Chapter 2 Seventeen!

Becky's POV

“She is joking right!” Jennifer said when I told her all that had happened the previous evening.

I shook my head. “She is dead serious. I tried talking to her this morning, but her mind was made up.”

“But why is she doing this? You are her daughter too.”

“Maybe she is grieving.”

“So are you. You are grieving just as much as Wendy.”

“But I am an adult. Wendy isn’t.”

Jenny snorted. “Grief is grief, no matter the age. He was your dad too. Why is she making your life so hard? What are you going to do now?”

“Get a job, get my own place.”

“In eighteen days?”

“Seventeen!” I said, depressed.

“Don’t you have relatives who could take you in?”

“No. My Dad was an only child. My mom has only her sister, that is where she will be going, and I’m not welcome.”

“I wish it was okay to live with me in the dorm,” she said.

“I will be okay. Like my mom said, I am an adult now.”

“Where would you find a job to pay you enough to get a place of your own in a few days?”

I thought. “I can wait tables, if I get good tips I can earn money quickly.”

“Such jobs are hard to get,” Jenny pointed out.

“How about the Billionaire Club?” I asked.

“No way! It will be easier to run a marathon on one leg than to get a job in that club. It is super exclusive.”

“I can do it. My dad and the manager were good friends. I can use that influence.”

She frowned. “How?”

“I will contact him this afternoon. He may be sympathetic when he realizes who I am.”

“Do you have his number?”

“It will likely be on his social media page.”

“Well, good luck. Let me know how it turns out.”

I need all the luck I can get. I thought.

That afternoon, I went to Mr. Dan's office to see him.

He was very friendly.

“I thought you were at university? He asked.

“I will, probably in the future. But right now, I need a job. Can you get me one at the Billionaire Club?”

“Yes, we need a waitress at the club, but can you do the job?” He asked me. “Have you worked as a waitress before?”

“No,” I admitted. “But during summer breaks, I used to help my dad at the firm. I am patient and good with people. That’s what I will need as a waitress, right?”

“Normally, yes, but the Billionaire Club is a little different. Most of the customers are rich jerks, sorry to say so, but that is the reality, you are pretty young, you might not have the patience to handle them.”

“I will. No matter how annoying they get, I'll keep my temper. Please, Mr. Dan, I need this job.”

After much deliberation, he agreed to give me a trial.

“Okay, I will give you the job. Let’s see how it goes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I think it will be best that I assigned you to the bar section. It’s not as busy as the restaurant, so it will be easier for you. But believe me, you won’t find the job that easy.”

“I understand. I will do my best, I promise. Thank you.”

Finally, everything will be okay. I thought, pleased.

***

“Table fifteen needs attention, Becky, be quick about it,” Ben, the head waiter, said impatiently.

“On it,” I answered, swaying into action.

I hurried over to take the order of the four men sitting at the table.

“Gin and tonic, all round,” a short bearded man ordered for his companions and himself, “be quick about it.”

“Yes sir.”

I rushed over to the bar to get their order.

“Becky, table eleven is waiting?” Ben rolled his eyes, “be quick about it.”

Be quick about it. That’s all I seem to keep hearing.

I am not a robot, damn it!

“I will be with them in a minute,” I said, biting back the curse I was about to utter.

“Keep calm, you need this job,” I told myself.

I was on day three of the job as a waitress in the Billionaire Club, an exclusive club catering to Rhode Island's wealthiest, and the job was still hard, but Mr. Dan had warned me.

And how right he was! There were ten staff members and a head waiter, with a supervisor to keep us in check. Each person was assigned to five tables. The club policy stated that customers were supposed to receive their order almost immediately, so we were under pressure to avoid any delay. And the most pressure came from dealing with the customers. Mr. Dan hadn’t been exaggerating. 

Some of them were arrogant, rude, bossy and had difficulty keeping their hands to themselves. Many times, I had to restrain myself from screaming, reminding myself I would be fired if I did. 

Then there was Ben, an elderly man who resented me, either because I was so young, or because most of the customers seemed to prefer me to handle their table. He was always trying to catch me making a mistake so he could complain about it. I tried my best to avoid him.

But the job had its upsides. The customers were as generous as they were obnoxious and, in just three days of working, I had made nearly a quarter of my salary in tips. If things kept up, I would be able to get an apartment and even save enough for college. 

I had just taken a vodka martini to table eleven and was on my way back to the bar when he walked in.

I froze mid-step, my heart pounding with excitement as I watched him make his way to a table.

He was definitely a movie star, I thought. There was no other way to explain how a man could be this drop-dead gorgeous.

He was in his mid to late twenties, tall, with golden blonde hair and a well-muscled body that definitely came from exercise. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, and with a white shirt and no tie.  

