Chapter 1: Run In

Becky’s POV 

“Table fifteen needs attention, Becky, be quick about it.” Ben, the head waiter, said impatiently.

“On it,” I answered.

I hurried over to take the order of the four men sitting at the table.

“Gin and tonic all round,” a short bearded man ordered, for his companions and himself, “be quick about it.”

“Yes sir.”

I hurried over to the bar to get their order.

“Becky, table eleven is waiting?” Ben rolled his eyes, “be quick about it.”

Be quick about it. That’s all I seem to keep hearing.

I’m not a robot, damn it!

“I will be with them in a minute.l,” I said, biting back the curse I was about to utter.

Keep calm, you need this job, I told myself.

I was on day three of the job as a waitress in the Billionaire Club, an exclusive club catering to Rhode Island's wealthiest people, and the job was still hard, but Mr. Davis had warned me.

And how right he was! There were ten staff members and a head waiter, with a supervisor to keep us in check. Each person was assigned to five tables. The club policy stated that customers were supposed to receive their order almost immediately, so we were under pressure to avoid any delay. And the most pressure came from dealing with the customers. Mr. Davis hadn’t been exaggerating. 

They were arrogant, rude, bossy and had difficulty keeping their hands to themselves. Many times I had to restrain myself from shouting at them, reminding myself I would be fired if I did. Then there was Ben, an elderly man who resented me, either because I was so young or because most of the customers seemed to prefer me to handle their table. He was always trying to catch me making a mistake so he could complain about it. I tried my best to avoid him.

But the job had its upsides. The customers were as generous as they were obnoxious and, in just three days of working, I had made nearly a quarter of my salary in tips. If things kept up, I would be able to get an apartment and even save enough for college. 

I had just taken a vodka martini to table eleven and was on my way back to the bar when he walked in.

I froze mid-step, my heart pounding with excitement as I watched him make his way to a table.

He was definitely a movie star, I thought. There was no other way to explain how a man could be this drop-dead gorgeous.

He was in his mid to late twenties, tall, with golden blonde hair and a well-muscled body that definitely came from exercise. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and with a white shirt and no tie.  

Am I dreaming, or can a guy be this hot?

“My crush,” Pam, a co-worker, came to stand beside me.

“Who is he?” I asked. I could hear the desire in my voice.

“Who is he? Do you live under a rock? That’s Phillip Dale!”

I have never heard of Phillip Dale, and didn’t want to embarrass myself by asking more questions.

“Does he come here often?” I asked instead.

“Two or three times a week. Rich and hot, I could give anything to have him,” she said wistfully.

We watched him make his way to a table.

“Please let him sit at my table,” Pam prayed.

Please let him sit in mine. I thought.

My prayers were answered.

“Damn it,” Pam said.

Heart hammering, I rushed over to him. He was reading something on his phone, so I stood waiting. His sexy masculine cologne teased my nostrils. Whatever he was looking at was clearly making him angry and upset. 

“Get me Pinot Noir.” His voice was deep and sexy, my heart fluttered.

“Yes sir.” I hurried to the bar.

“I don’t know why he chose to sit at your table,” Ben grumbled. 

I ignored him. The bartender handed me the wine and I hurried back to the handsome guy.

He was still busy with his phone. I placed the wine on the table. He glanced at it, frowned, then looked at me. 

My breath was cut. His eyes were emerald green, almost like jewels, deep and piercing. I could have stayed staring into them forever, but right now they were flashing dangerously. 

“What the hell is this? I ordered Pinot Grigio, does this label say Pinot Grigio?” He demanded.

I was puzzled. He had said Pinot Noir, that I was sure.

“I am sorry sir, but you asked for Pinot Noir,” I said cautiously.

“I asked for Grigio, does Grigio and Noir sound the same? Or are you trying to make excuses for your incompetence?”

“I am sorry sir.”

“Yes, you should be sorry for your poor service.”

You are so hot. Why do you have to be a jerk?

“I am sorry,” I was worried he would make a scene and attract Ben or the supervisor. “I will change it right away.”

“Leave it,” he said harshly. “Pour it.”

I began pouring the wine. His warm breath on my arm was unsettling. My hands shook as I poured, the neck of the bottle hitting the glass.

“Can’t you be a little more quiet! What the hell is the matter with you?” He demanded.

You! You are making me lose control!

“I am sorry,” I repeated.

“Enough with the sorry. How hard is it to do your job? Why are you lazy?”

“I am not,” I answered him boldly before thinking.

Be quiet! My mind told me.

He sneered. “If you are not, then your dad probably is, that is why he can not provide for you, which is why you are here.”

That’s it!

I could see Ben approaching us, but couldn’t stop myself. 

“I am here because my dad was a hardworking, decent man who taught me the value of hard work.” I told him angrily. “But your dad never taught you how to be polite and not an ass.”

His jaw dropped. Ben and everyone within hearing distance stared at me in alarm.

