15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Tatiana Andreeva
“S o, you think you’re ready to serve your first customer?”
I put on a fake smile as I looked at Belinda, the woman who was training me at Rise and Grind cafe, trying to act more excited than I actually was.
I had the worst sleep I’d had in a long, long time the night before.
I was a big, hot, fucking mess. Pent up from all of the sexual activities of our strip poker game with absolutely no relief.
Believe me, I’d tried.
After Nikolai left me sitting naked on that table—something I never envisioned him doing—I retreated back to the safety of my bedroom.
He had every right to stop things before they went any further.
I couldn’t offer him what he wanted, even though the more time I spent with him, the more my cold heart thawed.
Despite the fact that I grew closer and closer to forgiving him for what happened, I still couldn’t bring myself to trust him again.
To trust that he would be there for me when I needed him.
To depend on him. I wasn’t sure I ever would.
I’d taken a cold shower in the hope that it would quell the burning arousal our game had caused. It didn’t do shit. I went to bed as horny as a man who’d just taken a boatload of Viagra.
In the morning, we acted like the entire thing didn’t happen, avoiding the subject like the plague and going about our day as usual.
We made small talk that wasn’t the least bit awkward, despite what happened the night prior.
He told me about his plans to check out prospective clients for the Bratva, and I told him about how much I was looking forward to my first trial shift at the café.
We took a quick tour of the grounds at FIT so I could get a feel of the campus. I was surprised he wanted to come with me, to be honest. I really didn’t think it’d be his thing. But he followed me around like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
He showed interest in everything I pointed out, everything I was excited by. He asked me question after question, even though fashion was not something he was even remotely interested in.
Regardless of the fact that he was extremely well off, he dressed plainly—usually in black or greys—and very casual.
He wasn’t the type to give a shit about labels, designer clothing.
If it fit, he wore it. Plain and simple.
His clothes were more for practicality than aesthetics.
It didn’t always work out that way, though.
He looked good in everything he wore regardless.
After we’d done a few laps of campus and peeked into some of the lectures, he walked me across the street to the café with the promise that he’d be back in the afternoon to pick me up when my shift was over.
I’d then spent the day learning the ins and outs of the café from Belinda.
I learnt how to make coffee (which I was shit at) and how to work the register (which I was shit at).
And I learnt how to carry a tray properly, so I didn’t spill the drinks or food (which I was actually good at. I had perfect balance).
They were all mundane tasks I’d never really done before. But I had the will and determination to fine-tune those skills, because I hated being bad at something. It was the perfectionist in me.
The café was a boujee little place with lots of high-end furnishings and beautiful décor.
The tables were set up nicely in a certain order that soothed that slightly chaotic part of my mind.
Scents of coffee, chocolate and freshly-baked pastries filled the air.
There was a certain calmness and relaxation to it that instantly welcomed and enveloped you.
It made you feel like you were at home, surrounded by the people you loved.
The truth of it was, I kinda liked the place.
It was the whole “serving people” aspect that was getting on my fucking nerves.
The customers I’d seen come through so far majored in asshole-ry.
There were a couple of nice ones, sure. But ninety percent of them were uppity little douchebags who thought being nice was something waitstaff didn’t deserve.
And the worst part of it? The waitstaff just took it, letting people speak to and treat them like trash because they were afraid of losing their tips or their job.
That was something I was really going to struggle with.
Calling people out when they were being dickheads was something I thoroughly enjoyed.
Belinda nudged me playfully, a smile on her heart-shaped lips. She was the manager of the café, and the one who interviewed me before the trial shift started.
She was definitely my kind of vibe: young, but kind of a hardass, funny, flirty, quick-witted. Her sense of humor matched mine to a tee. She was dressed in the same black uniform as me, an apron tied around her waist. She had beautiful dark skin and long, flowing dark hair.
“Come on, you’ve gotta serve someone eventually,” she joked, pouring a cup of coffee and placing it on a tray. She passed it off to another waitress before turning back to me. “Why don’t you try that couple in the corner booth over there? They look nice.”
Her twat radar must be off because they definitely did not look nice. I clocked them the second they walked in. He was arrogant and obnoxious, and she was rude and bitchy.
