Henley

            "Hattie, table four has been waiting over two minutes for someone to come and take their drink order," Collin, the manager on shift, said as he walked by me, heading toward the hostess stand.

I blinked at him, trying to ignore the fact he got my name wrong for the thousandth time while wondering if he noticed my arms filled with plates of food for a different table. When he glanced over his shoulder and frowned at me, I gave him the fakest smile I could produce. "I'll be right over."

"Good."

Rolling my eyes, I hurried back to table number seven. I hated table number seven. I didn't know if I was just my luck, or maybe the table was cursed, but whoever sat there ended up always being the rudest and crudest and most condescending people on the Earth. This time around it was a bunch of businessmen in sleek suits that tried to leer down my shirt every time I leaned over to clear a plate or glass.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu," I announced as I set down one of the plates in front of a large man wearing a star-spangled tie.

"Nice," he commented and I wasn't sure if he was talking about the chicken breast or my breast.

Still, I held my tongue. If I remained nice enough, these guys would definitely give me a generous tip.

"Do you need anything else before I go?" I asked after I'd handed out all the dishes. Please say no, I begged internally.

"Another Blue Moon please," Star-Spangled Moron requested.

I flashed him a smile. "Right away."

As I turned around, I caught sight of Collin staring at me and pointing to table four frantically. "Am I the only one on shift?" I muttered to myself as I turned toward the table. Noticing there were only two people sitting at it, I relaxed a little bit. At least it would be an easy one.

"Hi, my name is Henley, I'll be serving you tonight," I greeted them, offering the two a wide smile.

The two young men both turned toward me at the same time and I immediately felt my confidence drop as I recognized the pair. They came in at least once a week and they were both drop-dead gorgeous. At this point, I had thought I was used to handsome men and beautiful women coming to this restaurant, but the feeling of inferiority never went away. And these two were top tier. Tonight they were both wearing button-ups, rolled at the sleeves to reveal their veiny forearms. One of them wore a black shirt with a white tie, while the other had a white shirt with a black tie. I didn't know if it was on purpose or not, but either way, they made a great duo.

It made me a little mad. What was up with filthy rich people being so attractive? Wasn't it enough that they had money? They had to steal all the good looks too? It was so unfair. Or maybe I was just too bitter. I had to work on that.

"A strange name, but I guess that's not important," the man on the right said, his tone smooth and curious. He had dark, neatly parted hair that was pushed up in the front. It was a little curly at the top and the back of it was styled so that it looked tousled. He studied my face, his dark green eyes squinting a bit.

The other tried to cover a laugh and my eyes shifted to him. He looked like your typical description of a Boy Next Door— chestnut-colored hair, brown eyes, a pretty face, and a kind smile.

"Aha, I get that all the time..." I said, feeling like I'd been staring at them for five minutes when in reality it was only five seconds. His comment annoyed me. I'd served him a couple of times before. Is this really the first time he paid attention to my name?

"It's cute though," the Boy Next Door responded, smiling politely at me.

I stared at his teeth, feeling a stab go through my heart. Of course, he had perfect teeth. Perfectly straight, perfectly white. Why would I have ever expected otherwise? These two were on a whole different level than me. I couldn't look even a fraction as flawless as them even if I took five hours getting ready every day.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" I asked, wondering if I sounded as depressed as I felt. Every second in front of them was like a hard kick to my morale.

"A shot of Lagavulin for me, Henley," the dark-haired one said, not even bothering to pick up the drink menu.

"Absolutely. And sorry for this, but I need to see your I.D," I responded, offering him a half smile. He didn't look under-aged and I was pretty sure I'd served him alcohol before, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"What? You don't know who I am?"

"Am I supposed to...?"

He looked troubled for a moment before something dawned on him and he nodded. "I guess I wouldn't expect someone like you to know."

Something about the way he said that irked me. Was he a celebrity? He looked like he could be an actor or maybe a musician. But then again someone like me would definitely know if he was. He was probably the son of some rich guy who made airplanes for a living. I didn't particularly care who he was. "Your I.D.," I repeated.

The guy dug out a black leather wallet from his jeans and stitched along the lower left-hand cover was the word Hermes. He held out his hand. "Here you go."