Am I dreaming, or can a guy be this hot?

“My crush,” Pam, a co-worker said dreamily, as she came to stand beside me.

“Who is he?” I asked. I could hear the desire in my voice.

“Who is he? Do you live under a rock? That is Phillip Dale!”

I have never heard of Phillip Dale, and did not want to embarrass myself by asking more questions.

“Does he come here often?” I asked instead.

“Two or three times a week. Rich and hot, I could give anything to have him,” she said wistfully.

We watched him make his way to a table.

“Please let him sit at my table,” Pam prayed.

Please let him sit in mine. I thought.

My prayers were answered.

“Damn it,” Pam said.

Heart hammering, I rushed over to him. He was reading something on his phone, so I stood waiting. His sexy masculine cologne teased my nostrils. Whatever he was looking at was clearly making him angry and upset. 

“Get me Pinot Noir.” His voice was deep and sexy, my heart fluttered.

“Yes sir.” I hurried to the bar.

“I don’t know why he chose to sit at your table,” Ben grumbled. 

I ignored him. The bartender handed me the wine, and I hurried back to the handsome guy.

He was still busy with his phone. I placed the wine on the table. He glanced at it, frowned, then looked at me. 

My breath was cut. His eyes were emerald green, almost like jewels, deep and piercing. I could have stayed staring into them forever, but right now they were flashing dangerously. 

“What the hell is this? I ordered Pinot Grigio, does this label say Pinot Grigio?” He demanded.

I was puzzled. He had said Pinot Noir, that I was very sure of.

“I am sorry sir, but you asked for Pinot Noir,” I said cautiously.

“I asked for Grigio, does Grigio and Noir sound the same? Or are you trying to make excuses for your incompetence?”

“I am sorry sir.”

“Yes, you should be sorry for your poor service.”

“You are so hot. Why do you have to be a jerk?” I muttered under my breath, making sure I wasn’t heard.

“My error, sir,” I said, worried he would make a scene and attract Ben or the supervisor. “I will change it right away.”

“Leave it,” he said harshly. “Pour it.”

I began pouring the wine into the sparkling glass. His warm breath on my arm was unsettling. My hands shook as I served, the neck of the bottle hitting the glass.

“Can’t you be a little quieter! What the hell is the matter with you?” He demanded angrily.

“You! You are making me lose control!” I said within me.

“I am sorry,” I repeated.

“Enough with the sorry. How hard is it to do your job? Why are you lazy?”

“I am not,” I answered him boldly before thinking.

“Be quiet!” My mind told me.

He sneered. “If you are not, then your dad probably is, that is why he cannot provide for you, and which is why you are here.”

That’s it!

I could see Ben approaching us, but I could not stop myself from the raging storm that was boiling in my chest from this disrespect to my father. 

“I am here because my dad was a hardworking, decent man who taught me the value of hard work,” I told him angrily. “But as for you, your dad never taught you how to be polite and not be an ass.”

His jaw dropped. Ben and everyone within hearing distance stared at me in alarm.

“You idiot! You are fixing to get dismissed!” My mind screamed at me, but I did not care. No one dares insult my dad, I don’t care how rich, hot and sexy they look.

“Are you talking to me?” He seemed more surprised than angry.

“What is going on here?” The supervisor came over to us.

“Uh, oh, now you are in trouble!” My mind jeered.

“She is disrespecting Mr. Dale,” Ben said eagerly, and repeated what I had said.

“Is this true?” The supervisor was alarmed.

“I am sorry sir; I didn’t mean it,” I apologized.

“It is okay,” the handsome dude said, “it’s nothing really.”

I was surprised to hear him say that.

“It is something. On no account do you insult a customer. You know the rules,” my supervisor said.

“I know; I am sorry sir. It won’t happen again,” I said meekly.

“No, it will not. You are fired!”

“What? But I said I am sorry,” I gestured, with my palms opened wide in surprise.

“And I said you are fired,” he repeated, then added, “please leave the premises; you have five minutes to gather your stuff, and get out.” 

“This is not necessary; no harm was done.” Dale seemed anxious for me not to get into any trouble.

“I am sorry sir, but it is. She has violated our policy. She has to leave.”

I was too stunned to say anything. I looked at them. Ben was grinning, the supervisor looked serious, but Dale looked genuinely upset.

I turned and headed for the locker room. Minutes later, I left the Billionaire Club in a daze. As I strolled down the street, a car coming in the opposite direction pulled up to me.

The driver, a young man with straw-colored hair, stuck his head out the window.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

“I am fine,” I answered briefly, not wanting to start a conversation with the stranger.

“Are you sure? Perhaps I can be of help.”

“I said I am fine!” I snapped, and moved on. I was in no mood to be nice. 

All I could think of was I had lost my job and would soon be homeless.