Chapter 8-- Booth 7 again
852 Words
The message was still on my phone when I woke up.
Booth 7, 12 PM tomorrow. If you’re really Lead.
No name.
No explanation.
Just that same quiet certainty, like whoever sent it already knew I would come.
I stared at it for a long time before I even got out of bed.
Then I deleted nothing.
12:03 PM. Café Entrance
The air felt different when I stepped in.
Not quieter. Not louder. Just… watched.
People looked at me longer than necessary. Not customers. Staff.
Whispers didn’t stop when I passed. They only changed direction.
Booth 7 was already occupied.
Of course it was.
Anderson sat like he had always been there. One arm resting on the table, the other scrolling his phone like nothing in the world was important enough to hurry for.
No coffee today. Just water.
Like he was adjusting to something.
Me.
I stopped a few steps away.
“You’re early,” I said.
He didn’t look up. “You’re on time. That’s improvement.”
That made my jaw tighten.
“I’m not here for compliments.”
Now he looked up.
That same steady gaze. Not smiling. Not soft. Just… observant.
“I know,” he said. “You’re here because you think this is still about work.”
Something in his tone made the room feel smaller.
I stepped closer. “Then tell me what it’s about.”
He leaned back slightly. “Sit first.”
“I’m working.”
“No,” he said simply. “You’re performing.”
That word hit harder than it should have.
I didn’t sit.
So he did something worse.
He waited.
Floor 3 — 12:15 PM
Ariel saw me from across the floor.
She didn’t smile this time.
She studied me like a problem she hadn’t solved yet.
Then she walked over slowly, tray in hand, stopping just beside Booth 7.
“Lead waitress,” she said sweetly, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. “Do you need help serving your… special guest?”
The word special wasn’t subtle.
I didn’t look at her. “No.”
Her eyes flicked to Anderson.
Then back to me.
Something sharpened in her face.
“Oh,” she said softly. “So it’s like that now.”
She walked away before I could answer.
And that was worse.
Because now it wasn’t just rumor.
It was confirmation in their minds.
12:20 PM — Booth 7
I finally sat.
Not because he told me to.
Because standing there was starting to feel like losing.
Anderson pushed the water glass slightly toward me.
“You’re learning fast,” he said.
“I’m not here to be taught.”
“No,” he agreed. “You’re here to decide what kind of weapon you’re becoming.”
My fingers tightened under the table.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It will,” he said.
Silence stretched between us.
Then he said something different.
“Do you know what your father used to do?”
My body went still.
The room didn’t change.
But something inside it did.
“My father?” I repeated carefully.
Anderson nodded once.
Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Just certain.
“You brought him up for a reason?” I asked.
“I didn’t bring him up,” he corrected. “You did. Every time you refuse to break.”
My heart started beating too loudly.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know,” he said.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
And lowered his voice.
“Peterson didn’t hire you by accident, Linda.”
My throat tightened. “What does that mean?”
Before he could answer—
A chair scraped behind me.
Hard.
Peterson enters
“Enough.”
His voice cut through the floor like a blade.
I turned.
Peterson stood at the edge of Booth 7, face tight, eyes locked on Anderson.
Not angry like before.
Worse.
Controlled.
“Mr. Anderson,” he said slowly. “My office. Now.”
Anderson didn’t move.
He looked at Peterson like he was interrupting a conversation that had already been decided.
“I’m busy,” Anderson said.
Peterson stepped closer.
“You are not here to interrogate my staff.”
That word landed between us.
Staff.
Not Linda. Not me.
Just position.
Anderson finally stood.
Slow.
Calm.
He adjusted his sleeve like nothing mattered.
Then looked at me.
“One question,” he said softly.
Just for me.
“Are you starting to see the pattern yet?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know what the pattern was.
Or worse—
I did.
And I didn’t like it.
Booth 7 — Aftermath
They walked away together.
Peterson ahead. Anderson behind him.
Not forced.
Not resisted.
Just… scheduled.
Like this was something they had done before.
I stayed seated.
The water glass in front of me was untouched now.
Ariel watched from across the floor.
She wasn’t smiling anymore.
Neither was I.
Because for the first time…
Booth 7 didn’t feel like a table.
It felt like a starting point.
And I was no longer sure what I had started.
- Writer
