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.”
“They can take their tip and shove it up their asses, for all I care,” I said with the brightest smile on my face.
She laughed, shaking her head.
I took the drinks over to them and placed them down on the table. “Here you go, guys.”
“It’s about fucking time,” Mrs Douche grumbled. She took a sip and her face morphed into disgust. She slammed the cup back down, the liquid sloshing out all over the table. “I said three sugars. Three! What, are you deaf? How hard is it to make a proper cup of coffee? Take it away and get it right. Where’s our food?”
I stared at her, my eyes glazing over with a deadly rage. I didn’t even try to hide the look taking over my face. It was the look I had right before I killed someone. Oh, there were so many things sitting on that table I could use to do just that. A knife. A fork. I could smash the coffee cup and use a shard of it to slice her throat from ear to ear.
Mrs Douche swallowed nervously and lowered her gaze.
That’s right, bitch. I’m the Alpha here.
“I will go find out about your food,” I said slowly.
“Th-thank you,” she grumbled, still avoiding my eyes.
Maybe the look on my face told her I was definitely capable of killing her without blinking an eye, and now she was worried about pissing me off even further. Good.
I ducked into the kitchen to ask Jeffery how long until my orders were ready. He said only a few more minutes, so I used that time to clean the display cabinet that held all the freshly-baked pastries, muffins and cakes.
The café wasn’t busy. Apart from Mr and Mrs Douche, there were only three other customers, all being handled by other waitstaff.
A ding rang through the air. “Order up,” Jeffery barked, placing two plates of food under the heated lamps of the pass. I checked them over, making sure they were definitely my orders before taking them over to my customers. Neither one of them said a word to me when I placed their food down onto the table.
As their server, I was aware of the fact that I was meant to re-confirm their orders, but I wasn’t sure exactly what would come out of my mouth, so I chose to say nothing.
Belinda was finishing up serving someone at the register when I was making my way back behind the counter. “Did you threaten her? She’s as white as a ghost.”
“Who? Mrs Douche?” The smile on Belinda’s face told me she wouldn’t be angry if I did. That, in fact, she would find it quite amusing. “Not with words.”
Her green eyes sparkled. “You gave her ‘resting bitch’ face didn’t you?”
“No. I gave her my ‘I’m going to kill you’ face.”
She laughed, not taking my words seriously, even though I was being dead honest. “That’s probably going to cost you your tip.”
“I couldn’t care less,” I admitted. “She’s just lucky I didn’t stab her in the throat.”
She laughed again, her smile slowly fading away when I didn’t laugh along with her. “You’re…joking, right?”
“Nope.”
The rest of the customers I had for the day were pleasant and kind. They didn’t bring out that angry, murderous side of me, so that was a win in my book.
My highest tip of the day was $7.64. My lowest was $0.50, courtesy of Mr and Mrs Douche. In total I got $54.17. My brain ran rampant, trying to figure out how I was going to pay for everything I needed to pay for if I was only going to make $50 in tips a day. Making it on my own was going to be harder than I thought.
I got along with all the other workers, Belinda in particular. We talked shit and joked about random stuff all shift, which helped make the time go by quicker. She had no problem putting on her “boss bitch” cap whenever she needed to, separating personal from professional. It was a trait I definitely admired.
As much as I hated the “serving customers” aspect of the job, I was quite enjoying myself. Granted, it was just the first day. But still, I liked it. This was my first job, and it felt good to finally do something other than shop and watch TV. Yeah, I was working towards my fashion line. But I’d never actually worked a day in my life before, held a proper job. I’d never earned my own money or provided for myself.
So even though my feet were sore, my shoes were dirty, I had food in my hair and was completely covered in sticky sweat, I felt great.
“You did a good job today,” Belinda said, taking off her apron and popping it into her bag.
It was now 3 p.m., and we’d both just finished for the day. The staff room was overrun with chatter as the workers coming in to start the afternoon shift changed into their uniforms. Lockers slammed open and shut. Shoes squeaked across the floor. Greetings and farewells were exchanged. It was all a bit too much, really, like a sensory overload.