I took the I.D from him, my eyes sliding over the name on the card before I could stop myself. Bennett Calloway. Really? I thought. Bennett? What kind of name was that? It didn't ring a bell, either, so he probably wasn't famous. Pursing my lips, I scanned over his birth date. 12/25/89. "You're a Christmas baby?" I said, handing the card back to him.

Bennett nodded, tucking his I.D back into his wallet. "Since the day I was born."

I felt my lips twitch into a smile before I could stop myself. "Kinda sucks though, doesn't it? I bet your Christmas and birthday presents are combined as one."

Without even blinking his response was a nonchalant, "No, never."

I just kind of let out an awkward laugh. Figures. "Anything for you?" I asked the other man.

"I'll have a glass of ice water," he said.

"No, he won't. He'll have a nice shot of whiskey with me," Bennett cut in. "Give her your I.D."

"I'm going to stick with water."

Bennett shook his head, giving his friend a disapproving look. "I'm going through a crisis right now and it is your duty as my best friend to drink the night away with me. Give her your I.D."

I wondered what kind of crisis this probably filthy rich, twenty-five year old could be going through, but figured I was better off not knowing. If I heard anything along the lines of "not being able to afford three Porsches" I'd probably off myself. I hated to believe first impressions, but this guy kind of looked like the type of spoiled person who would consider that a crisis.

"Ben, I wouldn't really call this a crisis—"

Aha! It probably was a three Porsche ordeal! What a world I lived in.

"Seb, we're keeping this lovely girl from doing her job. Just give her your I.D. I promise I won't make you take more than a couple of shots. I know you're a lightweight."

The light-haired man hesitated for a moment before grinning and pulling out this wallet. "You're a pain in my ass."

"Make that two shots of Lagavulin," Bennett said smugly.

After checking his friend's I.D— Sebastian was his name and it rather suited him— I went over to the bar to give our bartender Trav their order. When I glanced back at their table I saw Bennett eyeing me and I stared directly back at him until he noticed. At this point usually the other party would look away, embarrassed at being caught, but this guy just held my gaze with a pleased expression on his face. Feeling awkward, I turned away first and saw Star Spangled Moron at table seven, waving me down.

Crap. The Blue Moon.

"Can I grab a bottle of Blue Moon?" I said to Trav. "I totally forgot I was supposed to get him one."

Trav peeled the cap off on the edge of the bar and handed me the open bottle. "He's been watching you like a hawk all night. Twenty bucks says he asks for your number."

I pretended to gag as I walked away, reluctantly heading back to table number seven. As I grew closer, I summoned the sweetest smile I could. "I'm so sorry about the wait for this, Sir."

"Maybe I'll forgive you if you give me a kiss," he joked, causing all of his douchey colleagues to laugh along with him.

For the tips, for the tips, for the tips, I chanted in my head. "Maybe when I get out," I flirted.

His eyes flicked up and down my body and I felt my skin crawl. Ew, just ew. "Anyone else need anything?" I inquired.

One of the other guys muttered something I probably didn't want to hear under his breath. I decided to take their silence as a no, so I flashed them a quick smile and hurried away. Tables two and eight needed to be wiped down still and I didn't see either one of the two busboys on shift around to clean it.

Just as I turned to head into the back Collin appeared in front of me, scaring me a bit. "Geez, warn a girl when you're approaching like a ninja."

"Please wipe down tables two and eight," he requested, pulling at his necktie. "They've been dirty for the past fifteen minutes."

"I'm way ahead of you," I said, letting a little irritation bleed into my tone. Why did he always feel the need to tell me to do something? I knew what needed to be done before he probably did. He pissed me off.

"Oh— now guests are coming in, go greet them, Hadley. What are you waiting for?"

"It's Henley," I gritted out before heading off to go do the hostess's job now.

Honestly, working at Michelangelo's sucked. It sucked hard. However, the money I made? That did not suck. Since this was a high-end restaurant for even higher-end people, I made a good sum of money every shift I worked. So even though I usually played waitress/busgirl/hostess/bartender while the other employees barely did their one job, the money kept me going. I could deal with Collin being a weird creature and never knowing my name. I could deal with the creepy, old businessmen hitting on me all night. I could deal with it all because I needed the money and the money was worth it.

So I greeted the new guests as pleasantly as I could, still trying not to feel inferior in my black pencil skirt and white blouse while standing next to gorgeous women in silky red cocktail dresses.

And then I wiped down the dirty tables.

