This woman had more balls than half the damn restaurant.
Since the name of the game was either being a badass like Trisha or adapting and playing roles, I slipped in just fine. When the dinner crowd rolled in, it was too busy for me to trail Delila, so I got to work solo.
I had a couple of first-day bumps, got an order wrong, and forgot the names of some of the wines, but overall it wasn’t half bad. The tips I was hoarding in my pockets felt nice, and I had been so busy I forgot how damn hungry I was. Toward the end of my shift, Mr. Bosman pulled me aside before I could dash off to try and snag something to eat.
“Baron Walter Beechworth just sat down at one of your tables.” Bosman was speaking low, like the information he was sharing with me was some type of dangerous secret. His body was clenched, his shoulders up, and jaw tight. He was nervous as hell and glaring at me to fix it.
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Gods in heaven.” He rubbed a meaty hand over his shiny face. “The Beechworths are the wealthiest family in New Haven. Everyone knows who they are.” There was a pause while he took a measured breath, his face tomato colored from stress. “If the Baron doesn’t like a place or views it as less than, then you can kiss this whole place goodbye. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.” I glanced down at where his hand was still on my arm. The contact wasn’t intentional, thank the gods, and he pulled his hand away with a huff.
“Don’t fuck this up, Scarlet,” were the words he decided to leave me with as he stormed off. I assumed he had to go dunk his head in some ice water before it started blasting steam from his ears. Rich men didn’t scare me, but rich powerful ones did have a way of making lives and livelihoods miserable.
Thank the gods I’m a charmer.
Baron Walter Beechworth was Old World money. No one in their right, modern mind would proudly wave the title “Baron” in New Haven unless he had something to prove. He was fit and dressed impossibly well in a custom suit that was all class and arrogance. He sported a moustache that was all the rage for men amoung those with money, a thick monster that twisted up at the ends with wax. Some men wore it well, and it tickled when they kissed you; others looked slimy.
He was the second type.
When I arrived at his table, I poured him fresh ice water and waited for him to speak first. My obedience was rewarded with more silence as he browsed the menu, his gaze poring over the text. When the selection was made, he practically threw the menu my direction in a careless fashion before he spoke.
“Steak. Rare.” Curt. Bored. Impolite.
“Very good, sir. May I recommend some wine to go with your dinner?” I knew very well that if he wanted wine, he could have ordered it, but I was hoping to boost the tip I might get if I kissed his ass just right.
When he finally looked at me, annoyance written all over his face, I disarmed him with my killer smile. The annoyance faltered and eased just slightly. He swept his brown eyes over me openly, not caring at all how blatant and rude he was being.
“You’re new.”
“Yes, sir. First day.”
He hummed, his tongue running over his gums. “I’ll take that wine. Red.” His eyes flicked to my hair, and his voice grew a little huskier. “It’s my favorite color.”
Ew.
“Yes, sir.” I smiled and dialed back the flirting. He was already doing plenty for both of us, and I sure as hell didn’t want to lead this type of man to the wrong conclusions. He was the type that wouldn’t respond well to rejection.
I could feel his sticky gaze on me the entire trek to the kitchen. Once I was around the corner, I allowed myself to shudder in disgust.
“Oh, hell. You got the Baron?” Trisha whispered after peeking back at my tables. The worry that crossed over her normally defiant features made my stomach twist. “Honey, be careful with that man.”
“I know his type.” Sadly, I was intimately acquainted. One didn’t make a living as a shapeshifting whore without getting the business end of an overgrown, rich manchild every once in a while.
She gave an unsatisfied grunt at my response. “On the mild end of his shitty behavior, he’ll grab you and make remarks. Poor Delila is terrified of him. On the worse end? He’ll get you arrested for something. Everyone is in his good graces because of his standing, Scarlet. Mind yourself.”
Normally, I would have laughed off the warning without thought. I had been through much worse than whatever this bloated Baron could do. But the way Trisha was sounding made me second-guess myself.
“Thanks for the warning.” I gave her arm a squeeze. She was wary of him, and I doubted that woman was wary of many things. I wasn’t going to dismiss that.
When I came back to the Baron’s table with the wine I’d been instructed to retrieve, I wasn’t shocked that the sticky eyeballing was back full force. He was all but eye fucking me over the table as I poured his drink for him. I made sure to strategically place myself away from his reach.
“Been in New Haven long?” he asked, taking the glass of wine from me.
“About three days, sir.”
“Then you should know who I am.” The contents of the wine glass swirled around as he sniffed it before taking a full swallow.
Ugh. Here we go.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He pushed his glass over for a refill. “Keep me happy, and I can make things very sweet for you.”
I’ll keep you happy with a kick to the balls.
“Of course, sir.” I refilled his glass and set the bottle on the table. “I’ll go check your food.”
He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and I slipped away again. Bosman was making sure no one else sat at the neighboring tables. Thus all my attention had to remain on him. I was not ashamed to admit that I hid a little bit from my obnoxious guest while pretending to check on his steak. I needed a moment away from his disgusting ogling, and a chance to cool my temper. The urge to call him a creep and demand he never look at me again was starting to boil over the top.
His steak was ready in record time, of course, so I pulled myself together and brought it to his table. I waited patiently for him to cut into his steak and inspect it, expecting him to dismiss me once he was satisfied.
Instead, he started eating while I stood by watching. Assuming his sloppy chewing meant I was free to go, I made to escape back to the kitchen.
“Did I say you could go?” he grunted around his bite. My fists curled at the tone in his voice, as if he was speaking to a child being disciplined.
I hoped the smile I gave him wasn’t a sneer, because it felt dangerously close. Not that he would even have seen it, as he didn’t glance up from his steak dinner while he belittled me.
Either he was a painfully slow eater, or he was purposely taking his time to torture me. It was a power play. I knew that. But I wasn’t in any situation to do much about it. So I stood in place and waited for him to eat the entire goddamn steak in silence. When he was finally done, he dabbed his moustache with his napkin and pushed his plate away.
“May I take your plate, sir?” I nearly gagged at asking him permission to move but was rewarded with a shooing motion with his hand.
This man was seven layers of bastard dipped in bastard sauce.
If running were an option, I would have sprinted to the back. Trisha caught me while I was about to hurl his plate into the sink and passed me a little shot of whiskey. I downed it immediately, and damn if it didn’t warm me all the way through.