You idiot! You are fixing to get fired! My mind screamed at me, but I didn’t care. No one insults my dad, I don’t care how rich, hot and sexy they look.

“Are you talking to me?” He seemed more surprised than angry.

“What’s going on here?” The supervisor came over to us.

Uh, oh, now you are in trouble.

“She’s insulting Mr. Dale,” Ben said eagerly, and repeated what I had said.

“Is this true?” The supervisor was alarmed.

“I am sorry sir, I didn’t mean it,” I apologized.

“It’s okay,” the handsome dude said, “it’s nothing really.”

I was surprised to hear him say that.

“It is something. On no account do you insult a customer. You know the rules,” my supervisor said.

“I know, I am sorry sir. It won’t happen again,” I said meekly.

“No, it won’t. You are fired!”

“What? But I said I am sorry.” I gestured with my palms opened wide in surprise.

“And I said you are fired,” he repeated, then added, “please leave the premises, you have five minutes.” 

“This isn’t necessary, no harm was done.” Dale seemed anxious for me not to get into any trouble.

“I am sorry sir, but it is. She has violated our policy. She has to leave.”

I was too stunned to say anything. I looked at them. Ben was grinning, the supervisor looked serious, but Dale looked genuinely upset.

I turned and headed for the locker room. Minutes later, I left the Billionaire Club in a daze. As I headed down the street, a car coming in the opposite direction pulled up to me.

The driver, a young man with straw-colored hair, stuck his head out the window.

“Everything okay?” He asked.

“I’m fine,” I answered briefly.

“Are you sure? Perhaps I can help.”

“I’m fine,” I moved on. I was in no mood to be nice. 

All I could think of was I had lost my job and would soon be homeless.

As I walked down the street, I couldn't help but think of my numerous challenges, especially my dad's demise.

***Flashback****

Two weeks earlier…

I stared into space. My dad was gone.

My mom sat beside me. As usual, her attention was focused on Wendy, my little sister. I might have been invisible for all she cared. I looked around the auditorium, most of the mourners were my father’s employees, and a few of his friends. 

He had been an electrical contractor and ran a small firm with around fifty employees. Business had been good, we lived in a modest bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood, and Wendy and I attended good school. Then, in February, all that started to change. 

That day, I came home from school to meet dad clutching his chest.

“Dad, what is it?” I was alarmed.

He stared at me gasping soundlessly.

I immediately knew he was having a heart attack. I called emergency services, then my mother.

I hung up and turned to my father and began performing CPR. Help finally came and he was taken to hospital.

He was wheeled into the ED, while I sat worrying in the waiting room.

Would he be okay? Mom came in. “What happened? Where is he?” 

“A heart attack. He has been taken to the ED,” I explained, getting up to hug her, but she brushed me away and sat down.

“Tell me what happened?” She demanded.

Sighing, I sat beside her and explained everything.

“I am sure he will be okay, mom.” I tried to reassure her by placing my hand on hers. 

She removed her hand in anger, then got up and went to get coffee.

I sighed again. 

I didn’t know why mom hates me. She and dad loved me when I was younger. Maybe because for ten years I’d been their only child. Then Wendy had been born and all that had changed. She had suddenly become hostile and nothing I did was good enough anymore. Wendy was now her favorite. Dad’s attitude never changed. He continued to shower me with love, and we became so close.  

The doctor walked up to me.

“Is he okay? Please tell me he is okay,” I pleaded tearfully.

“He is stable now,” she assured me.

“Was it a heart attack?” I asked.

“Yes, but he is okay now. He was lucky you were there.”

Mom came to join us. “Is my husband going to be okay?” She asked.

The doctor repeated what she had told me, then added, “He will be able to go home in a couple of days.” 

“Can we see him?” my mom asked.

“Sure,” the doctor replied.

My dad looked fine, only tired. He smiled at me. 

“Dad!” I went to hug him. “Thank God you are okay.”

“Thanks to you sweetheart.” He hugged me.

“Leave him to rest,” my mom said harshly.

“It’s okay honey, I’m fine,” my dad told her.

“No, you are not, you work too hard. The doctor says from now on you’ve got to take it easy,” mom told him. “The business will be fine, you’ve got to rest.”

My dad was discharged a few days later but refused to reduce his work load.

In March, he suffered a stroke. He was in hospital for months, then was sent home. Mom looked after him by day and I took over at night. It was hard for me, but I loved my dad and did it gladly. Just when it seemed he was getting better, he suffered another stroke and died on the way to hospital.

I snapped out of my reverie. People at the funeral service were rising. I rose too, and we all went to the graveside.

The tears started up again. I had been crying since my father died, and had thought by now the tears would have all dried up, but I was wrong. I bit my lips and looked around for mom and Wendy. I saw them a few feet away. Mom had an arm around Wendy’s shoulder. I walked over to them hoping to have the other arm around my shoulders, but when I stood close to her, she wrapped both arms around my sister. I felt colder and lonelier than ever.