Not My Billionaire
n my should
ucky, but I do catch a glimpse of a manatee's tail in the sailboat marina that sits a mile from my home. On the rare occasion that I get a day off, I like to sit on the end of the dock and check
ruth even though there's no shame in being a server at a restaurant. My mom has been one for thirty years, since she found out she was pregnant with my older brother and had to drop out of her softball scholar
, it'
othing more.
the security guard on my way in. After my shower, I listen in to the locker room conv
aurant, giggles. Her braided hair is up in a bun on top of
he's rich. I'm sure he'd be super average-looking if he was wea
ssip with everyone else. I'm the head server for a reason, and that reason is
ys, carefully, "The new owner is her
al with more rich jerks than anyone should have to see in a lifetime, and now I'
ough I'm not really friends with these two, I am jus
on the floor soon enough, but for now, I have to clock in, make sure
the new dish washing trainee should be someone else's problem, but I keep my
,reallywant
ll bread plates from last night's clean dishes and head toward the server
rough the door, I
e message, and the plates go flying, most of th
ter
a
ly in slacks and a simple button-up to blend in, and my clothes don't rumple for a moment as a tiny woman crashes into me, throwing small plce low despite her evident frustration. Any normal pers
t mine, and her face sc
al statement, she hisse
resort, at least, although I'm surprised anyone would be so straightforward and angry about my
me back through the door she just came through.
asing me when we arrive in a dish-washing area. "Those were all the clean appetizer
y is probably my hundredth day or so. Perhaps she means that it's my first day visiting this resort? I open
he metal cabinets "-that need to be washed before they go out. That's the policy, although they should
before throwing a small black piece of fabric at me. When I unfold it, it's an apron. That's when the realization dawns on me.