“I know I would.”
“Maybe try not insulting her or telling her to, I’m sorry, how did you phrase it? ‘Walk right the fuck out my front door,’” Drew suggested with an incredulous look.
“If she hates me, then she won’t become a problem.”
Drew shook his head in frustration.
“Whatever, man.” Drew stood up then and reached out a hand to pull Callum up as well. “Let's pick out these chairs and get home.”
Chapter 7 -Sam
Sam’s bus ride to Topline two mornings later was a combination of cursing at the horrible drivers on the road and praying Callum wouldn’t be working. Fortunately, he was nowhere in sight, and her day was pleasantly mundane. Saturday lunches always were.
Between work and school, the remainder of the weekend and into Monday went by as normally as she could have hoped it would. After acting out a full conversation during her morning shower, she was even able to meet with her graduate instructor, Stephen, and get him to agree to let her do some extra credit in order to bump the grade of her failed lab assignment up to a B.
By the time she was walking into Topline on Tuesday morning, heading directly to the kiosk to clock in, Callum fucking Barker was the furthest thing from her mind. At least, until she almost walked straight into him.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said, blocking her way to the kiosk.
“Yep. Gotta pay my bills, so could you move out of the way?” She crossed her arms in defiance and he rolled his eyes.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to interact with him for the rest
of the night. More than once, she questioned what kind of bartender he must be if he never actually made the drinks, but decided not to linger on the question—or other thoughts of him—for too long.
She was dragging, but had less than an hour left. She contemplated grabbing a quick coffee from the waitstaff coffee station at the back, but then remembered the lackluster selection with no whipped cream or caramel or cinnamon, and decided to just push through. Bitter coffee would almost be as bad as no coffee at all.
She was about to close out her last table and had already started to mentally tally up her tips when it happened. The woman at Table 42 didn’t agree with the total on her bill, swearing she’d never ordered the cherry lime daiquiri, and promptly threw the ticket in Sam’s face.
The lady was right; it was her friend who had ordered it, not her. And although mistakes did happen, they couldn’t happen here. Not when the guest was always right and they would chew you up and spit you out for even the mildest offense.
She couldn’t let it bother her, though. Never had before. All she could do was just nod politely, make amends, and fix the bill. Maybe she could even convince Mr. Brimley to take twenty percent off for the inconvenience. But then the lady started in on her. She chewed Sam out for the better part of forever, hitting every nerve she could in the process.
She was drunk. Sam knew this. It may not have been a daiquiri, but she’d had enough vodka tonics to cause the filter she should have possessed to fly away. But even though the insults were filled with more slurred ramblings than coherent words, they still hurt.
“Did your parents not teach you to read?”
“Did you even finish highschool?”
“Probably going to work here for the rest of your miserable life and never amount to anything.”
“I bet you couldn’t get into college if your life depended on it.”
At first, she took it with a smile, but then her heart started to beat a little more rapidly and she felt the sweat gather on her neck.
Maybe it was because she was already on edge knowing Callum was there tonight. If he was anywhere in the vicinity, she was sure he would be loving the show.
So, she quickly corrected the woman, something Mr. Brimley would fuss at her about later. Sam told the woman she had a 4.0 GPA and was slated to go to med school after she graduated. She didn’t mention that she hadn’t yet heard back from a single school, or that her MCAT score was average. But then the woman cut in with a laugh and made her friends promise to never allow someone with such incompetence to treat her. She said that she would ratherdiethan be left in the hands of someone as idiotic as Sam.
Eventually, Sam just walked away as the woman continued to rant. She would deal with whatever the fall out was later.
She didn’t realize her vision had become blurred with unshed tears or that she was shaking until it took her three tries to enter her keycard into the kiosk. And then it took her four more times fumbling through codes before the correct check popped up on the screen. When she stopped to take a deep breath, hoping the increased oxygen would somehow make it to her brain and cause it to start working properly, the paper was yanked out of her hand. She jumped back, preparing to curse whoever was making her night even worse, only to see Callum deftly entering everything in the computer with record speed and fixing the checks without a word. She mouthed a quick “Thank you” and went to take the corrected bill back when he stopped her.
“Don’t go back to that table. I’ll handle it.” He started to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm to stop his movement. She wasn’t expecting the taut muscles underneath to feel as enticing as they did and quickly pulled her hand back.
“I have to check them out.”
“I’ll handle it,” he repeated as he looked down at her.