When the owner came back with a kid’s cup and a tumbler of whiskey, she started to offer to take it, but he just shook his head at her. “I got it. I assume the whiskey’s for him?”
“Yep,” she murmured, thanking him and going back to her stand, pretending she had something to do.
Remembering her other table, she ran back to see if their appetizer was done.
It wasn’t like the owner to hang around the server stand and harass the girls—at all—but after she delivered the appetizer to her other table, he was still standing there. Kendra glanced at him curiously, but she already had another table, so she didn’t linger, since everyone wanted to look busy when the owner was around.
Willow wasn’t sure she had the stamina to do that. He knew she was usually a great worker, so she thought he might be able to overlook her lack of energy for one evening.
Then the owner leaned in toward her, and Willow was too stunned to even jump back when he murmured, “I know it’s not my business, but you deserve a hell of a lot better than that.”
Her face flushed and she avoided eye contact, nervously straightening the straws in the box next to the computer. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He merely quirked a dark eyebrow. “Really?”
She forced a casual shrug. “It’s just a table. I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit.”
Her gaze jerked to his—he had never sworn at her before.
“I’m your boyfriend’s age—you think I haven’t seen this shit before?” he asked, shaking his head. He looked disgusted and though she rarely felt bad about being with Ethan, suddenly she was flush with embarrassment.
“It’s not what you think,” she offered, since he already seemed to have a pretty good guess about the situation.
“It never is,” he replied sarcastically. “Parading his wife in front of you—classy. He’s a keeper.”
“Oh, my god,” she said, her eyes widening. “They’re separated.”
“They look separated.”
Willow’s jaw clenched shut. “I have to use the restroom,” she said, since she couldn’t tell her boss to fuck off.
“You want me to take their order for you?” he asked.
She absolutely did, but she was too annoyed with him to let him bail her out, so she said shortly, “I can do it myself.”
By the time she made it into the restroom, throwing her order pad down on the sink, she couldn’t tell if she was flushed and shaky from Ethan blindsiding her or her boss infuriating her.
“Get it together,” she told herself, half-glaring at her reflection as she braced herself on the sink.
Since Ethan had been as shocked as she was, clearly he had not been in on it. Given that they requested her section, it wasn’t an unlucky coincidence. She didn’t know how Amanda even knew where she worked—apparently Ethan didn’t—but she must have found out somehow.
Willow would just have to deal. God knew she’d survived worse.
Once she felt she had enough control to get through the next hour—God, she hoped they were fast eaters—she propelled herself out the door, nearly running into Ethan, who stood outside leaning against the wall.
Before she could speak, he said, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea—I didn’t even know you worked here.”
“Clearly you’re the only one,” she shot back, a little of her irritation seeping out.
Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Your party requested my table,” she pointed out. “People don’t usually request waitresses by name if they don’t know they work there.”
Letting his head fall back, he said, “Jesus Christ. Why…?”
Willow shrugged, shaking her head. “Sadism?”