“Maybe not.” I knew my limits. There would be no stopping me if they treated me like absolute shit. I’d cut a bitch.
“Well, too bad. You don’t get to pick your customers. Go,” she said sternly, pointing a finger. I groaned, picking up one of the tablets we used to place the orders and making my way over to them.
“Hello, my name is Tatiana. I’ll be serving you today.” Mr Douche looked at me with seedy eyes. It made my skin fucking crawl. “Did you want to start off with any drinks?”
“I want a caramel latte. Cream and three sugars,” Mrs Douche demanded. Because please is too fucking hard to say. “And two slices of avocado toast.”
“No problem.” I put her order into the tablet and sent it back to the kitchen. “And for you?”
“Black coffee and a plate of bacon, eggs and sausages. Make it snappy. Last time, you guys took nearly ten minutes to bring out my food.”
Yeah, because it takes time to cook it, asshole. It doesn’t just appear out of thin air you slimy, big-nosed, pimply faced—
“I’ll see if we can put a rush on that for you. If you need anything else, let me know.” I took their menus and went back to the counter, the fake smile slipping from my face the moment I turned around.
Belinda gave me an encouraging smile as she wiped down the surface of the front counter. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You did great. Now, I’m going to get their drink orders done. Can you go clean down tables three and twelve? Remember my saying?”
“If you have time to lean, you have time to clean. And it’s actually Sheldon Cooper’s saying.”
She raised her brows. “Fellow Big Bang fan?”
“That’s putting it mildly. I’m pretty sure I can recite every word of every episode verbatim.”
“You should come to the Trivia Night they’re having at the Smoke and Mirrors Bar in a couple nights.
” She placed two cups under the coffee machine, flicking and twisting different dials.
“They have them once a month, and this month it’s on Big Bang Theory.
Somebody just pulled out of my team and I’ve got a spot free. ”
I frowned. “I’ve never been to a trivia night before.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “Oh my god, now you have to come. They’re so much fun. There’s drinks, mediocre food and a hella competitive atmosphere. Last month, there was almost a fist fight.”
“Really?” I arched a brow, my interest officially peaked. I loved a good old-fashioned fist fight. “Count me in. Just let me know where and when.”
Belinda squealed, jumping up and down. “Yes! Thank you. I didn’t want to go in one team member down. I’m determined to beat Jessica this time.”
“Who’s Jessica?”
She growled. “My nemesis. Her and her team win every month. Every. Goddamn. Month. I’m sick of it. And she’s not gracious about it either. She rubs it in my face and taunts me with it. Once, just once, I want to beat her so I can rub it in her face.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you get your win.”
“I knew me and you were going to get along,” she winked. “Now, go clean down those tables while I finish making these drinks. Please and thank you.”
I gave her a quick salute and then went to do as she asked. I was halfway through the job when I heard the shrill, annoying voice of Mrs Douche.
“Hey!”
I lifted my eyes to her, continuing to wipe the table down. “Yes?”
“I ordered my latte twenty minutes ago. What the fuck is taking so long?”
They weren't even in the café twenty minutes ago.
Lying sack of—
“I’ll go check on that for you,” I pushed out through clenched teeth.
“Well, hurry up.”
I’ll hurry up and smash this chair over your head.
I chose to take the safer option and not say what I was really thinking, heading back to the counter.
“Your face looks downright murderous,” Belinda said, amusement in her eyes.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this job,” I answered honestly. I wasn’t the type to bite my tongue and not say what I was really thinking. If someone was being a rude bitch, I told them they were being a rude fucking bitch. End of story.
Her eyes cut to the clock hanging on the wall and back. “You’ve been here for five hours and served all of two customers.”
“And I was this close to throat punching them,” I said, holding my fingers only a hair's breadth apart. “Seriously, did you hear how rude they were? Commanding me around like I was their fucking servant?”
“People are rude. Especially to waitstaff,” she shrugged, placing two mugs in front of me. “Here’s their drinks. Don’t forget to take it over on a tray and remember to smile. Might help with the tip. You have a pretty smile.”