Chapter Three

Maddie was literally dead on her two feet.

Andrea, one of the waitresses came down with flu that afternoon, and she had to substitute. Then Rache, the flighty blond that waitressed the night shift, had a "special dinner" with her boyfriend, and she couldn't cancel because she believed "he just might propose." Even though they had only been seeing each other for three weeks.

In simple words, Maddie had been on her feet since seven in the morning. She was sweaty, tired, incapable of producing a sentence that consisted of more than four to five words, and had no patience for snotty customers — hence the reason why she had walked out on the voluptuous brunette who with a shrill voice had made her displeasure about their "soggy fries" and "too oily" hamburgers known.

Times like this, she wished she had a social life. Even a teensy tiny one. But, alas, her life consisted of working to make ends meet, caring for her father, and taking college classes online.

The good part is that she was getting more money. Bruce always added to the pay of anyone that substituted, while alternately docking the pay of the one who was absent. Though she didn't like the idea of docking the pay of someone who is unavoidably absent like Andrea, who was she to complain? Not when each increase pushed her plan to get her own apartment forward.

She slapped the new order on the work slab. "Get more workers, Brute." Brute was what she called Bruce whenever she wanted to push his buttons.

Frazzled Joe, Bruce's kitchen assistant, picked up the paper and began filling out the order.

"It's not your place to tell me what to do, girl."

How she hated when he called her girl. The only other person that called her girl was her father, and it was always in derision. And, please, she had literally had enough of her father, she didn't need to be reminded of him when she was out of the house.

"The fact that you are working us," she waved at Joe and herself, "to the bone doesn't qualify me?"

Bruce shot her a "are you kidding me?" look.

"I don't mind the money."

Bruce snorted.

"But at least get another kitchen assistant. And a busboy"

"I hear the bell. Stop yapping and put that mouth of yours to what I'm paying you for."

Rolling her eyes, she flashed a sympathetic look at Joe, picked up the filled order and stepped out.

She served the waiting customer and turned to the new one, and stopped short.

Of course, dead-drop gorgeous hotshot had to come when she was looking like a mess. Spotting the redhead beauty seated across him, Maddie mentally chided herself.

Harmless flirtation at their first meeting was one thing. Mentally primping at the second sight of him was another thing, one that was totally unwelcomed.

Did she really think he would notice her? A mere waitress who couldn't control her mouth and her life? What in God's name was she thinking?

She threw her shoulders back, tipped her lips in a polite smile and walked to their table. "Good evening."

Hotshot lifted blue eyes at her. Holy moly, they were even more disarming than she had imagined.

Focus, Madeline. He's with his girl. And that girl is not you. She looked away from him to the Redhead. "What would you like to order?"

Drew smiled and rattled his order. Redhead took a longer time before finally settling for salad.

Maddie almost snorted. Of course, she would go for salad.

Maddie served their order, refilled waiting mugs with coffee and somehow couldn't keep her eyes off hotshot and his date.

He looked miserable. Like he was so not having a good time. She couldn't blame him. If Redhead was her date, she would have pled an headache. The lady hadn't stopped talking. It would be better if the subject of her conversations was something other than the latest tidbits on celebrities.

Drew caught her eyes. He made a face and mouthed, "help."

Her lips twitched but she turned away. She would not succumb to his charms. Except … she looked back again. He really looked like he was in need of help.

Feeling impish, she tore a sheet out of her notebook, scribbled on it, and folded it into a square. She walked up to his table. She stretched the folded paper to him. "Excuse me sir, I think this belongs to you."

He stared at the paper, then back at her, his eyes asking what she was up too, and she wondered if he was going to call her bluff.