Chapter 5 #3
Sara’s eyes kept darting between us like she was watching a particularly confusing tennis match. “So, Lan,” she said, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation, “you work here full-time?”
“Part-time,” I corrected, trying to sound like a functioning adult instead of someone currently hyperaware of every point where Jaxson’s body touched mine. “Between classes and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life.”
“Social life?” Bree snorted, taking a sip of her water. “Is that what we’re calling hiding in the library every time someone asks you out?”
“I do not hide—” I started to protest, but Jaxson’s grip on my shoulder tightened slightly, his body tensing beside me.
“People ask you out?” he asked, his tone deceptively light, though something darker lurked beneath the surface.
“No one important,” Bree answered before I could, her eyes twinkling with unholy glee. “Though there was that one guy last week—the one with the motorcycle and the tattoos who kept coming in just to sit in your section.”
“Bree!” I hissed, feeling the temperature drop around Jaxson. “Don’t you have literally anywhere else to be?”
“Nope!” she chirped. “I’m exactly where I need to be. Front-row seats to the best show in town.”
“So,” Sara cut in, clearly done with Bree’s matchmaking theatre, “it must be… challenging, working as a server.”
The way she said ‘server’ made it sound like I’d chosen to become a professional gum scraper or maybe someone who cleans portable toilets for a living. “It has its moments,” I replied, matching her condescension with practiced politeness.
“The rent in this area must be impossible to manage on such a salary,” she said, her tone dripping with faux concern as she stirred her drink with a delicate motion. “Have you considered moving somewhere more… suitable for your income level?”
I nearly choked on my drink. Was she really trying to real-estate-shame me in the middle of a restaurant?
“Actually,” Jaxson cut in smoothly, his voice taking on that professional edge that meant someone had crossed a line, “Lan lives with me and our brothers.”
The look on Sara’s face was priceless, like someone had just told her Gucci was going out of business and all designer items would henceforth be made of recycled plastic bags. “You… live together?”
“Have for ten years now,” Jaxson confirmed, his arm still casually draped around my shoulders like it belonged there. “Family tradition.”
I turned to Jaxson, trying to change the subject before Sara’s eyebrows disappeared completely into her hairline.
“Speaking of family, what brought you two here tonight? I mean, there are about fifty higher-rated restaurants within walking distance.” A beat.
“Actually, no there aren’t—Eleanor would never allow it—but you know what I mean. ”
“Because you’re working here,” Jaxson said bluntly, his eyes never leaving mine, “and I don’t trust half the customers not to harass you.”
My drink went down the wrong pipe, sending me into a coughing fit. Perfect timing, really. Very dignified. Nothing says “mature adult” quite like choking on soda while your gorgeous stepbrother watches in amusement in one of Manhattan’s finest dining rooms.
Jaxson’s hand was instantly on my back, rubbing gentle circles that really weren’t helping my composure. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I wheezed, wondering if it was possible to die from embarrassment. “Just… fine.”
“Harassing him?” Sara’s voice could have cut diamonds. “You make it sound like he’s being mobbed by fans rather than serving customers.”
“Oh honey,” Bree drawled, her smile sweet enough to cause diabetes, “you’d be surprised how persistent people can be. Our Lan here has a fan club that would put K-pop stars to shame—and trust me, they’re not here for the tasting menu.”
I felt Jaxson shift beside me, his posture straightening almost imperceptibly. His arm, still draped around my shoulders, tightened just enough that I noticed.
“To that degree?” Sara said, looking me up and down like she was reassessing her initial impression.
“I understand appreciating an attractive server, but leaving phone numbers and stalking his section seems rather excessive.” She gave me a dismissive once-over like I was last season’s Prada. “Even with his… distinctive features.”
Jaxson’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly along his cheekbone. “How many?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual. “These admirers.”
Bree’s eyes lit up, clearly delighted by his reaction.
“My, my,” she continued, practically glowing with mischief, “just last week, three different customers asked for his number. And that’s not counting the ones who leave their numbers on napkins or receipts.
” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “We have a running bet in the kitchen on how many phone numbers he’ll collect in a shift. My record is twelve.”
“Twelve?” Jaxson repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave. His fingers drummed a restless pattern against my shoulder, each tap sending little jolts through my system.
I wanted to sink through the floor. “Bree, please stop talking,” I muttered, but she was on a roll.
“Oh, and there was that one guy who kept coming in every day for two weeks straight, ordering the cheapest thing on the menu just to sit in Lan’s section. He left a hundred-dollar tip each time.”
“What guy?” Jaxson asked sharply, his casual demeanor slipping. “Does he still come in?”
Before Bree could answer and make things worse, Sara cut in, her expression souring as she watched Jaxson’s increasingly obvious concern. Her eyes darted between us, narrowing slightly as she tapped her manicured nail against her glass like she was conducting an orchestra of judgment.
“So what you’re saying,” she said, her voice dripping with insinuation, “is that your friend here attracts an unusual amount of attention despite his position.” Her gaze swept over me again, this time more calculating.
“That makes me wonder if perhaps he’s doing something to encourage it?
Some people do enjoy the attention, after all.
” Her smile could have curdled milk. “What’s that American saying?
If you’re not paying for the meal, you’re probably on the menu? ”
The restaurant noise faded to a dull roar in my ears. Did she really just go there? In what alternate universe did simply existing while doing my job count as asking for harassment?