"Lennon, the customer at table three needs another glass of ice water with lemon."
Inwardly groaning to myself, I nod at the boss and walk towards the bar. This is the fourth time I've had to grab a glass of water for the pretentious idiot sitting at table three. If I hadn't known any better, I would guess that he is a critic in disguise trying to make us waiters and waitresses crack so he can write a bad review for one of the top restaurants in LA.
"Another glass," I tell the bartender, placing my hand on the countertop and taking a moment to catch my breath. The night has been overwhelming with the news of a celebrity arriving later this evening and the wait to get in hasn't moved any shorter than two hours.
"Remind me again why we work here," my best friend, Kate, questions as she fills up another glass. "I'm just saying, we could probably get better tips working down at the clubs."
I laugh, "Yeah, if we want to wear minimal clothing and parade around for cash."
"Well, we would be fine with the minimal clothing bit," Kate winks, turning off the tap and sliding the glass across the countertop to me.
Rolling my eyes at her, I grab the glass and weasel my way over to table three. The man, sitting in a designer suite, sends me a knowing smirk as I place the glass down. What an asshole.
"Anything else I can get for you, sir?" I speak, plastering a fake smile onto my face and trying to hold my sarcastic tone down.
"No dearie," he replies with a wave of his hand. "That's all for now."
Letting out a deep breath, I turn away from the needy customer and stride over towards the reservation podium. Nick stands there, pressed in a white long sleeved shirt, black dress pants, and a black tie. I'm not ashamed to admit that he has endearing qualities about him. From the baby blue eyes to the tasseled chocolate brown hair, he's every girls stereotypical storybook crush.
"Len," he greets me with an award winning smile. "How you holding up, tonight?"
Leaning on my elbows next to him, a wave of exhaustion crashes through my entire body making my knees feel weak and muscles like they are about to burst. I push back a few stray hairs that have fallen out of my ponytail and put my forehead into my hands.
"I'm living," I retort back with a small smile. Nick lets out a small chuckle, putting his hand on my back and rubbing small circles into it. The touch feels nice and I find myself leaning into it slightly.
His affection has always been the one thing that's never gone unnoticed. Nick was the first friend I made after moving to Los Angeles two years ago. He always jokes about how I literally "fell" for him the moment we met, because I did. In the airport. Two minutes after getting off the plane. Let's just say that combining a klutz with escalators to baggage claim is never a good idea.
Lifting my head up from my hands I glance at the long queue that starts from the podium and extends outside the front glass doors. Security are standing on either side of the door looking intimidating as hell. But, I suppose those are the standards needed when you work in one of the top restaurants in the city.
I also take note of the unusually large amount of preteen and teenage girls that are standing outside, ready with iPhones in their hands. Their sparkling eyes seems to wander all over the place, looking for something or more so someone.
"Hey Nick," I call out to get his attention. "Why are there so many teenage girls standing outside?"
He snorts, rolling his eyes. "I'm surprised you didn't hear which celebrity is planning on making an appearance here tonight."
