Flirty Server
1230 Words
Outside the morning air was crisp and smelled like damp earth. A matte-black SUV sat idling in the driveway, its engine making a low, rhythmic thrum that I could feel vibrating right through the soles of my sandals.
William didn't even bother to open the door for me. He just hopped into the driver’s seat, leaving me to pull open the heavy passenger side door myself. I climbed in, and the scent of his cologne, something like cedarwood and cold breeze filled the whole car. It was kind of overwhelming but also really good at the same time.
We pulled out of the estate in total silence. I stared out the window at the blurred London streets, my reflection in the glass looking way more confident than I actually felt. Those jeans were definitely doing their job, but the way William was gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles all white and his eyes fixed strictly on the road, made me wonder if I’d pushed things a little too far.
"I’m not a fan of the silent treatment, William. If you’re still mad that I survived the rain, just say it."
"I’m not mad, Isabel. I’m focused. Some of us have actual responsibilities that don't involve picking out the right shade of pink to wear."
"It’s more like dusty rose. And at least I don't look like I’m going to a funeral."
He finally glanced toward me, his eyes lingering on the curve of my neck before snapping back to the windshield.
"We’re stopping. I haven't eaten, and I doubt you’ve had anything for breakfast."
"I thought you were in a rush."
"I am. But I’m not dealing with you fainting in the middle of a lecture because your blood sugar dropped."
He pulled the SUV into the gravel lot of a chic, glass-fronted cafe on the outskirts of the city. It looked like the kind of place where the eggs cost twenty pounds and everyone owned a yacht. As we stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, and the warmth of roasted coffee beans and baking bread hit me like a physical hug.
We took a small table by the window. William didn't bother with the menu, he just sat there tapping his fingers on the marble tabletop, looking like he was mentally calculating some big business deal. Does his brain ever rest a little? I wondered
A server appeared almost instantly.
She was tall, blonde, and wearing a uniform that seemed a size too small.
The second her eyes landed on William, her entire vibe changed. She leaned over the table, her smile wide and totally fake.
"Good morning. What can I get for you today?"
She directed the question right at William, her voice dropping into a low, breathy tone. She purposely didn't even acknowledge I was sitting there.
"Black coffee. Two sugars. And the protein breakfast."
"Of course."
She purred, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She lingered, her eyes raking over his expensive suit and the heavy watch on his wrist.
"And for your... friend?"
She finally looked at me, but her eyes were cold, sweeping over my pink sweater and the way my jeans hugged my hips. She looked like she was judging my entire life in three seconds.
"She’ll have the avocado toast and a latte. And we’re in a hurry."
William didn't even bother to give her a polite smile. He went back to his phone, dismissing her as if she were a piece of furniture.
The service was fast, mostly because she seemed determined to stay at our table as long as possible. Every time she brought something, the coffee, the silverware, the cream, she made sure to lean in just a little too close to William.
Her hand "accidentally" brushed his shoulder twice.
I felt a surge of something hot and sharp in my chest. It wasn't just anger; it was a weird, possessive feeling that I didn't want to admit to.
"Is the coffee to your satisfaction, or can I get you something... stronger?"
She was practically whispering in his ear. I reached across the table and snatched the sugar packet out from under William’s hand, making a loud scraping sound against the marble.
"He's fine. We're both fine. Just the bill, please."
I didn't even try to hide the bite in my voice. The server finally looked at me, her eyebrows shooting up like she was acting innocent. She straightened her apron and gave William one last, lingering look before scurrying off.
"Jealousy is a bad look on you, Isabel."
William didn't look up from his eggs, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
"I'm not jealous. I'm just in a hurry and I'd like to get to class without watching a mid-morning soap opera."
"She’s just doing her job."
"Her job is to bring toast, William, not to audition for your next girlfriend."
He finally looked at me, his whiskey-colored eyes dark and unreadable.
"Maybe she has good taste. Can you blame her?"
I rolled my eyes and focused on my toast, ignoring the way my heart was doing a nervous little dance.
We finished in silence, the tension between us thicker than the steam from my latte.
When the server returned, she didn't say a word. She just set the black leather bill folder down on the table, right next to William’s hand. She gave him a shy, secret smile and walked away, her hips swaying more than usual.
William reached for the folder, but as he opened it to put down his card, a small, white slip of paper fluttered out and landed face-up on the table. In loopy, pink ink, there was a phone number and a name: Call me after work. -Amanda.
My blood turned to ice. I stared at the paper, then at William. He looked down at the number, his face showing absolutely nothing. No surprise, no smugness, just that bored, billionaire stare like it was a usual thing.
"Well?"
My voice was a whisper.
"Well, what?"
"Are you going to keep it? Is she going to be the next ‘family friend’?"
William looked at the number, then at me. His gaze traveled from my face, down to the pink sweater that was currently rising and falling with my heavy breathing, and back up again. He slowly reached out, his long fingers hovering over the paper.
He picked it up, crumpled it into a tiny ball without even looking at the digits, and dropped it into the remaining dregs of his black coffee.
"I don't have time for distractions, Isabel. Especially not when I have a more complicated one sitting right across from me."
He stood up, buttoning his jacket with a sharp, crisp movement.
"Let's go. You're going to be late."
He walked out toward the car without waiting for an answer. I sat there for a second, watching the paper ball soak up the dark liquid in his cup. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he could probably hear it from the parking lot.
He may not have apologized for the rain. Or said I looked beautiful this morning. But as I followed him out, I realized that crumpling that number felt a lot more intimate than any "I'm sorry" ever could.
Or maybe I was the one getting the wrong message.
- Writer
