Lag (The boys of RDA #2)(41)
I drop the tray to my side and put my free hand on my hip. “You were here six hours,” I state the obvious to him in case he wasn’t aware of how crazy the whole thing is. "Don’t you have a company to run?” I’m pretty sure this is the man who once told me how he couldn't let RDA fail. That doesn’t include sitting at a diner for the entire work day.
Trey’s eyes meet mine. “Yes, but you’re more important.”
I lock my jaw so my mouth won’t fall open and I clutch the big black tray to my chest as a shield so his soft sweet words can’t penetrate my heart. There is nothing to say back, so rather than try, I grab his check and walk back to the register.
Less than a minute later I’m back beside him angrier than I thought possible. I slide the black envelope containing $120 cash on the table in front of him. “You over paid.”
My hands fall to my hips as he opens the flap and sees the untouched money. “No, I didn’t. The left over is your tip.”
“You can’t tip me almost $100 Trey. I don’t want your pity.” I whisper the words, but they’re harsh.
He shakes his head at me. “Yes, I can.” He pauses but then notices the steam releasing from my ears and smartly starts again. “Look I did the math. It was busy today, you could have flipped this table probably an average of twice an hour. If the average bill was around $30 and they tipped 20% it gives you $7 twice an hour. Over a six-hour period it’s $84 in tips I cost you.”
He runs through the numbers so fast, I imagine he’s trying to trip me up. But I work with numbers, this is what I do, and no one does it better than Simone Stevens. I wait to catch the flaw in his math, but when he finishes I realize he’s actually right on which is just…… irritating.
“But I didn’t flip the table because you were here,” I reiterate his biggest offense for the day and cross my arms across my chest.
“I know. Which is why I gave you the tip. It’s not from pity, but what you should have earned. It’s fair and I know you wouldn't deny me the chance to do the right thing.”
“Huh?” What are we even arguing about? How did a ridiculous tip turn into me letting him be fair? My mind sputters to try and work out a comeback to his stupid circular logic and he uses the opportunity to jump in again.
“Will you sit with me and talk?” He waits for an answer I don’t give him. “Please?”
“Fine,” the answer is ripped from me in an angry sigh. “I’ll be right back.” I grab his bill with a fast swipe of my hand and walk back to the counter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Against all the wishes I made over the last five minutes, Trey is still here when I step past the counter into the main area of the diner. He still hasn’t touched his salad and his eyes track my movements across the white titled floor —— probably so he can intervene if I try to make a run for it. He’s right to be concerned. I considered it while in the back.
“You’re here.”
I sit in the wooden chair on the other side of Trey’s small table and cross one leg over the other.
He leans his body further over the table. “You promise to stay here?”
“Yes.”
Trey’s eyes narrow for a fraction of a second. “Say you promise.”
“Fine,” I blow out a breath in frustration. “I promise I’ll sit and hear you out. Now talk.”
The legs of his chair scrape on the floor as he stands. “I need to take a quick break. I’ll be back.”
He doesn’t look behind him, but walks with deliberate and quick steps to the back of the restaurant toward the bathrooms. I laugh at him. I guess he’s not a camel after all. The diner is relatively empty again as Jamie and a new person prepare for an upcoming dinner rush in a few hours.
My stomach grumbles as my eyes fall on Trey’s untouched salad. I should have stopped at the display case and bought a piece of cake to eat before our little meeting. I’m always crankier on an empty stomach. Although maybe it would help me stay focused so I won't be so forgiving with Trey. Aspen’s words from this morning about me being too sweet ring in my ears. But on the other hand, I can’t pretend Trey’s six-hour commitment to wait for me didn’t mean anything. Can I?
Trey pushes in his seat while I stare out the front window in a daze and I allow a few seconds to pass before my head moves to his direction. He pushes the salad bowl in front of me then positions the cake and drink to either side.
“Eat.”
His monosyllabic commands annoy me. “No.”
“Simone.”
“I’m not eating your food, Trey.” Can the man be more exasperating with his bossy commands that I secretly find exciting? Damn him for stirring something up I wanted to be done with.
“I ordered it for you. You ate the Caesar salad on vacation, you drink tea all the time, and who in their right mind doesn’t love chocolate cake?” He waves his hand in the air to indicate each item as if it should be simple knowledge what I like and don’t like.
Even, Jay, my old boss who I spent an exorbitant amount of time with never remembered I drink ice tea. What am I supposed to do when faced with the knowledge Trey notices those little things?
We stare one another down until my stomach threatens to cause me all kinds of trouble unless I eat. I narrow my eyes at him but pick up the napkin and unroll it for silverware. Trey doesn’t take his eyes off me until the first bite is in my mouth. Then with a final sigh, he leans back in his chair like everything is all right in the world because I ate a lettuce leaf.