4. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Kaitlyn
If working at Wilder, Hawkings, and Grant is like trudging through the desert with a sixty-pound pack on your back and zero sunscreen, then working at Elliot’s is a refreshing float in a perfectly cool swimming pool, with a cocktail in one hand and the smuttiest of novels in the other. It’s a damn breeze, and I am grateful for the reprieve.
“Happy Saturday, my dear. Did you get some rest after the brunch push?” Elliot Amato says when I walk in through the back entrance, just before the dinner seating begins.
I came to eat here, at this restaurant, during one of my first trips to New York. I was with one of my best friends, we were starving and wandered in and ended up having some of the best Italian food to ever exist. Elliot, the owner, was here and I fell in love with him in all of his grandfatherly glory. He’s absolutely delightful, so when I came to see if they needed any help on their extra busy days, mostly so I could be surrounded by the positivity this place exudes, but the extra money from tips certainly helps, he said yes without a second thought.
“Si, Padrino.” I call him the Italian word for godfather. He’s a father to me when I need one here, my father approves of his care and compassion for me, and more than that, I think my mother sent him to watch over me when no one else was here to do it. “I napped in the sun on my couch for an hour. It was glorious. Now I’m ready to go again.”
“I don’t know how you do it, mio caro. I tell you every time I see you that you work too much.”
“When I’m here, it hardly feels like work.” I plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “Where do you want me tonight?”
“Ah, you make this place brighter, trust me,” he says. “We are expecting a full house tonight, so if you could manage the dining room with Katarina? She will take the left side by the kitchen, you will take the right side, by the window.”
“You got it, boss,” I reply with a smile. He hates when I call him that.
“Ehh.” He waves me off before heading back to work in the office.
I head through the kitchen, saying hello to a couple of the line cooks, who are already hard at work preparing for the last service of the night, and put my bag into one of the small cubbies in the back corner designated for our belongings.
I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, adjust the white apron I’ve tied around my waist, and pull out a small mirror to touch up the slight bit of makeup I’m wearing. I applied my signature red lipstick before I came in. It makes me feel powerful, and thankfully, the uniform for Elliot’s doesn’t require foot-destroying stilettos.
Katarina pops her head on my shoulder in my mirror view. “Hey, girl. I can’t believe you’re working a double again.”
“I wish people would stop making me feel like I’ve got horns growing out of my head because I like being here.”
“Meow. I was just giving you a hard time. Did you recalculate your retirement from Elliot’s after the morning tips?”
“I’m never going to retire. I’m going to be a lifer, just like you.”
Kat’s eyes grow wide. “I can’t be doing this forever. I need to book a show. This audition drought is real.”
Kat has dreamed of Broadway since she was five. I don’t know why she’s not working at one of those singing diners instead. Her voice is so powerful and beautiful, she could shatter glass if she tried.
“Your time is coming. I feel it. Just keep putting yourself out there. Don’t hold back.”
“Me? Never.”
The dinner service is steady and keeps me on my toes.
Elliot’s isn’t the fanciest place in the world, but it’s certainly a staple on this side of the city. We see everyone from politicians to celebrities to the husband and wife, who have lived around the corner for twenty-five years. When you walk through these doors, you belong here.
The table by the window ordered a bottle of merlot and while I’ve certainly opened many bottles of wine in my day, this damn cork is giving me a run for my money.
“Come on,” I say through gritted teeth. “Just come out.”
“Need me to get that for you?” Kat asks.
“Oh my God. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This brand always gives me fits.”
“Here, give it to me. For table ten, right? Take the suit brigade at table twenty for me. I’ve got this. Apparently, they’re popular because there is some asshole with a camera posted up outside, trying to get a shot of them. I’m not suitable for photographs.”
“Suit brigade?” I laugh. “That’s a new one.”
“It sounds better than tightwad assholes with accents.”
If I’d been sipping on my emergency water at the time, tables two and three would have been drenched. “What are you on today? I can’t with you.”
“I’m high on life. I’ll give you half my tips if you can somehow get the business card of that perfectly dark-skinned stunner. He should be in a museum, he’s so perfect.”
