Sure, there were other restaurants in town, but not many like this. Girls literally stood in line for a chance to work here.
And besides, I didn't have time to start waitressing someplace else. Even if I did manage to find another serving job, I'd never make this kind of money.
Across from me, Keith was tallying up the total on his notepad. When he was done, he turned the notepad around to face me. I felt myself pale at the amount written in big red letters at the bottom.
"That can't be right," I said.
"Oh, it's right," he said. "Go ahead, add it up."
My pulse racing, I studied the list. In Keith's tidy handwriting, I saw the amount for the group's dinner, including drinks. Given the fact they'd been drinking like fish, this alone was enough to make my stomach clench.
Then there was the amount Brittney had claimed for her ruined outfit. Finally, there was the cost of free dinner vouchers, given at Keith's insistence, to encourage Brittney to come back and give the place another chance.
Okay, I guess I could see paying for the dress. But I couldn't see paying the amount Brittney had demanded. I leaned over and pointed at the amount in question. "That's ten times what that stupid dress was worth."
Keith looked unimpressed. "It was a high-price label."
"Bull," I said. "It was a generic knock-off."
"Say what you want, that's the amount we paid her." His eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. "And that's the amount you owe."
"And why the meal-vouchers?" I said. "We don't want those skanks coming back. Their dates either. They were total animals."
"Wrong, they were customers," he said, pressing his palms flat on the table. "Now pay up, or get out. Your choice."
I stood, rigid, my fingernails digging into my palms.
He glanced at his watch. "I'm waiting."
"Fine," I muttered.
At his desk, Keith leaned back. "Great." He pointed to the bottom of his list. "Sign here."
"Uh, no. I don't think so." I tore off my apron and tossed it onto his desk. "I meant, fine, I'll get out." My heart racing, I whirled around and marched toward the office door. When I reached it, I turned around and said, "Oh, and Keith?"
"Uh, yeah?" he stammered.
I smiled. "Fuck off."
Chapter 20
My satisfaction lasted less than an hour. By the time I'd driven back to the Parkers', I was cursing everything from my rotten temper to my stupid foul mouth. And that doesn't even count the time I spent cursing out Brittney and her whole sordid freak show.
An hour later, I was cursing a lot more than that. I was huddled in the Parkers' backyard, with dripping hair and only the barest of clothing – just a thin white tank top and matching lace panties. I had no shoes, no socks, and no pants, no kidding.
I was so screwed.
"Chucky," I muttered under my breath, "You are a very bad dog." More to the point, I was a very stupid house sitter.
I'd just gotten out of a long, hot bath – a feeble attempt to wash away the lingering unpleasantness from work – and had been dressing for bed when Chucky bounded into the bathroom, trailing my ketchup-stained blouse behind him.
A hole was chewed in the center of the largest stain, and one of the sleeves hung by just a few loose threads. The way it looked, he'd been chewing on it the whole time I'd been in the tub. It was obviously ruined.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It wasn't Chucky's fault I'd left the thing lying on the kitchen floor. At the very least, I should've put it in the sink.
I didn't care about the blouse. I'd never be wearing it again anyway. But I definitely cared about the mess. I couldn't let Chucky drag the thing all over the house. One hop onto the sofa with it, and I'd be paying for a lot more than my own short temper.
It took me forever to wrestle the thing away from him – after a lot of chasing, cajoling, and one frantic lunge that sent me skidding in my tank top and panties across the oak floor in the downstairs foyer.
