Chapter 3

• I placed the wine bottle on the table along with two wine glasses as I shook myself out of the little haze I found myself in. I fixed my eyes on a little stain on the tablecloth as I spoke. “It’s not 2018.” I admitted.
• “No?” It was the gray-eyed man that spoke this time, his tone unreadable, though there was amusement there… or maybe judgement. I couldn’t tell and it irked me even more. Rich men always spoke like they owned time.
• “No.” I breathed, trying to avoid snapping. “It’s…” I leaned down and squinted at the label of the bottle. “Red. It’s red wine.”
• The other man laughed and I could see he was laughing with his entire body from my peripheral. It didn’t sound cruel, just plain amusement. “She’s honest too. I like her.”
• I paused for a second before I walked off, refusing to hear anything else they had to say. As I dipped into the back and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I think about the way he said it and how I saw the gray-eyed man smirk before I left their table but I force myself to push it aside again for another hour—which would be the time left for my shift for this ridiculously demanding job to end. Barry gave me a thumbs up from the kitchen window as I made my way out again to the tables that requested for refills. I ignored him.
• My night wasn’t supposed to include run-ins with annoyingly attractive men who ordered wine like they were born in vineyards and looked at me as if I was… ‘worth inspecting’.
• While I waited the tables that requested refills, someone’s toddler was actively screaming like a banshee in a high chair and the cook had burned food again. The restaurant was not so much a restaurant as it was a dingy diner that was located not too far from the highway that led to the more populated parts of New York city. And it wasn’t too far from my apartment. It was a diner that wasn’t really frequented by people like Mr. gray eyes and Mr. blue eyes. So it was understandable why that sort of pissed me off.
• I made my way after a while, back to their table with their check in my hand, tight-lipped. I was the one that had to deal with that screaming toddler when her parents refused to.
• They had requested for their check not more than two minutes ago when I was more than ready to rip my apron off my waist and head home. And maybe hopefully never come back in here but I knew I wasn’t so lucky.
• With the last form of patience I could muster, I slid their check on the table with the same polite smile I’d used over a hundred times today. “Here you go. Thanks for dining with us.”
• They gray-eyed man looked it, then up at me, clearly amused about something I wasn’t aware of. “You didn’t even try to upsell desert.”
• “I figured the service was sweet enough.” I said flatly. My feet were throbbing and my shirt was clinging to my back from sweat. Not to even talk about the fact that I already got stiffed on tips twice tonight. I was in no mood for banter.
• His dark brows rose just a little but he still looked entertained. That pissed me off even more.
• “I mean,” I added, not entirely sure why. “If you’d wanted Michelin-star treatment, this probably wasn’t the place to walk into.”
• That was when I saw his friend lean back into his seat, whispering something with a chuckle to himself. Probably calling me rude, but I couldn’t find it in me to actually care.
• “Rough night?” The gray-eyed man asked, his smile growing wider as he did.
• I scoffed. “You could say that.”
• He reached for the check but before he could slide his card in, he said, “Are you always this way with your customers?”
• “Only the ones who act like I should be grateful they blessed me with their attention.”
• Now that got a reaction out of him. His smile faltered for a split second—just a flicker—before he leaned back in his seat as well, almost studying me as though he was trying to get a better read on me. Cute. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.
• I met his eyes head-on, letting the silence at the table do the heavy lifting.
• ‘Your move, golden boy.’
• “And what makes you think I look at you like that?”
• I shrugged, folding my arms. By now, the diner was beginning to clear out. “Experience. You’ve got that ‘I-own-the-building’ energy.” I intentionally let my eyes study him from head to toe—well as far as my eyes could see while he was seated—as I said. “Let me guess—private school, custom suits since you were twelve, thinks minimum wage is a myth?”
• He let out a low laugh that sent shivers down my spine that I forced down. It didn’t sound mocking just even more… impressed? I couldn’t tell and I honestly didn’t care.
• “You don’t know anything about me, sunshine.” He said. A spark in those ashen eyes as he did.
• “I don’t need to. You’re here sitting in a rundown diner at midnight with a four hundred dollar watch and a bored expression. That kind of writes its own story, princess.”
• He didn’t respond right away, though I saw the way his eyes widened a little at the nickname I called him.
• That was when something shifted—like I’d poked at something far deeper than I’d meant to. I finally glanced away, suddenly feeling the weight of my own words and the dirt on my apron.
• I hadn’t meant to pick a fight—at least not really. I just wanted the night to be over.
• I sighed as I reached for the check. “You know what, never mind. I’ll just run this—”
• “Zariah.”
• I froze.
• My name. From his fucking lips.
• I turned to him slowly, my heart stalling in my chest. “How do you know my name?”
• His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Tag, sunshine.”
• I pushed the urge to look down at my chest where my tag was. Damn it, of course it was my tag. I felt heat crawl up my neck. And instead of teasing me, he slid the check back with a sleek black card tucked inside.
• “You’re interesting.” He said, his voice low.
• I didn’t know what to say to that. So I kept quiet and grabbed the check. I turned and made my way swiftly to the register. But I could fucking feel his eyes on me.
• And that was the problem—I was trying so hard to stop it from being significant to me.