Charlotte Hart is a young, inexperienced individual when it comes to Jacob's lavish lifestyle. She was scouted to work for him, leaving behind some of her favorite people at a service job she acquired through college. The new field of work proves to...
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"So what do you think Jacob does for a living?" I asked Brandon and Lana as I waited for their last round of drinks. Usually, they order four rounds, a few men tapping out each time. Tonight there was no dinner, just a couple starters and bread service. Still, his bill was over a grand. I need to know how he can afford spending this much each week.
"I'd say he's a hitman," Lana whispers jokingly as we stare at their table in the corner.
"Lana what the fuck?" I scrunch my face at her comment.
"No, she's got a point. There are a few older men always with him. They definitely run whatever he's in and get all those hot younger men to do their dirty work," Brandon chimes in as he shakes cocktails.
"Guys, be serious. Can someone google him while I run these drinks? I've been trying to get an eye on his papers all night and he caught me looking. It's gotta be something interesting," I ask as I bring the last tray to their table for the night.
"Why the fuck would he back out?" Barry, Jacob's right hand man exclaimed, throwing papers down on the table.
"We can find someone else, I assure you," An older man from the table lineup spoke up.
"It's fucking idiotic to leave a deal as good as that one. He would have made millions," Barry rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his water.
"Barry, we will figure it out. He wasn't the only one wanting in on it. I'll reach out to a few people tomorrow and settle it," Jacob said, tie now completely stripped from his body and hanging with his blazer. His white dress shirt parted on his chest, unbuttoned just at the top.
I could tell this was a heated debate I just walked into. I tried to mind my business as I silently placed cocktails with the remaining drinkers. Jacob being one of them. As I sat his whiskey sour down, his bloodshot eyes followed my arm. His eyes scanned every inch of me until they reached my eyes. As if I interrupted something I wasn't allowed to hear.
And I did.
That's part of my job, though. I basically don't exist as a server. My job is to run drink, take orders, and deliver food. To them, I'm just a floating piece of flesh that gives them whatever they want. I have heard the most outlandish shit when waiting tables. It's almost a universal understanding that servers do not care what is said at dinner. They know our income is based on how much we shut up and do our job, so that's exactly what I do. I speak when I'm spoken to and it all works out just fine. Of course, you get those tables who love to converse, but that's few and far between.
"I'll take the check," He promptly stated. His eyes lingered on mine as he grabbed his sour and downed half with two gulps.
"Yeah, that might be the last time you're able to do that if you don't fucking seal this deal, Jacob," Barry mocked earning a scowl from him.
"Do you ever shut the fuck up?" Jacob snapped, sliding his chair back and setting his napkin over his papers. "You all will have me in a casket before I turn twenty four."
