His Fake Hired Girlfriend

Chapter4

Anna's POV

"What if he—" She paused her speech as we heard the restaurant door open and strike the wall.

“Anna! Where are you? " I hear a voice shout. Oh no. I knew that voice a bit too well.

We both swiftly proceed to the front of the restaurant and meet face-to-face with James.

“James? What are you doing here? " I ask him gently. The restaurant may be sluggish, but I do still have one customer. I looked over and noticed him staring our way. Oureyes makescontact,ontact, and he swiftly pulls his focus back to his reading.

"Why the heck don't I have my keys back? I instructed you to put them in the mailbox!" He shouts at me, plainly not caring that I am at work.

"I forgot to puthere;;there, I'm sorry. You can't be here right now, James. You need to go. work,""work." I explain quietly.

He does not like this response. His wrath continues to ignite as he puts a finger in my face and yells, "You need to give me my f*****g keys back. It's been long enough." I watched my customer's shoulders stiffen up, but he didn't say anything. I know he was gazing at the two of us, however.

"I don't have them with me! Just qwork right right now! Or else I'm calling the police. You will get your silly keys back. They are of consequence to me whatsoever!" I shouted back, without caring who heard.

My calm attitude towards our discourse rapidly evaporated. The calm attitude doesn't work when it comes to James. He only understands words if they are being screamed at him. This is why communication is so hard with him, and this is why we split up. Well, that is on top of a billion other things.

"f**k you, Anna!" He shouts before walking out of the eatery. He knew I wasn't playing when I claimed I would call the police. I have before, and I surely will again.

Silence filled the restaurant, and I turned to see Sara's compassionate gaze on me. She strolled back to the back room and left me alone with my client. I glance over and notice him staring at me uncomfortably.

"What? The show is concluded. Stop gazing." I snapped at him.

He throws his hands out in surrenIr, " I just want the," hek." He explained.

My countesoftens,oftens and I swiftly proceed to the checkout and pick up his check. It was just a two-dollar tab, and I should simply tell him that it was on the hBut itut, it would result in more uncomfortable talk than what I am prepared for.

I carry his check back over to where he is sitting at the bar and wait for him to get his wallet out. He puts forty bucks onto the table and stands up.

"How do you want this broken up?" I inquire, figuring he needs change for anything else.

"I don't need change. That's a tip." He grins.

"This is a two-dollar order. You handed me forty bucks." I will explain.

"I am well," hee." He answers.

"This is over a thirty-dollar tip.know,"khew." He laughs.

I am looking at him as if he grew a third head. I didn't do anything to serve him. I never checkhim;n him, I never asked him if he needed anything else. I simply left him alone while he read his book. He is leaving me a thirty-eight dollar tip because he feels awful about watching my meeting with James.

"I'm not a charity case." I spat out, flinging the money upon the table.

"I never said you were?" He questioned with bewilderment obvious in his voice.

I watch Sara walk back to the front and gaze at the exchange between me and my client.

"You didn't have to. I don't need your money!" I shout back. Am I overreacting? Yes. Absolutely. Do I care? At this moment, no.

"You know, a lot of people would jus'thank you'nk you and move along." He laughs.

Why the heck is he even laughing?

“Anna, come here. Now." Sara growled, peering at me with serious eyes.

"But, I-"

Anna,"Ashe." She snaps.

I glance behind me to see the client with a raised eyebrow. "Have a nice Labor Day, ladies." He said before sliding out of the door without any additional comment.

"What the f**k was that, Anna?" Sara shouted.

"He handed me a thirty-eight dollar tip because he felt awful! I'm not a f*****g charity case. I don't need money out of sympathy."

"I don't care. He was doing somenice,g nice and you chewed his head off. I believe you simply need to go home," she." She responds.I—"ut I-"

"No. Go home. You are merely under a lot of strain. Give James his dumb keys back, and dump his ass. Then, go and get ready for tonight. You don't want to behave like this when you meet that man tonight. Just go home and concentrate on that, okay? It's insanely slow regardless. I can hold the fort down." She chuckles, telling me that she isn't genuinely upset. "Just text me and tell me how it goes, okay?"

I grumble in defeat and gather my stuff before leaving. Sacorrect;rrect, I have entirely too much on my mind. I need to get my stuff together and concentrate on tonight, or else I truly will have something to worry about.

The journey home had me wondering about everything. How the heck did this ever happen? Why did all of this have to happen to me? I'm too young to be concerned about how I'm going to pay for all of my expenditures for my family. This is not my job. Well, it shouldn't have to be my job. Sadly, it is. I wish I still hmom.y Mom. I wish I still hdad.y Dad. I hoped my sister and I would be enough to keep him going, but we aren't. He never likes to accept it, but I don't believe he wanted kids to begin with.

When I come home I find a text from Dane. It's coming near time for me to be at the barbecue, and I still have to shower and mentally prepare myself.

Dane Fain: 3219 South Boston Ave.

I spend the remainder of the hour getting ready for the BBQ. I want to look well for tonight, but I don't want to appear like I'm trying too hard. I'm sure this man has females flirting with him all the time, and I need to make sure I somehow stand apart. After thirty minutes of looking at the interior of my closet, I eventually picked on a pair of faded jeans and a tank top. I'm thinking that I'm going to be outdoors for the buthis,f this and I don't want to overdress. I curl my hair in loose curls and apply a touch of makeup over my face. If it were my decision, I would never wear makeup. I dislike how it makes my face feel, and I feel like I'm lying when I approach people. I feel that by wearing too much makeup, I'm going to be lying to this person.

Well, lying more than I already am.

I peek at my phone and find that I only have about twenty minutes until the BBQ is meant to start. I hurriedly gather all of my stuff and leave the house. My GPS indicates that their home is around thirty minutes away from where I am right now, so I'm going to be a little late. Maybe that's good, however. Nothing is wrong with being fashionably late, right?

Well, for my sake, I hope I'm correct.