A Very Fake Play (Very Much in Love #1)

Chapter 1

Accidentally-on-purpose

Harley

Desperation is a cruel taskmaster and right now, she’s whipping my ass.

You can’t be picky when you’re sinking.

I repeat the mantra in my head as I approach table fifteen, weaving past a coworker while balancing a large tray laden with freshly made lunches.

Dread twists my gut with each step.

This is the third time this month I’ve had to deal with this table of condescending suits during the busy lunch hour, but Mr. Asswipe takes the cake.

I inhale a deep breath.

You got this.

I force a smile and place suit number one’s dish in front of him. I do the same for suit number two, suit number three, and Mr. Asswipe. As I turn to place suit number five’s tagliatelle with bolognese sauce in front of him, a hand brushes against my ass.

I heave a sharp breath.

Careful not to drop the plate of pasta on suit number five’s lap, I don’t make any abrupt move. I turn to face Mr. Asswipe and narrow my gaze at him.

“Oops. I’m sorry.” He smirks. “You were so close, it’s like my hand has a mind of its own.”

I stare him down.

You need this job, Harl.

Don’t hit the patron upside his head with your tray.

Deep breath in, one, two, three, four, five. Out, one, two, three, four, five.

I swallow the dozens of vitriolic insults I’d like to throw in his stupid face. “Enjoy your lunch.” My gaze bounces to the other four men. “Buon Appetito!”

Thank you drops from their lips.

Mr. Asswipe winks at me.

Fuck this. I don’t get paid enough to deal with morons like this guy. “I didn’t say anything when you accidentally-on-purpose touched my ass, so now you’re doubling your efforts to catch my attention.”

He shrugs. “I asked for your number, you said no. I offered to pick you up after your shift, you turned me down. I suggested I give you my number, that fell on deaf ears. I’m a great catch, you know.” An oily smile spreads across his face.

His buddies snicker.

A great catch for venereal diseases, I’m sure.

Manwhore is stamped on your forehead.

Not taking no for an answer seems to be this guy’s MO.

I place the tray in front of me, as a shield. “Good for you.”

“Come on. One date, Harley.”

I hate that the idiot knows my name because it’s pinned to my chest.

“My response remains the same as when you asked me out the last two times you were here. No, thanks.” Not in this lifetime, or the next, or the one after that.

“I’ll show you a good time.” His eyes drop to his crotch. “We’ll redefine why New York is the city that never sleeps… if you know what I mean.”

I’d rather plunge both hands in the deep fryer in the kitchen. I shake my head.

“You’re breaking my heart.”

Time to put an end to this idiocy. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go check up on my other tables.”

I ready myself to turn around, but a hand grabs my wrist.

I lower my eyes to the hairy fingers before lifting my gaze to shoot daggers at the man who thinks he has the right to touch me. “Let. Go.”

“Dude, let it go,” suit number three says.

Suit number one nods. “What he said.”

“I can’t, guys.” Mr. Asswipe places his other hand over his heart and flutters his eyelashes at me. “I’m in love.”

And I’m about to barf. “Let go, or I’ll get my manager.”

A devilish glee flickers in his hazel-brown eyes. “Your boss and I are real good friends…” The implication hangs in the air.

I yank my wrist away from his iron grip. The momentum sends me stumbling backwards and into someone.

“Crap,” the person says.

I glance over my shoulder in time to witness a coworker holding a tray weighed down with plates of food lose her balance. A loud clang booms in the dining area as a clutter of dishes hit the floor before tomato sauce splashes everywhere.

My gaze drops to my uniform.

My white shirt resembles a poor man’s Jackson Pollock painting.

A woman lets out a piercing scream that makes my blood run cold.

Patrons gasp.

I turn around.

My eyes meet horrified blue ones and my mouth drops open.

The woman’s white suit is covered in spaghetti bolognese.

Fuck my life.