Submitting in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 3)

I look up at him, a little foggy, but before I can reconsider, I make the one request that makes me feel like I can breathe again. “Can you take Rafe’s table tonight?”

Shock registers on his face, then he must realize the only reason I would ask that, and sympathy slides into its place. He sighs, but nods his head. “Of course.”

I nod, not looking at him. “Thank you. Um, she needs—they need a water with lemon. I already brought him his drink, but… yeah.”

After my lame finish, I lift the tray of drinks and head to the other side of the restaurant to deliver those drinks and take their order.

I’m hiding out in the kitchen as much as possible. I haven’t so much as glanced in the direction of Rafe’s table again, too afraid of what I’ll see. Just his arm around the back of his booth brought back memories, and if I have to see him snuggling her close, I know which memory I will be reliving all night long.

I don’t know what to do.

I can’t work here anymore. I’ve filled my own head with these fantasies of how I might be able to keep working for him, how we could both live paused lives until we die so as not to hurt each other, but it’s bullshit. Eventually he had to get tired of being alone. I didn’t even know for sure whether or not he was alone. Maybe he still entertains booth girls, he just does it elsewhere so I don’t have to see it. I’ve wondered about it before, naturally, but I let myself be romantic. I let myself imagine maybe he didn’t need those girls anymore, because even though we couldn’t be together, he kept me in his heart the way I keep him in mine.

I lied to myself. I set myself up for this disappointment. This is my fault. Rafe never once promised to live out the rest of his days alone. He warned me—right before fucking me for the last time—that he would eventually bring them in. The day I confronted him about Felix, he even said once he started bringing women in again, I was free to see other men.

A moving on pact. I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way, but that’s what it was. Once I’ve moved on, so can you. He just needed to be first.

I guess he’s finally over me.

I’m standing here half-heartedly making a salad when I feel his presence. I’m a few seconds late; he’s already behind me. There are other people in the kitchen, but they’re all busy and he doesn’t seem to care. He leans in until I feel his breath on my skin, moves aside my dark pony tail, and says, “I can’t believe you pawned me off on Felix.”

“I didn’t pawn you off,” I say, a pointless a lie. “I just—I’m swamped tonight. I have a lot of tables.” Another pointless lie. I would let everyone in this restaurant starve so I could serve Rafe.

“Mm hmm.” His tone is unconvinced—shocking, since I told such solid lies!—and his gaze drops to the salad I’m preparing. “You are putting a lot of tomatoes on that salad.”

I look down, realizing my hands are moving without instruction from my poor, fried brain. It’s basically a bowl of tomatoes. Dammit. I sigh and start putting some back.

“You’re distracting me,” I accuse. “You need to let me work before I fuck up the whole order.”

“Fine. But Felix isn’t serving me. I come here so you can serve me.”

Normally I would care more that he’s admitting that, but now I finish picking the extra tomatoes off my salad, put it on my tray, and lift it in the air. “I’m busy.”

“You know, if Felix fucks up our orders, I’m gonna have to fire him,” he tells me, slickly.

That he dared use the word “our” makes me want to stab him in the face.

I grit my teeth and turn back to look at him. This miserable bastard—there’s mild amusement on his face. He should at least be sorry that he’s…

That he’s what, moving on? I guess maybe he shouldn’t be sorry, but the part of my heart that’s still hurting can’t help wondering, what does she have that I don’t? Obvious physical attractiveness aside, why is he willing to take a chance on a real relationship with her, but not me?

Fine. He wants me to serve him. He wants me to carve my heart out and serve it up for him and his dinner date to enjoy? I will. But it will be the last time.

Tonight I will serve this bastard and his date, and tomorrow I will put in my two week notice.

Nodding shortly, I tell him, “Fine. I’ll serve you.”

“Good,” he says simply. “I’ll see you back at the table.”

I walk away muttering, but I have to paste on a smile to take care of my other guests.

Since Rafe has made his demands, I go straight from that table to his. On my way, I draw out my orderpad and pen. I don’t need them, but it’ll give me something to do. I don’t want to memorize every curve of this woman’s body, and I will if I don’t have something else to look at.

I imagine this is what it feels like to walk up to Hell’s gates, but I tell myself I can get through it. Just one more night. I can’t believe I went from having such a great day, feeling like life was good, to this. I guess that’s what you get when you live in a house of cards. One bastard blowing on it can knock it all down.

My next house needs to be built with sturdy building materials. No more houses of cards for me. Nope, nope, nope. On a larger scale, this is a good thing. Rafe has done me a favor, because now I finally have a reason to let him go.