Chapter 3: The Beginning
1473 Words
I have a complicated relationship with my workplace.
Some days, it’s actually tolerable being there.
The tips are good, the atmosphere is classy, and most of my coworkers are calm enough to make long shifts bearable.
But most days?
Most days, I hate it.
No one in their right mind could ever love working here.
It’s the kind of restaurant where the lighting is dim, the wine is overpriced, and the customers think snapping their fingers at the waiter is acceptable, humane behavior.
Tonight, however, I hated it more than usual because Harry Michelson had walked in.
He was accompanied by his little bandwagon of equally insufferable business associates or friends, or whatever they are to each other, as usual.
They were all wearing expensive suits, which definitely cost more than some people's four-year college tuition, and the kind of confidence that screamed money, walking into the restaurant like they owned the building.
Harry stood in the middle of the four men.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Even from across the room, he looked intimidating.
The dinner rush had just started, and the restaurant was filled with quiet conversation, clinking glasses, and the clash of silverware on plates.
Lola and I were standing near the host stand, polishing some silverware as we watched them walk in.
“I feel bad for whoever has to cater to them tonight since Ciara’s out,” I whispered to Lola as we both watched them cross the dining room toward their usual table.
Table Ten.
It was the one table permanently reserved for Michelson and his friends.
Lola snorted softly.
“Same,” she said.
She leaned closer to me.
“Remember last time when one of them sent his steak back three times?”
I rolled my eyes.
“How could I forget?”
“Good luck to whichever poor soul gets them tonight, though,” Lola added with a small laugh.
I nodded sympathetically.
“Yeah… good luck to her.”
Those were my famous last words, because not even up to five minutes later, my manager magically appeared beside me.
“Mia,” he said briskly.
“Yes?”
“I need you to take Table Ten tonight.”
My stomach dropped instantly.
Harry’s table.
“What?” I blurted.
He frowned slightly.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” I responded quickly.
Of course, it had to be me.
“Good. Ciara’s not here tonight,” he continued. “And you’re one of our best servers.”
In essence, he meant – you’re the only other server I trust who’s capable of dealing with difficult customers without losing your temper.
“Just keep them happy,” he added before walking away.
I stared after him in disbelief.
Lola slowly turned toward me.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her face filled with empathy.
“Thank you,” I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose as I let out a deep sigh.
She patted my shoulder as I had just received terrible news from a doctor.
“Godspeed, Mia.”
I grabbed my order pad and forced myself to walk toward the table like someone heading to their own execution.
By the time I reached the table, the men were already halfway through their drinks.
I had honestly never encountered any of them personally because I wasn’t their assigned server.
Ciara was, and she’s my best friend, so she tells me about it every time whenever these men frustrate her. So, I automatically hate them by proxy.
I cleared my throat to grab their attention as they were engulfed in whatever conversation they were having.
“Good evening. My name is Mia, and I’ll be your server tonight.”
One of them looked up immediately.
“What happened to Ciara?” he asked with a look of slight confusion on his face.
“She’s out tonight.”
“Ah,” he replied.
Another man leaned back in his chair, studying me quietly. His gaze was sharp, observant.
Then Harry spoke.
“Hello, Mia.”
His voice was smooth but carried a strange edge of amusement.
“Hello,” I glanced at him briefly. “Can I take your orders?” I continued, my eyes looking at each of them in anticipation of their responses.
“Relax,” he said. “We’re not that scary.”
“Speak for yourself, Adrian,” Harry replied.
That was Adrian. His brother.
The quiet man still hadn’t said anything, but he hadn’t looked away from me either.
“Steak,” Harry finally said.
I wrote it down quickly.
Thankfully, the rest of the process of taking their orders went by quickly.
I brought their food. Checked in twice.
No complaints.
So far, dealing with them was going smoothly.
Until it wasn’t.
I brought the bill, and the second it touched the table, Harry frowned.
“Why would you bring this to me?”
I blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Why would you bring the bill to me? Weren’t you told that it’s usually sent to my office?” he said sharply.
The entire table went quiet. Heat crept up my neck.
I was mad. Livid.
Yet I couldn’t do anything other than stand there and take it as he belittled me in front of the entire restaurant.
This. This is why I hate my job.
“I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t informed of that,” I began apologizing.
Adrian sighed softly.
“Harry-”
Harry ignored him.
“This is why I prefer experienced staff.”
My fingers tightened around my order pad.
Before I could respond, the quiet man finally spoke.
“I think she handled it fine.”
His voice was calm, almost as if he was amused.
Harry shot him a look.
“And I think you should stay out of it, Luca.”
Luca.
So that was his name.
He gave a small shrug, but his eyes stayed on me.
Like he was watching an interesting show.
Harry shoved the bill toward me.
“Fix it.”
I picked it up silently and walked away before I said something that would definitely get me fired.
By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted and mostly annoyed.
I was still replaying Harry’s condescending tone in my head, which ws exactly why I ended up walking into the bar across the street instead of going straight home.
I slid onto a stool at the counter.
“One whiskey,” I told the bartender.
I had just taken my first sip when a familiar voice spoke beside me.
“Rough night?”
I turned and nearly choked on my drink.
Harry Michelson was sitting two stools away.
Alone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
He smirked slightly.
“I could say the same.”
I turned back to my drink.
“Don’t you have another waitress to bully somewhere?”
He chuckled softly.
“You’re still mad about that?”
“You humiliated me in front of an entire restaurant.”
“You humiliated yourself by doing something you should have known better about.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Oh, please. Your ego must be exhausting to live with.”His eyes narrowed.
“And your attitude must make keeping a job difficult.”
“Funny,” I shot back. “I was just thinking the same thing about rich men who think the world revolves around them.”
The bartender placed another drink in front of Harry.
Neither of us said anything for a moment. Then he took a sip.
“So,” he said calmly, “why are you here?”
“Because I needed a drink.”
“And yet here you are… still arguing with me.
“Trust me,” I said. “This isn’t my first choice either.”
To my surprise, he laughed. Actually laughed.
It changed his face completely.
For the next hour, we argued about everything.
Money. Privilege. Work.
Every conversation somehow turned into another challenge.
Another sarcastic remark. Another drink.
Somewhere around the fourth drink, the tension between us changed.
It was still sharp, but it wasn’t just anger anymore.
Harry leaned closer.
“You’re different from the women I usually meet,” he said quietly.
“Let me guess,” I replied. “Because I don’t worship your bank account?”
His mouth curved slightly.
“Exactly.”
I should have walked away then. Instead, I stayed.
And the next thing I knew, his hand brushed mine on the bar.
The touch sent a strange spark through me.
“You’re a terrible idea,” I muttered.
His voice dropped lower.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
Before I could stop myself, I nodded.
And suddenly, that was the beginning of the biggest mistake of my life.
- Writer
