Chapter 18 Close Calls and Tips
She huffed, glancing up at the nearest camera to be sure that it was on. The subtle glow along the upper rafters set her at ease. The prior employee had taught her how to use the clock-in, clock-out verification, and how to tell when the cameras were off.
“Same.” Lydia huffed. “It’s really shitty that the owner never seems available.”
“From what his assistant told me, he purchased it right before you started.” Riley shrugged. “He probably doesn’t even know that Jason’s such a problem.”
“You are a fountain of information. How’d you meet his assistant?”
“I was here the day it was announced. She said we wouldn’t necessarily meet him, but the owner was very hands-on, so expect surprise audits.”
“When was the last one?”
Riley shrugged. “No idea, but if he’s on the island, especially with the Centurions roaming the island, he’s probably due to stop in. I’d say hint that Jason’s a problem as subtly as possible and hope it sticks.”
“This owner have a name?”
A ding from the kitchen and a stream of items had Riley grabbing two pairs of table baskets and rushing off. She was definitely going to get the name of this guy before the end of the shift.
Lydia grabbed the carafe, poured drinks, and set the baskets down. They needed more time with the menu, so she bused the other tables in her area. She’d just cleared it off and scrubbed a greasy spot on the last dirty table when the hostess directed a group to the booth she had cleaned just moments before.
She shoved the rag in the busing cart and pushed it out of the way before approaching the table.
“Welcome to the Blue Kudu, gentlemen! Have you—“
“Toilet hands also on my beer? No thanks. Get us someone else.”
She stilled and looked at the owner of that voice and into infuriating hazel eyes.
There was no way Dorian fucking Knox was sitting at her table.
Dorian followed Mason and Animkii into the Blue Kudu Bar, feeling out of place as fuck. To be fair, he had elected to slum it in jeans and a t-shirt, knowing he was going out with these two polished and fashionable fucks. Mason wore his clothes like armor even before the crash-and-burn of his relationship, and Animkii moonlighted as a model for a bunch of brands he may or may not have a stake in.
He was prepared to drink himself out of this mood with Animkii and the guys when Animkii had them seated on the nearly empty side of the Bar, furthest from the actual bartender.
“It’s always better to sit in the worst sections,” Animkii said.
“And that’s the furthest from the bar?” Mason asked, running a hand over the table’s surface and looking impressed that it was clean.
“Always.”
When she’d walked over, at first he’d been stunned. Her eyes had a deep topaz and smoke shimmer going on that made them darker and more mysterious above her plain white mask. The neat black t-shirt with an artistic pattern scrawled across the front wasn’t fitted, but it did nothing to hide the swell of her breasts. Her waist, accentuated by the intricate knot of her apron, made it hard to miss the curve of her hips in her jeans or her full, plush thighs.
That fucking maid uniform did her no fucking justice, but he couldn’t be bothered to hit on the help or be tempted to, so he said the snobbiest thing he could think of. A hand slapped him over the back of the head, leaving a heavy sting.
He glared at Animkii. “Ow! What happened to all that no violence crap?”
“Out the window when you’re choosing to be an ass to the staff. You’re so used to the Resort, you don’t realize that pissing off waiters is never a good idea.”
Animkii turned to the help whose badge said ‘Lydia.’
“Ignore him. I’ll make him tip you well for the insult. We’re waiting on a few more people. Is this your section?”
“Most of it is.”
Dorian leaned into Mason. “A grand says I can get her fired.”
“Again."
Dorian blinked and looked at her. “What?”
“Fired again.” She blinked, her tone flat. “Once this morning, and now here, but don’t worry. No hard feelings. And I’ll look for another waiter, but it’ll be a wait.” Her voice smiled, and her eyes crinkled, but there was a bit of malice in her eyes that, unexpectedly, went straight to his cock.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“And why is that?” Dorian asked before he could stop himself. “Every waiter here that incompetent?”
Animkii swatted him again.
“Just the manager,” she said sweetly. “The bar is short-staffed. Only three of us, the bartender and the manager working tonight. Thanks to managerial preferences… Should I find that other waiter?”
“No,” Animkii said, shoving Dorian. “But if you could point out the other waiter for this side?”
She turned and pointed to a thin woman talking to a six-person table. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was dressed the same way Lydia was.
“Her name’s Riley. I’ll send her over. Can I get you all started with drinks?”
Animkii rattled off an order of whiskey sours and a few pitchers of beers along with some appetizers.
“Hope she’s a better waiter than a maid,” Dorian grumbled.
“Hope you’re a better customer than an athlete.”
Mason choked, and Dorian’s whole face burned with embarrassment.
“For the rest of your party.”
Lydia placed a stack of menus on the table and sauntered away. Animkii didn’t bother to smother his laughter. Mason threw his head back and laughed.
“Why are you picking a fight with her?” Animkii shook his head. “She an old flame or something?”
“She’s just a maid,” Dorian grumbled. “And she should be fired.”
“For putting you in your place? You started it. And I was serious about that tip. And you’re paying for being an ass to my staff. Pull yourself together, Knox.”
“You let your staff talk to customers like that?”
“You want princess treatment, go to the Clubhouse. This is a real bar, and I’m not telling my staff to accept disrespect. They’re people, not punching bags for your shit mood.”
“Why are you in such a shit mood?” Mason asked, leaning back in his seat. “You’re only this bad when you’ve seen your father.”
Dorian worked his jaw and said nothing for a moment. When Lydia came back, she set the pitchers in the center of the table, frosted glasses for each of them, and freshly made whiskey sours. Dorian drank his in one go and shoved the cup back to her.
“Make the next one a double.”
“Coming up.”
She sauntered away, and in spite of himself, he watched the sway of her hips. Natural and comfortable, not like the usual attention-seeking, faux-catwalk. He guessed she was at least an eight, maybe a ten—bigger than the two from last night in all the right ways.
Too bad those curls weren’t real.