“Consider it a deal, but you keep your tips. I’ve got this,” I say confidently.
I peek around the corner to get a glimpse of what I’m going to be dealing with. I freeze momentarily because she wasn’t kidding about the man with a camera at the window, or the definite eye candy waiting to be served.
There are four men at a table, two of which seem a bit older and on the stuffy side, but the other two look like they waltzed off the pages of GQ and into Elliot’s.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
The cork on the wine bottle finally pops, thanks to Katarina. “God, I’m good.” She giggles. “I know, right? Aren’t they perfect? They look like they have deep pockets too, so get your pretty ass out there and earn those tips.” She swats me on the ass and I shriek.
I take a deep breath and leave the comfort of the server’s home base. The closer I get, the more I can hear the conversation. It’s a mix of New York, Boston, and British accents. The one Kat is interested in is as stunning as she claimed and definitely British. He’s in head-to-toe black. The only color he has anywhere is the gold around his neck, on his finger, and the watch on his wrist. His skin looks like it’s softer than mine. Good choice, Kat.
The two older gentlemen are definitely American. I can spot an American suit from twenty paces. The last seat has their back to me. He’s got some definite swag to him. Only a man who really is confident could pull off a chocolate-brown tweed suit.
I approach the side of the table and take a moment to meet each of their gazes as I introduce myself.
“Good evening, everyone. My name is Kaitlyn, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”
The two Americans at the table greet me in return, but Mr. Tweed Suit doesn’t say anything to me. He only stares in my direction with the clearest hazel eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. His hair is perfectly trimmed and styled in that way that looks messy, yet perfectly in place, and when you add in the bit of facial hair he’s sporting, he’s so gorgeous he should be considered dangerous.
“Have any of you dined with us before?” I ask, the one wearing black is the first to chime in.
“I’m not sure about the lads on the other side of the table, but I can safely say my mate and I are first-timers at this lovely establishment.”
“Well, I’m certainly happy I get to be your first,” I say then stop. “I mean.” I clear my throat. “Wow. How about we start with some drinks? I’ll have some glasses of water in a second, but we have a lovely wine cellar and plenty of spirits…” I trail off and look back to the man in the brown suit. He’s still staring at me, but this time there’s the smallest smile floating across his lips.
“Which taste do you prefer?” he asks.
That simple question makes me think we’re no longer talking about the wine list. “I’m sorry?”
“Tell me what you’d want and we’ll start there.”
Now I know it’s innuendo. I’ve been hit on so many times while working that if I’d had a dollar for every time it happened, my student loans and my nephew’s college fund would be full and then some. I think that, and the patriarchal bullshit I endure regularly at the office, is where my aversion to men in suits comes from. Now it might have a subset that includes British accents.
“I think it depends on which type of evening you have planned. If you’d prefer a nice pairing with dinner, we have a vintage cabernet that is very popular. If you want to settle in for the evening and relax with your meal, our bartender makes a variety of cocktails and keeps a few bottles of extremely aged whiskey for special guests.”
“Do you consider us special guests?” Mr. Tweed Suit asks, sitting back in his chair casually with his arm draped across the back.
There’s something about him I can’t put my finger on, but he makes me… completely aware. I love and hate it.
“How about I grab those glasses of water and I’ll bring back a bottle of cabernet? Then if you’re extra nice to me,” I tease them, “I’ll see about glasses of whiskey from his secret stash as an after-dinner drink.”
“If you insist we make it that far. What do you say, gents? Should we stretch our business to include beyond the appetizer? I have a feeling dessert could get interesting.”
The bravado on this man is times ten. With a quick nod of my head, I retreat to the kitchen for a deep breath. “So, did you get it? You seemed to have their undivided attention.” Kat smiles with hope.
I laugh. “Not yet. I have a feeling the tweed member of the suit brigade is the next man I’m going to have to burst his bubble. He went from ice to fire in the span of a few seconds.”
“What do you mean? Was he rude?”
