His Accidental Personal Assistant

Chapter 4: A S S I S T A N T?

"You don't know how proud I am of you."

Amanda began to smooth Amaris' wrinkled, crisply white button-down blouse that loosely hung on her body. Starkly contrasting the baggy blouse, Amaris had high-waisted, tapered black dress pants with a flare at the bottom. It clutched at her hips and thighs, leaving her no room to breathe or possibly sit down.

Like a mother gazing at her firstborn child, Amanda fixed her eyes on Amaris.

"I just can't believe I'm doing this."

"Don't worry! You'll do great!" Amanda heartened.

"Amanda, I've never been a waitress before! What if I mess up and pour something on someone?"

She spent the whole night watching countless tutorials on how to serve, noting down all the dos and don'ts of serving. The restaurant had already given her a rundown, but she was still completely unprepared. Even when she watched the plethora of tutorials, she got confused.

The videos and articles told her on which side to approach the table from, how to pick up plates and cutlery and pour wine depending on the type, how to hold bar trays, how to fix up the table for desserts, main courses, side dishes, and soups, when and how to make small talk, and so much more.

When she couldn't figure out how to do it immediately after, she would panic, but Amaris had to reassure herself that what she was doing was the right thing. Of course, she needed the job, but agonizing thoughts of failure loitered in her head. Constantly, she pictured herself tripping over nothing and spilling boiling hot Bisque onto someone's head and watching their skin melt off their skull. Her lips quivered, and her chest viciously seized at the thought of messing up—of failing. She'd done it before; it seemed failure had enchanted her life.

"You think I was a good waitress when I started? No! I messed up orders, spilled drinks and food, and hell, sometimes I missed my entire shift because I thought I was on break! Oh, you should have seen Marcus; he was fuming! But that doesn't mean I should give up, does it?"

"You're right..."

Amanda returned with another approving smile. Suddenly, her mouth opened, and her eyebrows arched.

"Oh! Your hair!" Amanda exclaimed.

She spun on her heels and bolted towards the door. Speeding off, Amanda snatched a brush from the next room.

"Sit down, Missy," she ordered, prompting Amaris to sit on the vanity's slatted-back chair.

"You know I can do my own hair, right?" Amaris giggled.

She obediently did as she was told, pressing herself up against the uncomfortable wooden beams of the chair. Amanda began to softly brush out the knots and tangles hidden in her loosely wavy hair.

Amanda wrapped Amaris' dark, French-roast-colored hair and fastened it into a tight chignon bun. To finish her work, Amanda stuck a cutely decorated flower bobby pin in her hair.

In truth, it was better than anything Amaris could do. She would have simply pulled it back into her customarily low-hanging ponytail. Amaris' gaze fell to the mirror once more while she slightly tugged at the strands. She hadn't even put any makeup on, yet she still felt overdressed.

"I wish I had your kind of hair. I would be done in seconds, and I wouldn't have to worry about goin' to the salon to braid and whatever."

Amanda reached for her own hair.

"Now I don't have any."

"You still look beautiful"

"I never said I didn't! Are we going or not, Missy?"