Page 5 of Romanced by the Rat (Ghostlight Falls #3)

Chapter five

Jeremy

H ow has it only been a week of working at Ratcliff’s?

It feels more like a month in a war-torn wasteland.

That might be dramatic. I’m working as a server at a four-star restaurant, not in a dystopian zombie apocalypse, but my nervous system doesn’t know the difference.

I thought this job would be easy money for my upcoming competitions, but clearly, I was wrong.

Whenever I get home from my shifts, I pass out in my uniform.

I totally missed the deadline to sign up for the Mr. Bronze Super-Man competition in the next town over.

What’s the point of killing myself at a job I suck at when I don’t even use the extra cash to accomplish the goals I got this job for?

It’s not like the tips have been amazing.

Most people give me the expected 18 percent, but some of the other servers walk away with hundreds of dollars every night.

I’m not even close to that. Of course, I’m constantly spilling food and beverages on my tables, which doesn’t lead to happy customers.

I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t tip myself either.

Especially after spilling the wine on that beautiful brunette last night, Charlotte.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. And after ruining her dress, I rubbed her tit like a psycho.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m usually decent with the ladies.

Okay, maybe that’s not totally true. My good looks and physique lead to a lot of one-night stands, but once I open my mouth, it’s all over.

I haven’t always been the sharpest tool in the shed, especially under pressure.

I’m horrible at many things, but finding the most fucked up thing to say in a situation is where I shine.

That’s why I love bodybuilding. Everyone focuses on my oiled, carefully crafted aspects, and not the mess of thoughts behind my skull.

Sometimes I wish I had a little person on my shoulder to whisper what I should do in my day-to-day. A guy can dream.

I step through the doors of Ratcliff’s—another day in hell.

No one looks me in the eye as I head to the back to clock in and put away my stuff.

They probably all know I’m about to be fired.

I’m surprised they let me last this long.

I may be a shitty server, but I’m usually able to redeem myself by the end of my guest’s meals.

I’m a charmer, even if my words lack weight, and I’m able to get my tables not to hate me.

It’s not enough, though. I won’t be here for long, and maybe it’s for the best.

Before I make it to the swinging double doors, Claire, the hostess, taps me on my shoulder. “Jeremy, I know you just got in, but we have a one-top that requested you. Can you hurry up and take it?”

“Requested me?” I whip my attention to the front of the house, and my heart stops once I spot her.

Charlotte, looking even more beautiful than the day before.

I can’t help my racing thoughts, hopeful that she saw through my failures and wants to give me another chance, but then my blood turns cold.

If I didn’t ruin my chances with her yesterday, a fresh day of fuckups sure will.

I’m not myself here—not that myself is much better.

I’ll be a jittery mess and make her run away.

I push myself to the back, ignoring the commotion around me and throwing myself into the utility closet where the staff keep their belongings.

I sit on the bench underneath the coat rack, hand over my heart as I focus on my breathing.

“What am I going to do? I can’t be her server again,” I say to myself, hoping a pep talk in the quiet darkness will settle my nerves.

“How about starting with not spilling wine all over her?”

“What the fuck?” I jump to my feet, feeling against the wall for the light switch. The cramped room floods into view, and I scan. “Hello?” I call with a shaky voice, not seeing anyone in here with me.

“If you don’t want to screw this up, you’re going to need to calm down.” The strange voice comes from up above, and I search the ceiling, wondering if there’s a hidden speaker.

“Who are you?” I ask, growing annoyed that one of my coworkers is obviously spying on me.

The voice sighs. “You’re wasting time. Charlotte is sitting out there waiting for you.”

“Who are you?” I yell again.

It’s silent for a moment.

“God.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Whoever it is isn’t going to reveal themselves anytime soon.

I exit the closet, taking a deep breath before charging into the dining hall.

Charlotte sits at the center of the large room.

The lights overhead illuminate her like a spotlight from heaven.

Her hands rest folded on the table, and she scans around the room until our eyes meet.

She smiles. Jesus Christ, it’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

My knees nearly give out, and then I remember I have to remove the distance between us.

“Hello, welcome to Ratcliff’s. I’ll be your server, Jeremy,” I say as I approach her table.

Her smile fades. “I know. I was in here yesterday.”

