Page 27 of My Forbidden Billionaire
Before I have a chance to open my mouth, Clem clears her throat. She’s obviously upset that the waitress didn’t say hello to her as well or acknowledge her in any way. To be entirely honest, I feel the same way. “Umm … I’ll have the Sole Meunière and my daughter”—I point dramatically at Clem, who nods like the Queen of England—”will have the Bouillabaisse.”
“Oh, is this your daughter? She’s so adorable. How old are you? Would you prefer I bring a grilled cheese sandwich?”
“No, thank you. I’ll have the Bouillabaisse. And, please, ask the chef to add a dollop of caviar on top. Thank you,” Clem replies simply.
The waitress in the red dress immediately snaps back into her upright position and looks at me. “She’s a firecracker, isn’t she? I bet she gets that from her father…” she adds languidly, as she allows one of her hands to travel down the side of her body, caressing her curves.
I obviously understand what she’s doing but I feel extremely uncomfortable. Clem is watching closely, and I don’t condone this kind of behavior in front of my daughter.
“That will be all. Thank you,” I say, trying to sound as disinterested as possible.
“Well, if there’s anything you want … anything at all, just name it…” the waitress carries on. She shoots me a very long, flirtatious glance, before finally leaving us alone. I feel uneasy and slightly miffed.
“She needs some water, she’s clearly thirsty,” Clem says, and I burst out laughing at her use of Internet slang.
“How do you … do you even know what that means?”
“That’s what people say. When someone likes somebody else, and they act all … loopy and crazy like she just did. Thirsty. It’s just a phrase.”
I sip my sparkling water and thank the heavens that my daughter is still the sweet little girl I raised.
“Anyway … as if,” she continues.
“As if what?”
“As if you would pick her over Miss Andrews. Fat chance,” she replies and sticks her tongue out, seemingly forgetting that just a minute ago she was trying to behave as elegantly as possible.
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she rolls her eyes and I am treated to one of many, many such instances that I know will come in our future.
“Wow … I had no idea that you’ve become such an expert in matters of the heart, Clem.”
“I’m not an expert. I have eyes. And like everyone else, I use the power of sight,” she quips.
I stifle my guffaw, so much so that I have to cover my mouth so she can’t see. “Alright, Miss Wise-monkey. Have you been using your power of sight for anything else? You promised me that you would keep an eye out for some things that Josephine likes. How’s that little project going?”
“Very well, actually. I was planning on bringing it up soon.”
Still trying not to laugh, I watch her clasp her little hands together over the table as if she’s getting ready to negotiate with me.
“And what’s the hold up?”
“You know exactly what the hold up is. I already laid out my terms and conditions.” She stares at me before spelling it out. “B. T. S.”
“Oh, yes, yes … the BTS thing. You know, I’ve been working on that but they’re just so busy right now with the … traffic and … roadblocks … But as soon as the … airport restrictions lift, I will arrange a meeting.” I invent wildly, hoping she goes for it.
She doesn’t.
“I see. Well, then. When the traffic at the airport stops,” she says, rolling her eyes so hard that they almost fall out of her head, “then you can learn what I know about Miss Andrews. And, believe me, Daddy, it’s juicy!”
The waitress in the red dress appears again, carrying our plates. She deposits them and leans against my side of the table, her hips swaying slightly. She runs a hand through her hair and wets her lips.
“What else can I get you?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
“Are you sure? It can be anything … anything at all,” she whispers.