And then I got another beer for Star Spangled Moron and I knew someone would have to take his keys from him.

And then I completely forgot about table number four until Collin was on my ass for forgetting about them. Fortunately, Trav had seen I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off and had delivered their shots of whiskey, which were empty on the table when I finally got back to them.

"I'm so sorry," I said immediately, lowering my head and praying they didn't yell at me. There goes a good tip.

Sebastian offered me a sympathetic smile when I raised my head. "Don't worry."

"Are you ready to order? You probably are. I've been gone for like five years. I'm really sorry."

"Hyperboles aside, you've been gone for fifteen minutes," Bennett informed me, glancing at his watch. "Do you usually make your customers wait this long to take their food order?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but I was a little too caught off guard by his curt words to think of anything. "Sorry?" I finally said.

"Typically, a customer should spend a little over an hour in a restaurant. Drink orders are taken upon immediate arrival, food order taken after five minutes. This allows about twenty minutes for food to be prepared and about half an hour for the customer to consume it," he explained, speaking very matter-of-factly and very elegantly. "We've been here over half an hour and have only had our drink orders taken when at this point in our visit we should already be receiving our food."

Sebastian shifted in his seat. I gawked at Bennett, speechless. I so did not need this today. "Um, okay. Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make up for poor service."

Stay cool, Henley, stay cool. "I'm sorry," I said again.

"I wonder what the owner would think of how his employees run this place. Surely this isn't suitable for you. How much do you make to act like this?"

"Listen, I apologized so is it really necessary to be so rude about this?" I snapped, feeling my hands start to shake in humiliation. Did he really have to go as far as making fun of the fact that I worked as a waitress? I didn't make enough to put up with this.

Bennett jerked his head back. "What?"

"I really am sorry about forgetting your table and I'll admit it was my fault, but it was only fifteen minutes. You could've flagged me down, or anyone else for that matter."

"I don't expect you to know who I am, but—"

"I'm sorry but I don't really care who you are," I interjected. "Is there a level of importance that makes it okay to make fun of someone's job? If you want a new waitress, fine, I'll send someone over. Although I can't promise you'll have better service since I'm probably already taking care of her tables."

Bennett furrowed his eyebrows. "That wasn't going to be a threat. I was just going to say I admire your courage to stand up for yourself."

"Uh." I blinked. "Oh."

"I wasn't trying to scold you, either. That was a piece of information that would be useful for you to tell your boss. Not that I expect this place to have such high standards."

"Bennett." Sebastian sighed.

"Nothing against you," Bennett added, directed to me. "My words are mainly directed to your so-called coworkers who seem to think chatting in the back is more important than the guests on the floor. When I asked how much you made, it was because you clearly deserve more."

I looked between the two of them, feeling confused. So, he wasn't trying to be a jerk? He was just spreading his knowledge...? Either way, I probably shouldn't have snapped. I was seriously lucky he didn't seem offended by it.

"Bennett's pretty oblivious to the way he speaks, so you'll have to excuse him," Sebastian told me. "He means well... usually."

"Oh, um, that's okay. I really shouldn't have snapped at you either. Sorry."

"Do you make enough money here to live okay?" Bennett asked.

"What?"

Sebastian elbowed Bennett in the side. "Ignore him. We've held you up enough. Should we give you our orders?"

"Oh, yeah! Sorry."

"No need to apologize," Bennett said, rubbing his side. "I'll have the herb encrusted pork chops with asparagus. Another shot of Lagavulin with it, please."

I nodded, making a mental note in my head.

"I'll have the ginger-glazed Mahi-Mahi," Sebastian said, taking the menus off the table and handing them back to me. "And a glass of water."

"Sure and sorry again."

"I'll let you off this time because you seem suitable," Bennett said, lounging back in his chair.

I raised an eyebrow. Rich people had weird personalities.

The next hour passed slowly. The businessmen at table seven were steadily getting drunker and drunker as each minute passed and I wondered what Bennett would have to say about their average consumer time. The whole lot of them had been here for more than two hours. Not like Bennett could really talk either, as he himself was a little past tipsy and on his way to drunk as well, so he'd probably be here awhile too. He'd switched to beer though.

Just as I was about to start cleaning off the countertops, I saw someone waving at me in the corner of my eye. Groaning, I went back to table seven. "We're r-ready fer the check," one of them slurred.

