All In (3 page)

“Yes, I know. I spoke with him earlier
today as well.” He grins like the Cheshire cat. “He mentioned he
thought the rest of your family would be at the Marina this
morning. Lucky for me, he was right. I ran into your mother and
father and… well, here we are.”

Lucky? By the look in his eye, I’m
confident it was no coincidence he and my mother just happened to
run into each other on the dock. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to
find out they were in league with one another devising this little
set up in the first place. Nothing would make my mother happier
than me getting back together with Gregory.

“Good afternoon and welcome to the
Field House Grille. May I start you two off with drinks or an
appetizer today?” The waiter’s voice startles me out of my
conspiracy theories, and I resume perusing my menu.

“Yes, I’ll have a long
island ice tea and a white wine spritzer for the lady.” Gregory
orders with confidence. He’s only a year shy of the legal drinking
age so
he
may
pass as old enough to get served, but it’s obvious I’m not old
enough to drink yet. “And then we’ll have an order of the calamari
to start and for our entrees she’ll have the sea bass, and I’ll
have the filet.” He shuts his menu and hands it back to the waiter
with bravado.

“I’ll actually have a
bottle of
San Pellegrino please,” I say,
staring at my menu,
trying to avoid the
embarrassment of being carded and then denied, or worse, my parents
finding out I tried to order an alcoholic drink, at the club no
less.
“And what salad would you
recommend?” I start to ask, but the words get caught in my throat
when I finally look up and see the waiter.

Whoa.

He. Is. Gorgeous.

“Well…our house mixed salad is very
popular. It’s locally grown organic and is fresh picked daily. It
comes with a light raspberry vinaigrette dressing that can be
tossed on or left on the side,” he says, holding my
gaze.

“Oh. Yes. That sounds… yummy.” The
words come out all breathy, and I’m immediately humiliated at the
way I must have sounded.

Yummy. Breathy. Seriously,
Ashley?

“Then on the side, miss?” the waiter
asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Yes, thank you,” I say, feeling my
face flush with warmth.

Apparently Gregory Chase isn’t the
only boy in town who can make a girl blush, and by the daggers
Gregory’s shooting the poor guy with his eyes, he knows it
too.

Gregory clears his throat and pulls
the attention of the waiter back on him. “Fine. We’ll have one
house salad with dressing on the side and an order of calamari to
start.” Then with a dismissive flick of his hand, “Now, go fetch
our drinks.”

Go fetch our drinks? Is he serious?
How can he think it’s okay to speak to someone that way? But before
I can say anything the cute waiter lets out an amused laugh that
surprises me.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m gonna have to
see an ID first.” The waiter looks not at all sorry to ask, which
makes me have to hide a smile.

“You have got to be kidding me,”
Gregory starts. “I left it in the men’s locker room,” he explains,
but his confidence is shaken. No one ever challenges
Gregory.

“I’m sorry sir, but without a valid ID
I’m not gonna be able to serve you, but I’ll be happy to wait here
while you go and get it.” The waiter gives Greg a fake smile and
then me a real one. He clearly is enjoying himself.

It’s evident Greg’s not going to get
his way, so he finally concedes, but without an ounce of grace.
“How about you take your eyes off my date, and go do your job.” He
levels the waiter with his eyes. “And just bring me a damn coke
while you’re at it.”

“Will do, sir,” the waiter says with
artificial politeness, giving Gregory an almost imperceptible bow
before turning around and leaving.

This time, I’m the one who gets caught
watching one of the waitstaff walk away.

Lane

“What an ass.” I shove past the thick
swinging doors and into the busy kitchen.

“Qué pasó, my main man?” Mario, the
Grille’s line cook asks as I punch the order into the
system.

“Dude, I just busted some richie-rich
for trying to order drinks underage, and he had the nerve to yell
at me for looking at his date. Too bad for him, she was looking
right back,” I say with a cocky laugh before giving Mario a high
five. “Man, it’s the jerks like that, that always get everything in
life—the money, the power, the girl. Probably has some big fat
trust fund to pay for college too.”

“Sorry, man, but try not to let him
get under your skin, amigo.”

I know Mario’s right, I should just
let it go, but I’m sick and tired of Stays treating us locals like
we’re nothing. And who the hell tells someone to ‘go fetch’? What
am I? A dog? What an ass.

I drum my fingers against the metal
counter at the pass until Mario rings the service bell with a grin
and hands me their starters.

“Here, orders up and good
luck.”

I give him a nod then try to shove my
jealousy and anger down when I enter the dining room again, but I
feel it hovering right on the surface. I take a deep breath before
setting the calamari in the center of the table and the salad in
front of the girl.

“Is there anything else I can get you
right now?” I ask, and it’s hard to keep my eyes off of her long
dark hair, her light green eyes and her legs that go on for miles.
Maybe that douche had a point.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” she says
politely, and I wonder why she’s on a date with such an ass-hat.
Either way, girls like her don’t date boys like me. Unless they’re
trying to piss off their parents, which is fine by me, but she
doesn’t look like the rebellious type.

I turn to face him, lifting my
eyebrows. “And you?” I ask because it’s my job.

“Yes, there is something you can do
for me, how about you explain why my silverware is off of the
floor.” He holds up his dinner fork, but I don’t understand what
he’s talking about. Off the floor?

“Excuse me?” I reach for the fork to
examine it. I personally set this table less than an hour ago, and
the silverware hadn’t touched the ground. Why would it? But right
before I’m able to take the fork from him for a closer look he
opens his thumb and pointer finger letting the fork fall to the
hardwood floor with a loud ping that echoes through the dining
room.

“See.” He looks me right in the eyes,
a smirk plastered across his smug face, challenging me.

