The Skin Thief

Chapter 35

I pretend not to notice as one of the security guards walks toward me.

"Miss?" he asks.

"Yes?" Somehow, I keep my voice from shaking. He looks at me sternly.

"I wanted to ask you if you could keep from touching my client."

My mouth nearly hangs open in shock. That is not where I was expecting this to go.

"Er, what?" I ask, frowning. He remains emotionless.

"Please refrain from touching Mr Salt."

I blink and shake my head. "Why?" I ask.

"For security purposes," he responds.

Well, that's not going to happen. I need to collect the listening device back off Mr Salt's pin.

"Erm, I guess," I respond, frowning, "but it's a habit for me to touch my customer's shoulders, so I might do it out of reflex."

"I strongly suggest you don't," he says, glaring down at me. I cross my arms and look up at him.

"This is ridiculous. Are you going to arrest me if I do?" I ask.

He doesn't answer and I shake my head.

"Look," I huff, "why don't you just let me do my job, please? I'm just trying to get through the night and not piss off a pervert politician whilst at the same time, getting a nice big tip from him. I'm not here to poison him or anything. I'm just a graduate working two jobs so I can put food on the table and the last thing I need is overbearing security guards watching my every move and threatening me." I let my voice become wobbly and my eyes sting with tears. I quickly bring my hands up to rub them and clear my throat.

"Please, just let me do my job."

He huffs, turns, and walks away. I glare at his back and clench my fists in frustration. Why did his head of security have to hire competent security guards?

"I'm going to send in a complaint to head office," Steve says as I approach the bar. "The security is far too overbearing and getting in our way."

"I thought you said they don't care about us as long as Mr Salt is spending his money," I say. Steve smiles.

"They'll care if I say that the security is intimidating other customers and the fact that they are stopping us from booking out the VIP section is also losing them money, even if they did pay for all the tables. It still isn't as much as if the tables were full and the diners were ordering lots of our most expensive drinks. Head office will hopefully send a shitty email to Mr Salt's office and tell them that to knock it off."

"I hope so. They're kind of scaring me," I respond with a sigh.

"Yeah, me too," Steve replies.

A light pings on the computer in front of him.

"Mr Salt's food is ready," he tells me.

"Already on it," I say, walking toward the kitchen.

As I round the corner carrying their starters, Mr Salt and Owen are in the middle of a deep conversation. Paperwork is sprawled out across the table between them.

As security spots me, they stand quickly. What now?

One of them scoops up the paperwork, much to Mr Salt's protests. I'm not too fussed about it. I know that the watch on my wrist has been saving everything the tiny microphone has been recording.

I place the food down in front of them and smile politely.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" I ask.