"And some cabs, huh?" I joked.

"I want you to take me home," Star Spangled Moron purred, eyes lighting up mischievously.

Trying not to make a face, I forced myself to laugh. "Ah, if only I could leave this place. Do you guys want me to do separate checks?"

"Put it all on mine," Star Spangled Moron said and I took his credit card from him and brought it up to the register to ring him out. I balked at the final total. It was more than I could make in two weekend nights waitressing. I hadn't realized how much they'd really ordered until now. And he wanted it all on his card? How generous.

On my way back to the table a hand shot out and grabbed my arm. I jumped a little bit, relaxing when I realized it was just Bennett. "Gotta pee," he stated.

I pointed to the far left corner of the restaurant. "Over there."

Using me as a support and almost taking me down, he pulled himself up and then stumbled to the bathrooms, muttering something about marriages. I glanced at Sebastian, who shrugged at me.

I returned the card to Star Spangled Moron and he filled in the tip and signed the receipt, handing the notebook back to me. It was hard to resist the urge to see how much he tipped, but I managed to slide it into my back pocket. "Thank you very much, have a good night you guys. Get home safe."

As I turned to walk away, I felt a heavy arm across my shoulders. "You said yer comin' home with me."

I saw the spangled tie and felt my stomach churn. "Please don't touch me."

"I know you like me. You were eyeing me all night. Lucky you, little blonde girls like you are my favorite."

I tried to duck under his grasp, but he only held me tighter. He placed his other hand in my hair, his breath heavy on my neck. "I have to go check on the other tables," I said.

"What are you, just a tease?"

When I signed up to be a waitress, I figured I'd have to deal with a little bit of harassment from creepy customers. It was a given in any customer service job, unfortunately. So yeah, I was a little pissed at this guy, but I could handle it. I'd done it before. If I made him mad it'd make my manager mad too, because you never knew just who these people were and what kind of influences they had. Me flipping out at Bennett was a mistake that could've been ten times worse than it was. I couldn't let it happen again.

So I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm just really busy."

"So you are interested?"

How that translated into that, I had no idea. "Please let me go."

That's when I felt it. A massive hand on my ass, pinching it roughly.

I felt the blood rush to my face as a wave of nausea coursed through me. Okay, this was crossing the line. This was sexual harassment. I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to cause a scene. It could cost me my job. But did I call my manager? Call the cops? I couldn't let him keep touching me.

"Hit him!" someone barked out.

And without really thinking, I listened to the voice, bringing my fist around and straight into the pervert's jaw. He let go of me and I shoved myself away from him and into a hard body. For a moment we both wobbled but then a pair of hands clamped down onto my shoulder, steadying us both. I turned my head to see it was Bennett.

"You bitch," Star Spangled Moron spat out, moving toward me.

I flinched a bit, pressing myself more firmly into Bennett.

"Enough," Bennett said.

"Who do you think you're talking to?

Bennett raised his eyebrow at the older man. "Who do you think you're talking to, Mr. Curtis Voham?"

Star Spangled Moron—well Curtis actually— froze, his eyes widening in recognition and maybe fear? I glanced at Bennett, who picked a piece of lint off his shirt and flicked it onto the ground. There weren't a lot of people in the restaurant, but they were all staring at us. I saw Collin in the far corner looking like someone had run over his cat and I knew I was in trouble.

"M-Mr. Calloway," Curtis greeted, sweat starting to form on his fat neck. "Good seeing you."

It surprised me to see this pervert—who definitely had more than two hundred pounds on Bennett and was probably twice his age— look so terrified of the younger man. Why was that? Was Bennett part of a mafia or something?

"I wish I could say the same about you," Bennett remarked. "However, any man who could watch what I just witnessed and still be glad to see the man involved wouldn't be a friend of mine. Maybe I'll rethink our friendship."

"It's her fault—"

I scoffed. "Oh please—"

"Whether it was her fault or not, you simply do not touch women without their permission," Bennett said. "Please take your leave now."

And amazingly, Curtis did just that. Not even another word back. The group of men he had been with had already dispersed, leaving him to waddle away alone with his head down.

I let out a long breath of air. My body felt gross and I knew I'd have to take a long, hot shower to feel clean again. Where did men get off acting like they could do as they please to women? I should've punched that guy more than once.

"Crap, that's right. I punched him," I groaned. "And my boss saw. He's so going to fire me. I messed up."

