Drive(34)

“Are you ready to order?” Reid asked a four top that had taken their sweet ass time, despite his attempt to turn his tables. I could see the older man’s face transform to indignant when he looked Reid over. Not an ounce of empathy for his broken arm, which was actually his wrist, Paige had told me.

“We will order when we are ready,” the guy snapped. I hung my head as I watched Reid eat shit and retreat back to the kitchen. Our manager, Leslie, had refused to give him more tables, and I knew he couldn’t have made more than twenty dollars. Thinking fast, I took a few of the bills from my tips and slid them into the books of two diners that had just left. I knew Reid would buy it. He’d had quite a few pity tips from other tables.

I had enough saved for a down payment on an apartment. Waitressing had turned out to be decent money, which was both surprising and infuriating because I hated it with every fiber of my being. I was looking forward to the extra money I made that night, planning to stash it away for other crap Lexi and I would need. But just that once, I could help him without hurting his pride. I brought lunch to his apartment most days—and was met with a glare—and saw him eating once or twice at the restaurant with our half-off discount. Still, his situation wasn’t getting any better.

A few minutes later, I saw Reid check the ticket books and the mild surprise that crossed his face.

“Excuse me, we’ve been waiting,” the man said as Reid stared at him dead eyed before returning to the table. There were two guys, older and dressed in suits. I was seething when I noticed one of them was Nate Butler. Any happiness I had about seeing him dissolved when he made some snide comment that had them both laughing as Reid walked away. Fuming, I grabbed two waters, and some chips and salsa, then burst out of the kitchen door, full speed ahead. Nate saw me seconds before I faked a fumble and threw the tray at them both. It was a bit overkill as they were hit with a tidal wave of water and salsa.

“Oh my God,” I said in mock surprise, and without an ounce of sincerity. “I’m so very sorry.” The guy sitting with Nate glared at me while Nate stared at me open mouthed. “Stella?”

“Nate,” I said with a hand on my chest. “I’m so sorry. There must have been something on the floor. I . . . just . . . tripped.”

He narrowed his eyes, his crotch covered in salsa, as he looked over to the guy who was cursing under his breath while he stood in a pool of ice water, his pants dripping.

“Let me go get something to help clean this up,” I said as I looked up and saw Reid at the hostess stand, his jaw turned to steel. Nate followed me toward the kitchen. “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said playfully, “but I can see you’ve been trying to make it as a busboy.”

“Funny,” I said with bite. “I can see you’ve been trying to make it as a prick.”

“Whoa,” he said as he stopped me before I hit the swinging door. “What’s gotten into you?” I turned to fully look at him and felt the familiar pang of what it was like to look at perfection. His devilish grin and neon blue eyes blinded me, and for a single moment, I felt that smile to my toes. “Seriously, you just sat there while that dick was rude to a waiter with a broken arm?”

“That dick just paid for two months of circulation,” he pointed out.

“Whatever, it’s disgusting,” I said as I pulled my arm from his grip.

“God, you’re pretty when you’re pissed. You’ve got to let me take you out and piss you off some more.”

Reid pressed past me through the double doors a moment later as Leslie rushed to the table to help the man who was still wiping at his pants.

I kept my eyes on smooth-talking Butler, who appeared to be anything but pissed. His hair looked a bit longer and was mussed up and sexy as hell. “Better get back before you lose that account. And lose my number.”

“Hey, hey,” he said as he gripped my hands in his. “I’m really happy to see you. Let me make it up to you. I’m sorry if he was rude to your friend.” He hesitated. “Boyfriend?” he asked with perfect lips and an arched brow.

“No,” I said, but felt a tug of senseless guilt with my answer.

Even with salsa on the crotch of his suit and a newly pink-tinted shirt, Nate was incredible to look at. I lingered a minute too long and he took it as a sign.

“Dinner tomorrow?”

“Lunch in five months,” I said with a grudge-filled grin before I nodded toward Reid, who was taking a new order. “And you better tip the hell out of him.”

Apparently, we were in negotiations, because Nate leaned in closer. “Lunch tomorrow, dinner in five months.”

“Five months, Nate. I don’t think you know what this means to me,” I said carefully. “I’m working on those articles every day.” Nate sighed and stepped away. “I’ll up the ante. Have the set ready in three. Austin City Limits is coming up, and if this works out, I’ll let you cover it.” Austin City Limits was a three-day festival filled with some of the biggest names in music. Going as a fan was one thing, but going as the press was an entirely different experience. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes,” he said pointedly. “But I’m serious about my paper.”

“I know. And I’m serious about Don Henley.”