Breaking The Ice [bxb]

Chapter Eight [Eli]

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I sigh, glancing over my shoulder to see him leaning against the lobby doorway in a black button-up and a silver bow-tie — The Lodge's servers uniform. It's... a strange image, at best.

"What else do you expect me to do?" Elliott asks me plainly.

I want to roll my eyes, but I don't have the energy even for that. Practice wore me down to a mush.

"Have somebody else train him," I mumble under my breath.

"Do you see anyone else here?"

It's a rhetorical question, obviously. Besides myself, my brother and the subject of our conversation, there is no one else in the lobby and bar area. The only other living soul outside the kitchen, is the same older gentleman who eats soup for dinner every night, sitting in his usual corner table in the dining room.

"I didn't hire him. His dad did," Elliott says. "And since it's a weekday, you're the only other waiter here."

"You train him, then."

He gives me a look. The look. That's not Elliott the brother, it's Elliott the manager. To be honest, though, I haven't seen Elliott the brother in a while.

"Fine."

I lean off the bar counter and walk towards Liam Astor. I can't be too sure he hasn't been listening to every word we said. He pushes himself off the door frame as he sees me approach, standing readily on both feet. 

His face isn't as bad as I would expect, after seeing him on Friday night. There's no visible swelling, and barely any noticeable bruising except for his lip. The skin on the side of his face looks clear, except for a very slight coloring which the warm shade of the lightening here manages to conceal. There's also no cast or bandage on his hand.

Guess the best medical care money can buy and a weekend's rest in a luxury mansion does wonders to one's physical health. That, or he put on makeup to cover up the bruising.

"Hey." Liam smiles.

I jerk my head towards the dining room, hoping he'll take the hint and follow me.

"Guess you're not thrilled at the prospect of being stuck with me," he muses, trailing behind me.

I don't answer.

"I promise you won't even know I'm here," he says. "This is just my dad trying out unorthodox parenting methods. I'll be totally quiet and inconspicuous, and stay completely out of your way."

I turn around, leaning against the dining room counter to stare back at him blankly. He stops walking, standing in front of me with a sort of expectant look. I let the silence last for just long enough to be mildly uncomfortable.

"So you don't actually expect to do any work?" I ask.

He has the audacity to look taken aback.

"You realize you being here means somebody else isn't, and I'm the only other employee," I tell him evenly. "If you don't work, I work double."

He looks around the dining room and I can practically read his mind. There is only one guest here, and virtually no work. Not apparently.

"I don't actually work here, though," he speaks slowly. "My dad just decided I need to be more responsible. He's trying to teach me to work for my privileges."

"How dare he," I deliver flatly.

Liam's eyes narrow with a mix of disbelief and offense that he's trying to hide. He tucks all that back into a mask of flippant indifference after a second.