“Absolutely not. He led with what I consider typical British airs. I mean, I’ve seen my brother-in-law do it a thousand times with people he doesn’t know. However, once he bothered to see I was a real human, a switch flipped.”
Katarina pulls Elliot in with her arm around his shoulder. “Do you need us to handle him?”
Elliot looks down at Katarina, completely confused. “What are you two playing at? Torna al lavoro. Go. Go.”
“Nah. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, I have the jeweled taser my brother-in-law insists I carry ready to go.”
Griffin
My mind is hardly on the task at hand. I’m finding myself just a bit distracted, looking over my shoulder, searching for our server, Kaitlyn. There was a spark in her eyes. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m intrigued.
“Don’t you agree, Griffin?” Tobias says, pulling me from my thoughts and back into the here and now.
“Hmm?” I ask him. “Oh.” I clear my throat then tap my fingers on the table. “Absolutely, yes. I agree.”
“I don’t know, gentlemen,” Oliver Jameson starts. “I’d hate to see a piece of property that has been in my family for three decades turned into an outlet mall, or whatever it is you’re planning to do.”
My father has been eyeing a large stretch of property in upstate New York for years. He wants to buy it, sell it off in pieces… tripling any profit he makes on the deal. The biggest hang up. Oliver Jameson.
“I assure you, Oliver. It won’t end up as an outlet mall. That’s not an endeavor we’d entertain.”
“Forgive me if I don’t trust your word,” Oliver says gruffly.
I can audibly hear the depth of breath from Tobias, whose stature has straightened. He knows one of the buttons you don’t press where I’m concerned is challenging my integrity. I may have the title playboy in some circles, but it will never be something that will allow that hole in my armor.
“No. I don’t think I would forgive you if you didn’t trust my word. My record should and will speak for itself. Do we want your property? Absolutely. However, Mr. Jameson, I will not obtain it at any cost. I know from reviewing this deal from all sides, you need us infinitely more. The market isn’t as it once was. This cash infusion of capital from the sale would see a couple generations of your family keep your business running. Would it not?”
I can see his lips purse as my words sink in, but we’re interrupted by Kaitlyn with a tray of water in very nice, thick crystal glasses and a bottle of wine in tow.
“Here we are, gentlemen.” She carefully places each glass in front of us with delicate precision.
“Thank you, dear,” Oliver tells her, seemingly relieved that, for the moment, he doesn’t have to respond to my question. No man wants to admit they are in financial struggles and are in the very depths of depending on another to stay above water.
“It’s my pleasure.”
I angle my body slightly toward her and meet her eyes again. “Hello again, Kaitlyn.”
She looks down at me, acknowledging she heard me, but offering little else than a polite nod. “This red should pair with most everything on the menu. Are you ready to order now or should I give you more time?”
I dive in before anyone else can offer their opinions. “The gentleman here,” I motion with my head to Tobias, whose confused gaze I can feel boring a hole into the side of my head, “he’d indicated to me on the flight over that you have a four-course event the chef plans for each weekend. Since the conversation here could take a while, I think we’d be happy with that selection.”
She wrinkles her nose just a bit before placing her hand on her hip. “I rarely see anyone ordering for the entire table anymore. Aren’t you concerned about potential allergies or preferences these other men may have?”
She stares straight back at me with an intensity that tells me exactly where she’d like me to shove that four-course selection.
“As I’ve known Tobias here most of my life, and this restaurant was their suggestion,” I point to Oliver and his partner, who has barely spoken this entire meeting, “I think they’ll be all right.”
“Is that true?” she tries to confirm.
“Isn’t the customer always right?” I ask.
Kaitlyn gives me a smile that has my favorite curse word, along with either the word off or you, close behind. “Absolutely. Just to confirm, everyone’s good and doesn’t need any alternatives?”
I hear a stifled chuckle from my right. Prick. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” Tobias gleefully responds. Less cheerful acknowledgements come from our other tablemates before Kaitlyn takes her leave.
Tobias leans in. “Mate, she’s got your number.”
I lean in as well. “You think I didn’t notice?”