“Even though it was just a trial run, I can pretty much guarantee you’ve got the job. You’re hard working and a fast learner; two qualities I always look for in staff.”
An anxious weight that had been smothering me all day lifted off my chest. I didn’t want to have to look for another job. This one was perfect. In walking distance from campus, nice co-workers and pleasant atmosphere. Shitty customers excluded.
“Thank you.”
“I can offer you three shifts a week to start off with, and then we’ll see where we go from there?” She began to undress, taking off her work shirt and skirt.
“Sounds good. I don’t have my class schedule yet, but once I do I’ll let you know my days.”
“Perfect.” She slipped into a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top. “Aren’t you going to get changed? If you’re shy, there’s a rest room just through there.”
I was the furthest thing from shy. “Honest opinion, how do I look right now?”
She let her hair down and ran her fingers through it, shaking it out. “You sure you want an honest opinion? I’ve been told I can be pretty blunt.”
“Give it to me.”
“You look like a dog’s breakfast. Your hair is a frizzy mess. Your make-up is smudged. You’ve got flour on your face, which absolutely baffles me because you didn’t cook a damn thing today. So how did it get there? And your clothes are covered in food stains.”
I laughed, shaking my head in amusement at her words. “Perfect.”
Nikolai found the idea of me getting a job laughable. Yes, he told me he was proud of me, that he believed in me. But I knew what he was thinking, what he’d never voice. He didn’t think I could actually do it and stick with it. I wanted him to see me after a hard day’s work with nothing but a smile on my face.
Belinda frowned, opening her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted by a man with short, teal blue hair bursting into the staff room.
“Come quick,” he panted heavily. “Level five McHottie at the front counter.”
“Level five?” Belinda scoffed. “There’s never been a level five here before.”
“Well, now there is,” he insisted. His eyes flicked to me. “Hey, new girl.”
“This is Darren,” Belinda introduced, flowing to her feet. “He’s the afternoon manager.”
“Introductions later! You have to come check this guy out before he leaves. I damn near fainted, coming through the door.”
Belinda rolled her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. Level fives never come in this shithole. Level four, maybe. But not—oh my god.” Her eyes widened as she peeked through the small gap of the staff room door, staring out into the shop. “He is a Level five.”
“Okay, is someone going to fill me in here?” I asked, watching them both salivate over this mystery man sitting in the café.
“A Level five is the hottest a person can be on our scale,” Belinda said, not even looking back at me. “To be a Level five, he’s got to be tall—”
“Dark-haired—” Darren continued.
“Muscly—” Belinda cut back in.
“Have that dangerous, bad boy vibe—”
“Gorgeous eyes—”
“Classic book boyfriend,” Darren finished.
They ping-ponged back and forth between each other like they were each reading a line from a list only they knew.
“Yes! Perfect description. Oh, shit. Here comes Desiree. You better get out there and shoot your shot before she gets her sticky paws all over him,” Belinda said, nudging Darren with her elbow.
“We don’t even know if he’s gay.” He began to fix his hair anyway, preparing himself.
Sick of not being involved in whatever the fuck was going on right now, I hiked up onto my tippy toes so I could peak over their heads and see this mysterious Level five. I internally rolled my eyes. Of course.
“He’s not gay.”
Darren glanced over his shoulder at me. “And how could you possibly know that, new girl?”
“The name is Tatiana.”
“Oh, how rude of me,” he stated in a snarky tone.
“Don’t be an ass, Darren. We like her,” Belinda said, winking at me.
“Okay, fine. Tatiana, care to explain how you know Level five isn’t gay? It’s not something you can tell just by looking at someone.”
“Very true.” I went back to my locker and picked up my handbag, draping it over my shoulder. “His name is Nikolai, and he’s my ex.”
Their jaws dropped open.
“Your-your ex?!” Darren gasped. “You lucky son of a bitch. How could you let go of a piece of prime rib like that?”
Those familiar feelings of resentment started to creep their way back into me, like they did every time I thought about our past. But that feeling was quickly replaced by anger when Belinda spoke.
“Oh, shit. Desiree is going in for the kiss.”
