The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

05 - a proposal

 NATURALLY, Muse Gardner would be fired.

    Adrien had been answering an email for a business partnership when she'd heard her father's rage-filled accusation.

    "You. I want you fired." 

     And from her father, black suit splattered in fondue, Adrien lifted her eyes until she saw the small figure of the woman who'd given her a quarter. Who had shyly, tentatively, slid that little coin towards her, a billionaire. As if she could possibly need repayment for a tampon from the dispenser.

     Now, that same woman looked like she was on the verge of tears. She'd been caught in the crossfire: fondue flecked her hair, her bare arms. She met Julien's gaze with something like resignation.

     And then she turned. She didn't run. She just walked back into the kitchen, and an army of waiters descended upon the disaster. A white woman with ginger hair offered several apologies to Julien, one after the other, blurring together into a frantic and incoherent stream.

     This was probably Adrien's cue to leave.

     Although they hadn't gotten their food yet―only water and a Shirley Temple― Adrien pulled out a cheque from her wallet for a thousand dollars. She debated leaving it on the table, but . . . what were the odds that woman―Muse Gardner―would ever return? Julien's very loud and very public accusation ensured Muse's immediate termination.

     Before Adrien could think better of it, she slipped out of the shadowed, velvety booth. Towards the entrance in which she'd seen Muse disappear. She owed Muse a tip, that was all.

    In the commotion, nobody noticed Adrien. The other patrons of the restaurant watched the scene with barely veiled glee―it was drama, and rich people were always bored.

     The entrance had been marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.  If she was caught . . . Adrien paused. Most of the waiters were focused on the fondue mess anyway. And on soothing her father's injured pride.  

    Well. If she was caught, she'd use money to purchase her freedom. Like always.

    Adrien ducked into the entrance and searched the kitchens for Muse. Most of the posts had been abandoned: water boiled on the stovetop, chicken sizzled on the oven and vegetables lay on the cutting board, only partially chopped. Nobody was watching.

     Near the back, Adrien saw a row of white lockers. And the silhouette of a woman, hurriedly shoving her things into her purse.

     It had to be Muse.

     "Hello?" said Adrien. An echo of Muse's first word to her.

     Muse turned around, clasping her purse shut. "Yes?"

     "I . . ." Adrien blinked. In the steam and smoke of the kitchen, Muse seemed more goddess than girl. She had uptilted eyes and lashes that fanned her cheekbones with each blink. Her light brown skin, almost golden in the light, glowed with heat and sweat. "You . . . I . . ." What was it she had wanted to say again?

      And then―a sear of pain. Adrien jumped, clutching her hand to herself, and dazedly realized she had just placed her palm on a hot stovetop.

      "Are you . . . okay?"

     That sweet, tentative voice snapped Adrien back to attention. She hid her hand behind her back, knowing the flesh of her palm would be red and shiny, and hoped it was a casual gesture. The instinct was ingrained. Never show weakness. 

     "Fine," said Adrien, her voice a little rough. Had the sight of a pretty woman seriously distracted her into touching the red, heated ring of an open stove? Christ. She probably had second-degree burns, and all because she'd been staring like a hormonal teenage boy. "Are . . . are you okay?"      

     After a disaster like that, it would be hard for Muse to find a job. That kind of reputation―splattering a multi-billionaire in fondue―would follow a waitress.

     "Fine," said Muse, just as roughly. "What are you . . ."

     Adrien blinked. What was she doing here? "Oh. I―have money. For you." 

     "If you're trying to bribe me―"

     "No," said Adrien quickly. "It's a tip. For―the drinks."

     And she held out the glossy thousand-dollar cheque, its paper flickering between her fingers. Muse reached for it. When her skin brushed against Adrien's, Adrien froze. The warmth and heat and softness of her . . . 

     "Do you have another job? A back-up?"

     "No." Muse tilted her head, a birdlike gesture. It was unnervingly attractive. "But I'll find one." A dry laugh. "I'm sure Denny's is hiring fuck-ups."

     Adrien didn't want to leave. Didn't want to walk away and never see this woman again. She opened her mouth to say something else, but―

    Muse had just looked down at the cheque in her hand.

    "A thousand dollars for a Shirley fucking Temple?"  

    "It's―"

    Eyes blazing, Muse said, "This has to be some sort of scheme―I'm not―I won't take your charity!"

    And she ripped the cheque―not in half, not in three pieces, but into a dozen tiny shreds that fluttered to the kitchen floor.

    Adrien's mouth fell open. She held up one hand in surrender, but she was already reaching into her purse for a second cheque. Ever since she was twenty-one, she'd carried at least ten cheques in her purse, each pre-labeled for a thousand dollars.

    The other waiters might be back any moment now, resuming their posts in the kitchen, but Adrien didn't care. Muse was going to have this cheque whether she wanted it or not. It was the least Adrien could do.

    "Your hand," said Muse suddenly.

    Adrien realized she had mistakenly held up her burned palm, and she quickly lowered it to her side. With her other hand, she held out the second cheque.

    "That's a second-degree burn," Muse said, ignoring Adrien's offer.

    "I don't care. I'm not leaving without giving you a tip."

     Muse crossed her arms. Adrien had only ever seen stubbornness like that in the mirror. 

     "You should go to a hospital."

     "You should accept my cheque."

     "I'll accept your cheque if you go to the hospital."

     "I'll go to the hospital," said Adrien, "if you come with me."

     That surprised both of them.

     "Why me?" said Muse. "I'm sure you have about a dozen private doctors and secretaries and whatever."

     Adrien lifted a shoulder. A shrug. "Deal?"

     A moment of silence stretched between them. The heat from the stovetops and the smoke reached a pinnacle. Both their faces were flushed; both of them had strands of hair clinging to their skin. With dark, determined eyes, Muse and Adrien remained locked in what could only be a contest of wills. For a moment, Adrien was certain Muse would say, Deal. 

     Instead, Muse shrugged in the same way Adrien had. 

    "Fine, die of blood poisoning," she said, and walked away.

***

I kind of love them.

From the moon and back,
Sarai