In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(14)

“Job hunting.” She collapsed on the couch, waving over at Rob as he threw a piece of popcorn at her.

“How’d it go?”

“I found this place called Diego’s that I’ll be waitressing for.”

“Good for you! We should celebrate with ice cream and cake this weekend.”

Lauren snickered as Rob stood shaking his head. She thought she heard him mutter, ‘women,’ as he headed into the kitchen.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy because mama ain’t putting out.”

“Amber!” Rob shouted making Lauren and Amber both double over in laughter.





Chapter five:


Table Sixteen


Diego’s was a relatively new restaurant, opening its doors in 2008. Its owner was a former running back, but due to an injury to his knee, he had to give up his favorite sport. But it wasn’t in vain. He soon started learning a new trade, and with the money he had earned from football—and an investment from his wife—he was able to open a restaurant in one of the hardest cities to maintain one.

Business started out slow, but it soon picked up, known around the college campus as a great place to get food without having to pay over thirty dollars a plate. He had his fair share of upscale cuisine, but it didn’t overshadow the rest of his rather modest menu.

Lauren’s week of training in the restaurant passed in a blur, the job easier than she had been expecting. Tara was patient with her, going over every aspect of her duties, sometimes twice if Lauren needed it. Every member of the staff was quite pleasant, mainly because their boss didn’t ride them for joking around when they weren’t in ear shot of the customers.

She had learned the menu her first night, able to stay late in the night to taste the dishes so she could be honest with the guests when they asked about a particular item.

At first, she had been confused with the way the tables were set up and which ones she would be servicing.

“Think of it this way,” Tara explained on her first night. “It’s just a big square. To the right of the door, tables one through ten in order from wall to wall. To the left of the door, tables eleven through twenty-one, then just follow it around the room. Easy enough?”

“Yes, but,”—she pointed at the bar—“what about the bar?”

“Most nights they rarely order food, but if they do, Diego will probably have someone from the kitchen handle it since it’s so close.”

Besides the tables, writing in shorthand came quickly enough. Thankfully, she plugged in her own orders because if anyone had to interpret the random scribbles along her notepad, she would have to rewrite it.

This was, officially, her third day of work, and it was turning out to be a good night. They got paid their regular salary weekly, but each night, whatever tips they made were their own. While she had trained, Tara had been generous enough to offer up a portion of her tips each night, though Lauren had felt a bit guilty taking it.

“Hey L?”

She peered up at the sound of Tara’s voice as she came out of the break room, struggling to pull on her jacket as she held her cell phone to her ear.

“Would you take table sixteen for me? I have to pick up my son from my sister’s.”

“Sure, go on,” Lauren said waving her off, hopping down from her perch on the barstool.

She had met Timmy, Tara’s son, a few days ago when Tara had to bring him in for the lack of someone to look after him. Diego didn’t seem to mind, letting him sit at the bar with a coloring book and crayons, spoiling him with juice and desserts, much to Tara’s annoyance when she had to take the hyper active boy home at the end of the night.

Tightening the apron around her waist, Lauren pushed through the double doors into the dining room, smiling at the guests she passed. During the mornings to mid-afternoon, they took in the elderly crowd, Diego’s lunch special a hit with them. Around one o’ clock and into the later hours of the day, they attracted the college crowd, and the couples that were out for a romantic dinner.

There were two reserved spots, what Diego considered the special tables, in the restaurant. Table sixteen on the left and table eight on the right. They both sat beneath intricate, handcrafted chandeliers with real candles. They were made by Diego’s wife, who was an interior designer, and designed the layout of the restaurant. These tables were only given to select guests, sometimes reserved in advance when a man was proposing to his girlfriend, or if Tara knew they would be great tippers.

Tonight, it was a table of four. Two girls, two boys, possibly a double date judging by the way the seating was arranged.

When she was just a few feet away, Lauren recognized the disheveled hair of one of the boys, though she couldn’t say how she knew. He seemed engaged enough as he spoke to the other boy at the table, but when his date laid an affectionate hand on his arm, leaning over to whisper in his ear, he lost his easy smile.

Seeing them together, she couldn’t ignore the slight hurt in her chest. She had no right to feel this way, hell the only thing she knew about him was his name, but she did think they’d had a connection the other morning. Wanting not to intrude—and wishing she hadn't been given the table—Lauren shifted on her feet.

It didn’t matter what she thought. Maybe she had misread their interaction at the cafe, not just the first time, but again a few days ago when he was there again. They sat together, talking mostly about her, though she had tried in vain to learn more about him. This could be why he kept the conversation steered clear of him.