Kade

The rich always tip best when I smile. They slip a twenty, sometimes even a benjamin, into my pocket when their partners aren’t looking. I’ll give them a playful wink even if some aren’t carrying what I’m interested in. Tonight, though, tips may be sparse because my boss has proclaimed me the babysitter.

“You’ve waited tables before, haven’t you?” I ask the newbie, Noah or something.

“I have not,” he replies.

Why Steven would get the help of someone without experience is beyond me. He handed me a toddler in need of potty training on one of our busiest nights this year. A very last minute corporate meeting happened in the hotel’s ballroom. Now our attached restaurant is serving a sea of snobs without prior notice. I don’t need this dude messing with my bag on a potentially very green evening.

“There’s not much to learn, Noah.”

“Nolen.”

“Right.” I grab a nearby menu to offer him. “Take their order, check in on them, act friendly, and don’t fear a little flirtation. It’s good for you and your wallet. Good luck.” I slap his shoulder prior to pushing him towards the floor.

“That’s it?” Nolen asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Steven said you’re the best server here, but that’s all the advice you’re going to give?”

“Yep. With your looks, you don’t have to do much. Give them a smile and they’ll eat you up.”

Nolen’s symmetrical dark brows furrow. Even mildly irritated, he remains easy on the eyes. Tall, broad shoulders, slicked back black hair, warm white skin, and a faint horizontal scar on his left cheek; Nolen has mastered the tall, dark, and handsome trope. If I didn’t have to babysit him, I would be pleased to have such a looker on the team. The last hot guy quit over a month ago, depriving me of my regular eye candy.

“Is that what you do? Smile and let your looks do the work,” Nolen asks.

“No. Sometimes I wink too.” I give him one of those winks, flustering him enough to reveal the faintest blush, then leave him to his fate.

If Steven honestly expects me, a man scraping by to survive in this economy, to babysit the new guy, then he is sorely mistaken. I know why he’s doing this, getting all uppity, because tonight is my last night. He’s getting revenge for losing his best server, but like hell, I’d stay here.

This isn’t the job I hoped for after putting myself through college. Everyone went to school starry-eyed, expecting hard work and education to grant them prosperity. A lie told to us from youth; reality would hit us after we graduated. Every company wanted a worker with experience, but was never willing to give experience. We worked hard, but never hard enough and never the right work. Then we have to accept we spent thousands of dollars and years of our life at an institute that thrives off promising silly wishes to children.

I never hated this job, but it has always been a far cry from a good life. I did what I could on the side; snatching freelance work designing business cards and family reunion t-shirts for years. The companies never cared, wouldn’t even look my way until a very dumb stroke of luck.

Walking towards the kitchen to hand in my orders, I catch Nolen outside the doors. He doesn’t notice me, too busy flipping through the bills in his hand. Then he raises his eyes to meet mine.

“Looks like they’re tipping you well tonight,” I say, feeling a little happy for the newbie, but then he opens his stupid month.

“They are, thanks to your advice. They do like when I smile.” Nolen doesn’t smile at me, though. He smirks. “I see now why you’re number one here. This really isn’t that hard.”

“What—hey!” I glare at Nolen’s retreating figure, heat simmering beneath my cheeks. I have been the best server here for three years. If he thinks getting early tips means he’s better, I’ll prove how much of a fool he is. In the kitchen, I rid myself of the stupid bowtie meant to be a part of our uniform. Margaret, a server two years younger than me with curls of brown hair, giggles beside me. I undo the top two buttons of my shirt. Showing a little extra skin always earns more tips. I’d let the old bitties cop a feel if they tipped me well enough for it.

“What are you up to?” Marge asks. She balances a tray on one tawny brown arm.

“Proving to the newbie that I can pull double—no, triple what he can make in a night,” I answer.

“Is that really something to start a competition over?”

“Considering that he implied I’m only number one here because the job is easy, absolutely.” I grab a tray to fill with food. “I will smite him like the righteous hand of an imaginary vengeful god.”

Pursing her lips, Marge leaves, possibly to avoid my murderous wrath. A wrath that leads me back onto the floor, where Nolen tends to a few customers. He pays me no mind until he catches an elderly couple leaving me a hefty tip. When I slip the money into my apron, I ensure to show off the growing cash. Though Nolen maintains a calm facade, his right eyebrow twitches.

The evening becomes one of wit and charm, competing to see who can make the most. Nolen is by no means a chatter-box. His answers are swift and to the point. Though he dazzles customers with quick compliments, followed by an alluring smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In all honesty, I’d be dazzled too under different circumstances. He has the type of looks that’d make me approach with less than proper thoughts in mind. However, there’s no time to admire the guy when I have a point to make.

I’m the opposite with customers, offering friendly chatter to those who want it. After years of working here, I recognize those open to conversation and those who want to be left relatively alone. Making a few customers laugh or swoon over my words results in a hefty chunk of change in my apron that Nolen and I show off in a not-so-subtle manner. He’ll stand by the kitchen doors counting through tips while I smack him in the face with mine. He bristles afterwards as if he’s appalled to have money on his skin. Can’t say I relate.

Not everyone enjoys our competition, though. The cook warns both of us we’ll have a hot skillet shoved in an unpleasant place if we dare beckon him to work faster again. Our “petty competition” is our own, he claimed. I make a point not to argue with those skilled in using knives and scolding skillets, so Nolen and I wait patiently for the food to be prepared.

As the night goes on, a large group sits in Nolen’s section. He waltzes into the kitchen. That big of a group is more likely to leave a tip that may put a dent in what I’ve gathered so far.

“Don’t act smug. The night’s still young. I’m going to run you into the ground and you can let me know if there really is a hell deep below like my Granny always said,” I say when balancing trays on my arms, and Granny never said that because I never saw my grandparents, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Nolen snorts. “Saying that proves how nervous you are. If the new guy can keep up with you on his first night, it’s rather telling, don’t you think?”

He gathers drinks on a tray to balance on one arm and appetizers on the other. I’m tempted to remind him he shouldn’t try that when he has never served before, but I rather watch him humiliate myself.

“Keep acting cocky and you’re going to find yourself in some serious trouble.” I grin at his exaggerated eye roll, then brush past him to return to the floor. My grin intensifies when I hear the inevitable crash. Wasting food and making a mess shouldn’t bring me this much glee. However, I can’t deny the warm tingling sensation in my gut upon seeing Nolen standing at the center of everyone’s attention. The trays he poorly attempted to balance on his arms lay scattered on the floor; shattered glasses around him and clumped food on his shoes. Nolen catches my attention across the room. The bridge of his nose wrinkles with a snarl like a growling dog.

Not so easy, is it?

Steven comes running out from the commotion. I return to work, still eager to earn as much as I can to further rub Nolen’s nose in it. He loses more time in cleaning up the mess he made, although it’s strange that’s all that happened. Our manager isn’t the friendliest of men. He’s stressed as stressed can be. I thought Nolen would get sent home, but he continued serving for the rest of the evening with a wee less bravado than we began with.

“Read ‘em and weep!” I declare at the end of the night.