The conversation stays on business all throughout our meal. Kaitlyn comes and goes occasionally, making sure we have everything we need. I have to admit though, my attention is being split between the chatter at hand while watching her out of the corner of my eye. She smiles at each customer she encounters, making sure that everything is to their liking. It’s abundantly clear she is beloved in this establishment.
Kaitlyn crosses paths with the host, who seats an older man in a corner booth with a younger woman across from him. He’s wearing a scowl on his face similar to the one I tend to feel on mine. I don’t have to hear his voice or words to know he was rude the moment Kaitlyn walked up to greet them.
“Tobias, Griffin, if you don’t mind,” Oliver says. “Mitch and I are going to step outside for a bit of air and a private conversation. You’ve given us a lot to consider.”
I hear their statement, but seemingly don’t care. The only thing I can focus on is the scene in front of me. I finally snap out of it when Tobias cracks me on the side of my knee with the back of his hand. “Are you trying to blow this? Get your head out of where I know it is and back to the matter at hand.”
“You’re starting to sound like my father.”
“Bugger off. You’re on this trip to sort his demands. How long do you think the list will be if you screw this deal up?”
“That old fucker is being an ass to her and she’s taking it.”
“Mate, she took shit from you too. Like a champ, I may add. I know she’s completely your type, but in case you can’t tell, she’s not impressed with you.”
“I’ve barely spoken to her. You can’t possibly know that yet.”
“Griff, if there is one thing I know, almost better than anything else, it’s women, and that woman is not impressed at all.”
I glance back over to the table with that old asshole. Just as Kaitlyn places a drink in front of him, he takes a drink then instantly pulls a disgusted face, as if she presented him with dirty dishwater in a glass.
For the first time, he raises his voice loud enough for myself and the entire dining room to hear. “Do you need to have your ears cleaned, lady?” he says, pointing a finger at her. “I clearly said I didn’t want…”
I don’t even hear what his complaint is because I’m on my feet the instant he shoves that pudgy finger into her face. I catch the eyes of the owner as I brush past him to offer my assistance. Gently, I surprise Kaitlyn at her side by taking her wrist with my fingers. The scent of her perfume and hair washes over me, momentarily pausing my mission from taking this man out in public.
“Not only do you owe the lady an apology, but the entire dining room. I suggest you find your words carefully and quickly.”
“Who are you? The polite police? This girl couldn’t even get the vintage right.”
My proper manners disintegrate into a growl kept only for a bar fight. “So, I suppose you think speaking to her in any manner other than civil society would demand, will gain you anything? The lady deserves an apology. I won’t ask again.”
Kaitlyn gasps and rips her wrist out of my grasp. “Are you insane?” she whispers with wide eyes. “I don’t need you to waltz over here and defend me like I’m some helpless maiden.” She leans around me, grabbing the man’s drink from the table but doesn’t say a single word to him before she tries to walk away from the table. I follow close behind.
“He deserved to have his attitude corrected,” I whisper back, as she whirls around to face me.
“Just because you obviously have money and a fancy suit doesn’t mean you get to walk in here, be just as rude as him to me, then try to step up as some kind of knight in shining armor. I’m a big girl. I don’t need help.”
“What? No, I wasn’t—”
She holds her hands up, effectively silencing me. “Stop.” She turns back around, walking quickly around the corner into the employees only area. I stop short because following her in would only make me seem a bit more insane than I already look.
I wait for a moment, then glance over my shoulder and see Tobias back at our table looking incredibly confused, so I make my way back over and sink down into my chair.
“What the hell was that?” Tobias asks.
“He was being an arsehole to her. I couldn’t just sit here and let it happen.”
He shakes his head and laughs, lifting his glass for another drink. “Always trying to be a hero.”
A few moments later, our tablemates return and a brand-new server comes to bring us the bill. I pull out my black card, handing it over to her without saying anything.
I don’t see Kaitlyn again until we’re gathering our belongings to leave. She bolts out of the back area and through the front doors. She meets my eyes for a split second before she accidentally shoulder checks the paparazzi, waiting for me to leave, and slips into the back of a yellow taxicab.