CHAPTER ONE
Misha
“Misha, you need to calm down. Go stand in the back and take a breather.” My co-worker whispers, looking stressed as she tries to push me towards the kitchen - wanting me to go and sit in the back passage where the smokers usually sneak out for a quick puff.
We are standing in view of a lot of customers and Libby is stressing.
My blood is boiling through, and I don’t give a fuck who can hear me. I’m furious. I have a right to be angry.
“I don’t want a fucking break, Libby. I am so sick of these rich assholes thinking they can treat us however they want. I’m a waitress, not his slave. I should take that steak knife and?—”
She grabs my arm and literally drags me through the swinging doors off the main floor of the restaurant.
She shoves me to the side of the kitchen and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “Take a breath. They areallassholes. They are all rich pompous douchebags. Weknowthis. It’s just part of the job.”
My blood is pumping too fast, and my head is flooded with rage to the point where my vision is blurring. I get like this sometimes. Usually just before I do something stupid.
“I can’t do this anymore.” I snarl. “I have to get out of here.”
“Misha, the tips here are really good. Don’t mess this up. You know you need the money. Just ignore that asshole.” She looks worried. She should be.
My boss, the manager of this over-the-top establishment, the guy who drives the latest Mercedes and has never given two fucks about how his staff gets treated - he walks into the kitchen in a rage. “Misha. That client is threatening to go to the media. What the fuck did you do?” He growls at me, grabbing my arm and shaking me. Libby takes one look at this scene and makes a run for it, going back out to tend to her customers.
“I didn’t do anything except tell him he isn’t allowed to grab my ass when I walk past the table.” I snarl back at my boss.
The kitchen door swings open as another waiter comes in carrying plates he’s cleared away.
“Everyone can fucking hear your fucking tantrum, and the entire restaurant of customers say you embarrassing that customer.” My boss says.
“So, fucking what?He grabbed my ass. That’s assault. He can’t get away with that. Besides - I bet you didn’t go around asking every single customer their opinion.” I am exasperated by his complete lack of effort to even try to make me feel ok. He doesn’t give a shit. Literally, zero shits have been given here.
My manager lifts his lip in an angry sneer. “You’re fired.” He hisses.
“I’m fired?” I pack up laughing. “Me?I’mfired?” I can’t stop laughing now.
He pushes me away from him, and I stumble, knocking into the drying rack of freshly washed plates. A few of them crash to the floor, loudly. He screams about how I am going to pay for that and for the customer's meal and any business he loses because I wouldn’t let some asshole fondle my ass.
In a blind rage, I grab the pot of hot oil off the stove and throw it at my boss. The chef yelps, moving in slow motion as he staggers backward.
Thick golden liquid splashes from the stainless-steel pot onto my boss’s face and chest and he just starts screaming. I can’t believe how much he’s screaming.
For a moment I’m so fascinated I can’t move. I’m just staring as his skin turns red and starts blistering.
Then I realize I should probably leave before the cops get here, so I skid right out of the kitchen, briefly stopping in the locker room to grab my backpack and then bolting out of the restaurant.
Everyone is staring at me. Some look terrified, some look confused.
I don’t care. He got what he deserved.
Men are fucking sick assholes, weak and pathetic, and they all deserve to die an agonizing death.
I’m taking the stairs two at a time to get out of the building as fast as possible, but I can already hear the sirens in the distance.
I bolt from the entrance doors on the ground floor and now I can see the flashing lights. Shit.
This is bad.
A dark limo with heavily tinted windows comes to a stop in front of me and I’m about to run from it when the window slides open and the man in the back seat asks, “Would you like a ride?”
