10. Chapter 10 – Sloane
Chapter 10 – Sloane
I was supposed to be on my couch, elbow deep in pizza sauce and wine, unwinding from the hellish week Tamen Bryce had put me through. Instead, I was in heels, red couture, and jewels that once again didn’t belong to me, walking into a restaurant I’d never even dreamed of getting a table at before.
All because Tamen Bryce said to do it.
He had the pretty gifts delivered to my apartment with a handwritten note of what to do and where to go, according to his instructions.
I really needed to get a handle on the obsession I had with gifts, because it seemed Tamen was onto me and knew my weakness.
Well, my weaknesses—gifts and The Winstonian .
It didn’t hurt that the name of the restaurant alone made my mouth water thanks to the classy reviews I’d been stalking online for months now. So of course, I jumped right up and played puppet to the master, starting with an everything shower that primped my body in ways I only did for paying customers.
In a way, that’s exactly what Tamen Bryce was.
He paid me to be at his disposal, and maybe that was why I fell in line so quickly with him. Though as I primped for him, I wondered if he planned to have me served raw food to give me food poisoning for my outburst last night. It was something I would do to him for revenge.
In my defense, I hadn’t meant to throw the glass at the man. Or even at Val, I would have felt awful if my frenzy had hurt her. I just couldn’t help it, after spending over a week in the man’s presence and fighting the highs and lows of my attraction and my hate for him, constantly in battle. I snapped .
There was an entire documentary named after the act, for Christ’s sake, it made sense. I could see why so many women did it now, too.
So maybe, by me falling in line and showing up at The Winstonian, I could try to make amends. Maybe even let it be my way of trying to be a good girl to get along with my new boss for the betterment of Prism’s success.
“Good evening,” A young hostess greeted me as I walked across the marble foyer, glancing around at the grand specter of it all. “Welcome to The Winstonian, do you have a reservation?”
“I’m meeting someone.” I replied as I got to the desk, “Tamen Bryce.” She scrolled through her computer screen as I glanced around the foyer, looking for the man in question, “I’m not sure if he’s here yet or not.”
“He’s not.” She looked up, “But your table is ready, so I’ll have you seated to wait for him.”
“Thank you.” I said, turning to a young server who appeared out of nowhere, motioning for me to follow him.
As I walked through the restaurant, my skin prickled with how out of place I felt amongst all the rich people I passed. If I was good at anything though, it was playing a part, so I kept my head high and my back straight as I walked through the crowd to a table set for two, seemingly in the middle of the restaurant.
I couldn’t have picked a worse table if I had tried, and as I sat down in the pulled-out chair, it felt as if every eye in the room was on me. As if somehow, everyone knew I didn’t belong with my gifted couture and rainbow hair.
“Can I open a bottle for the table while you wait?” The server asked, and I eyed the limited wine list he handed to me.
It wasn’t as if I was broke, for years now I had been well off enough to stop worrying about money all together. I hardly even looked at my bank statements anymore. But that was because I didn’t spend it on frivolous things.
Like bottles of wine that cost hundreds of dollars. Tamen Bryce picked the place, though, so he could pay the bill.
“I’ll take the Sauvignon.” I handed the menu back to him with a smile.
“Wonderful choice.” The young kid nodded, “It pairs best with our halibut and caper salad.”
When he left, I forced myself to take a deep breath and look around at the other guests. I hated sitting by myself, anywhere but especially in a place like this. I was a single woman living in a bustling city but stayed at home or work most times, ordering food in to avoid situations just like this one.
Unfortunately for me, I also noticed more than one familiar face in the restaurant. The familiar faces were actively trying to avoid eye contact as everyone else was rubbernecking to see the lonely female sitting by herself in the center of their space.
Johns.
Customers from The Den, who hired me or other girls for their sexual enjoyment.
Men who were sitting at sweetheart tables with women their age, wearing giant wedding rings to match their snubby noses as they stared.
My skin burned from how unjust the sex work field was and the stigmas that surrounded it. Men could cheat on their wives, hiring prostitutes to do all kinds of weird and freaky shit to them that their spouses didn’t even know existed, yet when we all stood in polite society, the hired women were the ones to be ostracized.
It pissed me off. And the longer they stared at me, I felt like I could hear their whispered judgements and gossip.
When the server arrived with the bottle, he went through the big show of opening it and pouring it for me before eyeing the empty chair across from me. “Would you like me to wait to pour a second glass?”
“One is fine for now. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“Of course.” The kid gave a tight-lipped smile and backed away as I lifted the glass to my lips and took a cautious sip. I wasn’t a wine connoisseur, but I sure enjoyed the lightness of my choice and went in for another one. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t use the alcohol to keep my lips sealed amidst the judging company tonight.
Slipping my phone from my handbag, I glanced at the time. I was ten minutes late for dinner to begin with, and had been waiting for another ten, making Tamen twenty minutes late to the place he insisted I show up.
When the invite originally showed up, I thought perhaps he was telling me to show up somewhere to fire me for chucking the glass at his face. But the longer I waited, the heavier my stomach felt, a dread settling over me like a thick fog.
Tamen was a bastard; he’d already proven that much to me. As the minute hand on my phone screen clicked by, I couldn’t help but feel like being fired would have been a more merciful option, in his opinion.