"That guy deserved it."

"You should've punched him instead of telling me to do it," I muttered. "Then my job wouldn't be at risk."

Bennett stared at me flatly. "My hands are too delicate."

I caught myself staring at his hands. They did look pretty dainty... no, I shouldn't be thinking of that. I scratched my head. "I really can't lose this job. I can't lose the money. What am I supposed to do? I don't think I'll be able to find another place and make this much money. Ahh, crap."

"So, you do need money huh," Bennett mumbled under his breath and I barely caught it. He hiccupped and I ignored him, too busy with my mini freak out.

It took me a moment to notice he was swaying. Finally, his hands found my shoulders again, trying to secure himself. "I'm going to be sick," he announced, letting out the most disgusting burp I'd ever heard.

"Ugh, ew, come on," I complained, putting my arm around his waist and hurrying him back to the men's room. After setting him up in a stall, I left the bathroom and heard a strange hiss. Pausing, I looked around but didn't see anything.

"Harley," it came again.

My head swung toward the back room, where Collin was beckoning me, hiding half his body behind the door. He is so weird. "It's Henley," I told him as I approached. "And listen, that guy grabbed my ass—"

"Language," he warned shrilly. "You punched a guest."

"Yeah, but—"

"A very important guest."

"Yeah, but—"

"Do you know who he is?" Collin asked in a strained voice. I was sure if he went any higher he'd reach a level where only dogs could hear him.

I felt my shoulders slump. Yep, I knew I was in trouble. Even though it wasn't my fault at all. "No, I don't, but—"

"I can't let this slide no matter the reason," Collin told me, letting out a deep sigh. "You can't just punch a customer. That's abuse."

"I had a right to," I piped in quickly so he couldn't interrupt me again.

"I should fire you on the spot."

My heart skipped a beat. Fire me? Oh no, I couldn't afford to be fired. "I'm really sorry," I said, deciding to be apologetic rather than angry. I had to have this job. "I won't do it again. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"You weren't. But as I said I can't pretend this didn't happen. The whole restaurant watched it happen. I'm going to have to give our patrons coupons to make up for it. Coupons, Hardy."

"It's Henley," I told him, but at this point, it felt moot.

"I'm going to suspend you for a month," he decided. "You're a good worker. I don't want to lose you. But if I let this pass with no consequences, who knows who will think they can punch the next customer they don't like? We need to give this time so everyone will forget."

I wanted to say that it probably didn't work that way, that no one would punch a customer just because they didn't like them. I wanted to say that I'd definitely had the right to punch that perv. I wanted to say it was messed up I was getting in trouble for this. I wanted to say screw your crazy rules and your weirdo personality, I'm out of here.

But I didn't.

Because I needed the money.

"I'm sorry," I apologized again. I knew the conversation was over. There was no point in trying to fight.

"Go apologize to the guests and finish up with table four and then you can go home," Collin instructed, putting a hand against his forehead. "Man, I'm beat."

I felt my annoyance flare up again. He was beat? Somehow, I managed not to say a word. I could definitely win an award for Best Patience When Dealing With Idiots. So I went around to all the guests and apologized for my behavior. Fortunately, the majority of them congratulated me on punching the bastard and told me if he ever gave me trouble again, they knew what company he owned.

When I got to table four again, I realized that both Sebastian and Bennett were missing. Upon closer inspection, I found a receipt. They must've gone up to the hostess to get their bill. What, they couldn't wait for me to come back? I felt faintly disappointed. I hadn't gotten to thank Bennett or say goodbye to Sebastian. But I suspected Sebastian had decided to grab the barfing Bennett and hit the road. If they really were significant to the high society, getting drunk to the point of throwing up at a five-star restaurant probably didn't look too good.

So, as any other good waitress would do, I picked up the slip to check the tip. There was a little note scribbled at the top of the receipt. It was almost unintelligible, but I managed to decipher it. I figured writing drunk was a lot like trying to walk drunk. I gave him props for making it look a little more like print than hieroglyphics.

Henley,

You need money. I need a girlfriend. I think we'd make good business partners. Please call at your earliest convenience, but not before 9AM.

x-xxx-xxx-xxxx

Bennett Calloway.

P.S your tip is an advance.

Curious note aside, I looked at the tip amount.

$10,000.43

I nearly fainted.