
Oh, God. He’s going to tell her about how rude I was. If I get fired from the agency because of her, I’m doomed. I’ll never find another job that tips this well and works with my school schedule. I’ll never make enough to pay the mortgage and mom’s hospital bills this month. I’ll lose the house.
“That won’t be necessary,” Emory says smoothly. He takes a step away from Henrietta, his eyes falling on me briefly before moving back to her.
“Are you sure, Emory?” she asks, pressing herself a little closer, practically purring. My lips curl of their own accord.
Emory raises a single brow at Henrietta’s obvious attempt at flirting with him. “I’m positive,” he counters. “Another of your waitresses tripped Camry. It was an accident.”
My jaw falls open. Camry’s eyes widen. Henrietta pauses.
“Is that so?” She turns skeptical eyes on us as Emory plows on.
“Yeah, she didn’t mean to spill the drink. It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I curse myself for looking down at the way the material of his slacks stretches across the corded muscles of his thighs.
“If anything, track down that other waitress and tell her to grow up.”
Henrietta purses her lips. “You can still come to my—I mean—use my office to change.”
Emory’s eyes narrow. “Is something wrong with the bathroom?”
“Oh, no!” Henrietta backtracks. “Of course not. Nothing’s wrong with—”
“Good. I can change there then,” he cuts in. “I’m sorry, but I upset Camry and… her friend.”