Torture was more the man’s style.
Eyes from other diners kept falling on me and my half empty table, lingering on the scene as though they were already casting me out the longer I sat alone in their presence.
With a disregard for proper decorum, I dialed Tamen’s number and hit send. After two rings, his voicemail picked up.
Ignored.
“Bastard.” I hissed under my breath as the server started moving toward my table again. Tilting my head to the side, I cracked my neck and prepared for war. Determined not to be viewed as a victim, I would not let the surrounding snobs see me as one.
I knew what he was about to say.
I knew what Tamen had done.
And I was seething under the red fabric of the clown’s costume I was wearing.
“Miss, I’m so sorry. There’s a strict twenty-minute reservation window. We can only hold a table for so long before we need to give it to customers who are here and ready to eat.”
“Do I not count as a customer? I’m here and ready to eat.” Snapping, I stared up at him, pursing my lips and daring the young twit to challenge me. “I’ll take the menu now.”
“But—” He stammered, looking over to the side where a man in a tux stood overseeing the entire room with a disapproving glare aimed right at me. “Your reservation was for two.”
“Are you refusing to serve me?” I hissed, unbelieving of the situation I was in. Not only did I get stood up, made to look pathetic for Tamen’s enjoyment. But the restaurant was kicking me to the curb as well.
“We are.” The server whispered, probably as uncomfortable as I was. “I’m so sorry.”
“Fine.” I slid my phone back into my purse, intending to leave with my head held high, but when I stood up, the server slid a leather billfold from his pocket and awkwardly held it out for me.
“The bill for the wine.”
“You have to be shitting me, kid.” I seethed, but he simply shrugged. “This is absurd.” Taking the bill from him aggressively, I opened the case and saw the outrageous price of the unenjoyed bottle of wine I stupidly ordered, thinking Tamen would be the one to foot the bill. “Four hundred dollars?”
“It’s one of our mid-level bottles, Miss.”
“Mid-level, my ass.” I fished in my purse and pulled out my credit card, jamming it in his chest. “You have until I make it to the front of the building to run that before I decline the charges.”
He ran away from me like he was afraid I might sprint for the exit out of spite as I adjusted my dress and forced a deep breath into my lungs for my walk of shame after slamming the rest of my glass back.
I was going to murder Tamen Bryce.
As I began my shameful exit, I gripped the wine bottle’s neck bringing it with me and noticed the penguin suited man approaching from the restaurant’s side. I didn’t stop, if he wanted me to stop, he’d have to make me.
“Miss.” He called, as I blew past him, “Miss, you cannot leave with an open bottle of alcohol.”
“Why not?” I argued, raising my voice and drawing even more attention as I spun on him. “I had to buy it, why can I not take it with me?”
“It’s—” He stammered, glancing around at how everyone stared. “Against our policy.” He hissed in a whisper, trying to save face.
“Fuck your policy.” I snapped, tipping the bottle to my lips and taking a large swig.
“Miss,” He flushed, “This is a fine dining establishment, we will not tolerate this behavior from you.”
“What are you going to do?” I chuckled, taking another swig. “Kick me out? Black List me? Stick a poster on your door that says I’m not allowed to come back? Fuck off.”
“Call the police.” He stage whispered to someone, and that was the final straw.
“Ah yes!” I turned to him, raising my voice again. “Call the police to escort the trash that is already leaving, out. How fucking efficient of you.” Flying the bird at him and turning back toward the exit, I made awkward eye contact with a man that fucked a girl at the Den every single week across the restaurant.
Well, when I say fucked, I mean he hired a girl to meet him in a bedroom, tie him down and fuck his ass with a strap on the size of an elephant’s dick. The woman he was dining with sneered my way as I neared their table and I—saw red. “Your husband hires prostitutes at The Vixen’s Den to fuck him like a little bitch.” I sneered on my way, drawing a choking gasp from the man. I pointed out another John across the way and yelled out for everyone else to hear now that the entire restaurant was silent from my first outburst. “This man hires prostitutes young enough to be his granddaughter and makes them cry when he sleeps with them.” Gasps echoed out around the space while I turned and pointed one last one out, “And he likes to be whipped while he wears high heels.” I stopped at the entrance to the foyer and took a dramatic bow, holding my purse and my bottle of wine up in the air. “Have a wonderful evening!”
The man-child server waited by the door for me and shakily handed me my card back as I blew past him. “Do you—” He stammered, following me out onto the street, “Do you work at Vixen’s?” He asked in a hushed tone.
Rolling my eyes, I turned sharply on him. “I work at Prism.” With a sharp crack of disdain, I rocked the bottle to my lips, the liquid’s bitter taste a fleeting comfort. “And someday I’m going to fucking own it.”
“Wow.” He breathed, “Would it be okay if I—”
I cut him off and turned away toward the busy street where my hired car was no longer parked, obviously. “Don’t you dare show up there and request me.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Fuck this place and everyone in it!” I yelled, raising both fists into the air as I walked down the dark sidewalk in the chilly evening air.
And fuck Tamen Bryce for being a weak man who needed to make me feel small, to make himself feel bigger. I’d show him just how pathetically small he really was.