I mean, how hard could it be?
Gratitude. Lemon cake. Money. I could do this.
I got to the table. The dude turned in his chair to look up at me. I saw his face. I smiled charmingly. I spoke the first thing that popped into my mind, just like I always had. Just like I always would.
“Hey, asshole.”
Ronan
“Even her?”
As I turned there was a commotion of clattering silver ware and screeching chairs. I watched as a man stood to confront a waitress I’d never seen in the club before. He towered over her, but she jutted her chin up at him defiantly. I was reminded of a scorpion: long dark hair shiny as armour, a plump mouth that curled up at the sides like the tip of a deadly stinger, hypnotic dark eyes of a predator. I was paralysed by her and she hadn’t even touched me. Yet.
“What the hell did you just say to me?” the man demanded, cigar hanging lewdly from his narrow lips. “What the hell did you just say to me?”
The girl smiled darkly as she leaned back and crossed her arms. If she hadn’t been so angry her face would have been sweet. But one thing was clear: she was angry.
“You heard me,” the girl snapped. “But I’ve got no problem saying it again. So how goes it, asshole?”
The man blustered, taking his cigar from his mouth, putting it back, taking it back out, putting it back in. I grinned in unabashed amusement. She was American. Somewhere from the South, the deep South, the shotgun-on-the-wrap-around-porch kind of South, from what I could tell.
“How… how… how dare you,” the man finally managed to spit out indignantly. “Who do you think you are?”
The girl’s accent was thick like honey, rough like the spike of a cactus, and loud like rolling thunder as she ranted, “I think I’m the person who’s been working my ass off catering to your every goddamn whim tonight. I think I’m the person who pretended not to notice when you ogled my tits. I think I’m the person who’s tired of treating you like the fucking Queen of England for ten bloody euros.”
The whole restaurant was dead silent, everyone watching in stunned silence. Waitresses stood frozen with trays resting on their shoulders, tables of people stared unblinkingly with their wine glasses suspended halfway to their parted lips, plates of the most expensive food in town sat untouched in the tense air.
Me? I was grinning ear-to-ear like a kid on Christmas morning.
I whipped my head around to see Shay and Kane’s reaction to this spectacular performance, better than anything I’d seen at the best theatres in Dublin for years. They were both focused on the girl, looks of absolute horror in their wide eyes and complete shock in their open mouths.
“You’re out of line, girl,” the man hissed, and I turned back around to find his cheeks the colour of the red velvet in the hallway.
The girl threw her hands up. “Oh, please, pretty please, sir,” she said, clutching her interlocked fingers beneath her chin. “Please tell me where my line is so I can stand obediently behind it.”
Goddamn, all I was missing was a bucket of popcorn and a reclining chair. She was fantastic. She was fucking fantastic.
The man was practically shaking with indignation at this point, and I was dying to know what would happen next when the door to the kitchen swung open, slamming loudly against the wall.
“Delaney!” the manager of The White Room shouted. “In here. Now.” He pointed at the floor as if calling a dog.
The girl glanced at him and I saw her jaw twitch. Before she left, the girl took a bill from her pocket, folded it, and dared to slip it into the man’s breast pocket. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” she said with a gorgeous smile before walking calmly back to the kitchen.
The door swung shut behind her and like that, she was gone. I stood and clapped, earning the glares of several around me. Though when they saw it was just everyone’s favourite piece of shite, Ronan O’Hara, they just rolled their eyes and turned to gossip in harsh whispers with their neighbours. A fierce tug from Shay sent me tumbling back into my chair, knocking over a glass and laughing.
“Well, fuck me,” I said, slapping the table with both palms, “when’s the encore?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see the manager doing his best to calm the customer, who was surely threatening to shut the whole place down for the humiliation he was forced to endure, as if he hadn’t made a career of stomping all over people.
“You enjoyed that?” Shay asked as I turned my attention to finding a not-empty glass. Any not-empty glass.
It turned out to be Kane’s. He sulked when he was too slow to stop me from snatching it.
“Enjoyed it?” I said, turning to Shay after slurping the drink loudly. “I thought she was perfection. Pure joy.”
Shay shook his head. “She was beyond rude.”
“Completely unacceptable behaviour,” Kane added.
“Uncalled for.”
“The very definition of inappropriate.”
I licked my lips as I let my eyes slide back to the door to the kitchen, drawn like a magnet. I imagined her fuming as she paced back and forth as the pots and pans bubbled and popped. I imagined the heat from the flames colouring her cheeks, glistening her forehead, making the back of her neck damp against that thick hair. I imagined waves of frustration rolling off her like mirages on a searing-hot black highway.
I noticed that Shay and Kane were silent, and I looked back to find them both staring at me.
“Well?” Shay asked.
I waited, but he said nothing more.
“Well, what?”
“You said you could teach anyone class,” Kane answered. “Do you think you could teach even that loud-mouthed American?”
I grinned devilishly. “Yes, yes, I do. I think she’ll be quite a receptive pupil.”
Shay leaned forward, resting his big forearms on the edge of the table.
“Okay, but what are we talking about here? How are we supposed to judge whether she’s learned class or not? Whether or not she can get through an afternoon tea without throwing a cup against the wall?”
“Or cursing someone’s grandmother,” Kane grumbled with the tiniest hint of a smile.
I drummed my fingers against my knees which bounced excitedly. I snapped my fingers.
“Le Ball.”
Kane snorted in amusement, but Shay just looked confused. His eyes bounced between Kane and me.
“Le Ball? What do you mean Le Ball?”
My grin widened. “That’ll be the test,” I said, leaning in conspiratorially and tapping my finger on the tabletop. “In one month. At Le Ball.”
I laughed when Shay appeared almost frightened.
“Her?” he said. “You want to take that woman to the most prestigious invitation-only debutante ball in Paris? You… you can’t just—you can’t—Ronan.”
I frowned.
“It’s called a plus one.”
Shay laughed. “She is not a plus anything.”
Kane grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s going to be like a bull in a china shop.”
“A bucking bronco in Buckingham Palace,” Shay said, again shaking his head.
I mocked hurt. “You have so little faith in me?” I asked. “I thought you guys believed in me.”