My cheeks heat. “Yes, of course, of course. I remember. Charlotte, I’m glad to see the wine came out okay,” I say, pointing to her tit.

She looks down at her light pink shirt and back up at me. She studies me before saying, “I didn’t wear this yesterday.”

“Right, of course. I knew that. I’m sorry.”

She nods. A thick, uncomfortable silence passes between us. I want it to suffocate me. I somehow find words. “I’ll be back with some water.” Before I can catch her response, I spring toward the back, cursing myself the whole way.

When I make it to the semi-privacy of the drink station, I let out a heavy sigh, coated with my self-loathing. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“That’s a little harsh.” It’s the voice from earlier.

I whip around. “What the fuck?” It sounded as if it came right up to my ear. “How are you doing that?”

The voice comes from a different direction this time. “You’re worried about the wrong thing. I’m trying to help you.”

“You’re trying to fuck around with me.” I peer behind the wall dividing the drink station from the back. It’s deserted. It’s only 4:30. Most servers don’t clock in until 5, but I’m stuck with the shitty early shifts. I have no idea who could be doing this.

This is all too much. I need a second alone. I abandon the water and rush toward the bathroom, locking myself in a stall.

“Aren’t you going to bring her a water?”

“Holy fuck!” I yell. “You’ve got cameras in the bathrooms?

” I stand on the toilet, pushing up the ceiling tiles to search for the source of the voice.

“Whoever this is, this is about to be a giant HR issue!” I stop my search, thinking for a moment.

“Hey, maybe I can sue and then I won’t have to work this shitty job. ”

“Good luck. I don’t work for the restaurant.”

“Then who are you?”

“I told you, God.”

I squat down on the toilet, pulling my knees in. “Alright. Maybe I am losing my mind. Maybe I should call it a night and head home.”

The voice grows stern, commanding. “Listen to me. Don’t fuck this up. You may never get this chance again. You need to go back out there. Tell her she looks lovely tonight. Ask her if she wants Pinot Noir and the ratatouille again. You need to show your interest in her.”

I pause my freak-out. Maybe this is a voice in my head, but I’m giving myself good advice. There’s a connection between Charlotte and me, strong and impossible to ignore. The voice is right. If I ruin this, I’ll kick myself for an eternity.

I sigh, exiting the stall and straightening myself up in the mirror. “Okay, fine. Not because I’m listening to ominous voices in the bathroom, but because I want to make this work with Charlotte.”

“Whatever, dude,” the voice says with a sigh before I exit the bathroom. I charge toward the drink station again, grabbing a fresh glass of water and quickly making my way back to my table. I focus on the directions given to me. “Sorry about the wait. Did I mention you look stunning tonight?”

Charlotte’s brown, doe-eyes widen, and a smile curves at the corner of her lips. “Uh, no. I mean, thank you.”

Holy shit. It’s working. My confidence rises, and I puff out my chest in victory. “Would you like the Pinot Narwhal again?”

She giggles. “Good one.” Her response catches me off guard. She’s laughing, not shimmying out of her clothes and demanding I ravish her. Maybe this God has things wrong.

“Something else then?” The amusement drops off her face, reading pure confusion, as if my stupidity is an anomaly. “I’ll have the Pinot Noir.” To her defense, she doesn’t enunciate the last word to accentuate just how much of an idiot I truly am.

“Right! I was just joking.” I back up, tripping on nothing in my attempt to flee. I steady myself. “I’ll be right back with your beverage.” I shoot her finger guns, my face growing hot, and rush back to the stall. I’ve got some words for God.

“What the fuckkk,” he says, the moment I step through the bathroom door.

“I did what you said!” I yell as I stomp against the tile and stare up at the ceiling.

“You do not. I did not tell you to see if she wanted a rare aquatic mammal. The least you could have done is make it seem like the mistake was on purpose. You’re a white man. That’s the one thing you’re supposed to be good at.”

“Well, obviously I’m not good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah, except looking pretty.”

The compliment catches me off guard, and I chuckle. “So you think I’m pretty?”

“Oh, fuck off. You know what I mean. Obviously, Charlotte finds you attractive. If I were you, I’d have her wined, dined, and splayed out in my bed in hours.”

I scoff. “So what, you’re like some disfigured god or something?”

He chuckles. “Do you really believe I’m God? Wow, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”