You have got to be kidding me. This
guy picked the wrong day.

I calmly pick the fork up off the
ground, bring it to my mouth and spit on the tongs before lifting
my apron and polishing it until it’s dry and shining. So much for
not letting him get under my skin.

“My apologies, sir.” I place the fork
back on the table in front of him like I’d accidentally brought out
the wrong appetizer instead of spitting all over the dude’s
silverware. “If there’s anything else I can do for you please let
me know, otherwise your entrees will be out shortly.”

I watch his eyes go wide with shock
before walking away looking cool, calm, and collected, even though
on the inside I’m totally freaking out. This is not going to end
well.

“Lane!” Mr. Billings shouts several
minutes later over the kitchen noise, his face beet red.

Not. Good.

“Did you or did you not just pick up a
dirty fork from the restaurant floor, precede to spit on it then
place it back on the table in front of Mr. Chase?” A large
throbbing vein in his forehead protrudes at an unhealthy height
while he waits for my answer, but it’s obvious he already knows
exactly what happened.

“In my defense, sir,
saliva
is
cleaner
than urine, which I had considered using.” I hope a little comic
relief will help defuse the situation, but it doesn’t.

“Lane,” he growls, not appreciating my
humorous quip.

“Mr. Billings, I’m sorry. I have no
excuse for my behavior. Well, I mean, I do. The guy was being a
total jerk. He dropped that fork on the floor on purpose, I swear.”
I take a deep breath and worry Mr. Billings isn’t breathing at all
by the color of his face, which is now a dark shade of
purple.

What was I thinking? I guess I wasn’t,
really. When the fork hit the ground, I just reacted. My regret is
immediate when I consider what I’ve done. I needed to get more
shifts at work, not lose my job, which by the looks of it, I was
about to do.

“Sir, I let him get to me, but it’ll
never happen again, I promise. I’ll go apologize to him right now.”
I start for the kitchen door.

“Stop,” Mr. Billings orders. “You will
do nothing of the sort. Lane, Mr. Chase and his family are very
influential here at the club and in this community, not to mention
the world. You cannot go around spitting on the silverware of the
youngest son in the Chase banking family and not suffer the
consequences.”

“What…I mean…who…” I
stammer. “You mean
that
Chase family?” My mouth falls open.

“Precisely.”

Oh crap.

“Sir, please I had no idea, and I know
that’s no excuse, but I got some bad news earlier today about my
school loan, and I guess I just took it out on him. Please, I’m so
sorry,” I beg.

“Yale?” Mr. Billing’s tone softens and
his shoulders drop as he gestures with his eyes for me to follow
him into his office.

“Yes, sir, I…I didn’t qualify for the
financial aid I need,” I explain, once he’s shut the door, blocking
out the kitchen noise. He knows how hard I’ve worked to get into
Yale, and he also knows my family can’t manage to pay for it
without the extra help. “It’s a long story, but I really can’t
afford to lose this job. I was actually going to ask for some extra
shifts so I could try and save enough money this summer to pay for
it myself.”

“Lane,” Mr. Billings says with equal
parts disappointment and frustration in his tone. I keep my eyes on
the floor and brace myself for what I know is coming. I’m gonna
lose my job. “I can’t keep you on, you have to know that. Mr. Chase
insists you be fired immediately, and I have to agree. If word got
out that I allowed you to stay on in the dining room or if the
health board found out about your little stunt, we’d both be
fired.” He blows out a breath as he sits down behind his
desk.

He’s right, and there’s no one to
blame but me. “I’m sorry, sir. I completely understand. I’ll
leave.” I untie my apron, too embarrassed to even make eye
contact.

“Wait.” Mr. Billings says, sounding
more sympathetic than anything now. “Lane, I obviously can’t keep
you on as a waiter, but maybe I can still keep you on as
staff.”

I jerk my head up.
“Really?”

“Look, Lane, you’re a good kid.
Believe me, I know it’s not easy growing up here and having to deal
with people like that Chase boy all the time. I get it. But you
can’t act out on a whim like that.” He shakes his head clearly
disappointed in me and I feel bad for letting him down. “You have
to learn to let it go. How else do you think I’m able to deal with
half the patrons of this club? Mr. Chase included.”

I twist my hands around my apron. “I
really am sorry, Mr. Billings. I’d do anything to stay on, I really
need the work.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” Mr.
Billings tips his head back and takes a deep breath. “I’m moving
you to dish washing. And you are not to be on the floor. Ever. You
understand?”

I have to keep myself from hugging
him. I smile instead. “Yes, sir, I understand completely,
sir.”

“Now listen, it pays less than the
waiter job, so how about I get you some extra shifts in the garage?
But again, I need you to stay in the back and keep a low profile.
Got it?”

“That’d be perfect. I’m good with
cars.”

“Yes, I know,” he says. “Frank is
always bragging about you when I run into him in town, tells me you
two finally finished the restorations on that old Shelby. He’s
pretty proud.”

I nod, proud of what we built too.
“Thank you so much, sir. I won’t let you down again. I
promise.”

“And, Lane, please try to stay out of
trouble this time.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

…

I feel right at home in the valet
garage. The sound of metal clanking against metal and the smell of
oil and grease in the air is a welcome change from the sound of
wine glasses clinking and the smell of duck cooking. The absence of
wealthy trust fund kids is an added bonus; I might not like them,
but I love their cars.

“Excuse me? I call out over the noise
of the busy garage. “I’m looking for Mr. Parkman, Mr. Billings sent
me.”

A guy in his mid thirties rolls out
from underneath a sleek black Jaguar. “Oh hey, you must be Lane?”
He wipes the grease from his hands before giving me a firm hand
shake.