How the Playboy Got Serious. Shirley Jump
He’s new. Probably won’t last long. Let me get you some menus.” She turned on her sneakered heel, and started to walk away, then thought better of it, and grabbed a fistful of Riley’s shirt and hauled him backward.
Riley’s feet tangled and nearly brought him to the ground. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”
“Getting you out of there before you do any more damage.” She stopped by the hostess station, snatched up two menus, then released Riley. “Stay.” She punctuated the word with a glare. “And I mean it.”
“Woof.”
The glare intensified, then she stalked off, handed the menus to the customers, and returned to Riley’s side. “Hey, all I did was forget menus. You’re acting like I committed a federal crime,” he said.
“Just stay out of my way and we’ll get along just fine.”
“I’m supposed to be making your life easier.”
“Well, you’re not.”
She started to walk away, but he caught up with her and turned her to face him. “I was hired to help you.”
“Well, you’re not.”
He eyed Sally/Sandy. He’d had the pretty blonde as a waitress a dozen times, and though he’d tried his best to get to know her, she’d resisted. Maybe she hated him. Why?
Maybe because he’d never learned her name, something he now regretted. And couldn’t remedy because she didn’t have on a name tag.
She was a beautiful woman with a petite, tight body and a smile that rarely made an appearance. She had wide green eyes, long blond hair that he’d only ever seen tied back, and a quick wit. He’d seen her friendly banter with other customers, and wondered why she’d always been cold with him on the dozens of occasions when he’d eaten here.
He’d asked her out a few times, flirted with her often, and she’d always resisted. Now he needed to get along with her—at least on the job. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care—he’d just avoid her at work or just avoid work, period. But this time, the job mattered, not just because he needed the paycheck, but because he wanted to prove himself, to Gran, to himself, and yes, in an odd way, to this angry waitress. “I admit, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here,” he said. “I’m on a steep learning curve, and that means I might get underfoot a little.”
“A lot,” she corrected.
“Okay, a lot. But I’m here to help, to take some of the burden off your shoulders. If you let me.”
She let out a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Train me.” He put up his two hands. “I can sit, stay and even beg.”
“Just…stay,” she said now. “You’re no good to me out there. You’ll just make my job harder.”
“Why? You think I can’t write down an order and deliver it to Frank?” He’d seen her do it a hundred times. It didn’t look hard at all.
“Honestly, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because a man with manicured nails and a thousand-dollar haircut is used to giving orders, not taking them.”
Riley winced. Did people really see him that way? A useless playboy with nothing but time on his hands for mischief? And if they did, could he blame them? What had he done with his life up until now? But he was determined to change that, at least here, now, in this diner. “Frank hired me for a reason.”
“Because he promised me he’d hire the next person who walked through that door. It could have been a monkey, and Frank would have given him a job just to prove his point.”
“Which is?”
She let out a gust. “What do you care? You’re only here because you needed something else to amuse you.” The bell over the door jangled, and two more customers stepped inside the diner. She grabbed some menus out of the bin by the hostess station. “I don’t want to be part of your little ‘live like the common folk do’ project.” She put air quotes around the words.
“I’m not—”
But she was already gone, seeming to whoosh across the tiled floor like a tidal wave. In the space of thirty seconds, she had the second couple seated, given them their menus, then returned to the construction workers and taken their orders. She tore a page off the pad, slipped behind the counter and slid it across the stainless steel bar in the kitchen to Frank, calling off something Riley couldn’t understand but sounded like “flop two, over easy” and “give it wings.”
Frank garbled something back, and Sally/Sandy disappeared into the kitchen for a second.
Riley had to admit, he was impressed. He had watched her bustle around the diner, a tiny dynamo in a slim fitting pair of jeans, a hot pink Morning Glory Diner T-shirt, and a bobbing blond ponytail. Every time he’d seen her, she’d been like that, a human bee, flitting from one table to the next. She was fast, and efficient, even if her customer service skills with him were almost nonexistent. Maybe the job was more stressful than it looked. Many times, she’d been the only waitress in here when he stopped in for his morning breakfast, since lunch was almost always at McGill’s Pub with his brother Finn.
Apparently help was hard to come by, because he’d seen that Help Wanted sign often over the years, and seen dozens of waitresses who worked here a few weeks, then moved on. The only constant was Sally/Sandy—he was sure it was something with an S—she had been here every day, and always with the same brisk, no-nonsense approach to the job.
“Hey, buddy, you just going to stand there?”
Riley leaned against the hostess station, flipping through one of the menus. He’d been given the menu before, but never really looked at it. He’d just ordered what he wanted and figured if they didn’t have the ingredients, they would have told him. Now, though, it might be a good idea to get more familiar with it. Knowing Sally/Sandy, there’d be a quiz later.
“Buddy!”
Frank’s offered a hell of a lot of food for such a small place. He’d started coming here in the mornings for breakfast because it was on the way between his subway stop and the offices of McKenna Media. Not to mention the Morning Glory’s coffee was better than any he’d ever had. Riley scanned the pages of breakfast and lunch offerings, noted there was no dinner service. Working half days sounded good to him. He’d have his evenings free.
Except, the thought of spending an evening in yet another bar didn’t thrill him anymore. Maybe it was being another year older. Maybe it was the shock of Gran’s edict. Maybe it was a need for new friends. Whatever the problem was, he knew one thing.
He wanted more…depth to his days.
“Hey, moron!”
Riley jerked his attention toward the construction guys. “You can’t talk to her like that.”
“Her who? We’re talking to you, Tweedledee.” The two guys snickered, then the big one—the one with the hat that said Irving—wiggled his fingers like he was feigning sign language. “Two coffees. You know, the hot stuff in cups?”
“I know what coffee is.”
“Good. Get us some. Now.”
Bunch of Neanderthals ordering people around. Riley leaned against the hostess station and crossed his arms over his chest. Considered dumping the pot in the man’s lap, just to prove the point. “No. Not unless you say please.”
Irving’s face turned red. His fist tightened on the table. Before he could open his mouth, Sally/Sandy came sailing past Riley, two cups in one hand, a hot pot of coffee in the other. The cups landed on the table with a soft clatter, and she filled them to just under the brim without spilling a drop. “Don’t mind him. He’s not really a waiter.”
“What