Ten minutes later, after a great deal of embarrassment, I was out there taking my first order. The other girls were nice and tried to make me feel comfortable. Mary Jo, a woman with bright red hair piled high on her head, took me under her wing. “You get used to it in no time. Men just act like men, if you know what I mean.”
The customers weren’t allowed to touch the waitresses. We had a couple of guys hanging around who used the customers who didn’t follow the rules like basketballs, bouncing them outside so fast, they never knew what hit them. I soon learned that most of the patrons were basically decent, and the tips were pretty darn good. I would be able to afford the rent on an apartment sooner than I’d expected. I didn’t pretend this job filled my life’s ambition, but it was a stop along the way, so for now it was just fine.
* * *
Four months later, I was working the 11:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. shift. The week had been very busy because of several conventions being held at nearby hotels. Though our dump of a restaurant was off the strip, we never had to advertise. Most of our patrons learned about us through word of mouth.
My shift was nearly over when two well-dressed men sat down in my section. One was attractive, in his late forties with brown hair going gray at the sides. He had a well-maintained suntan, which set off his light blue eyes. The other man, a light-skinned African American, was younger and bigger. His broad shoulders strained the seams of his jacket. He was pure eye candy, with the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen on a man. I figured he was the older man’s bodyguard.
I brought over two menus, and the older man told me they’d start with two coffees. I noticed that he wore an expensive-looking watch and a diamond pinky ring. Everything about him seemed to shout money. However, a well-dressed, apparently rich guy didn’t always translate into a big tipper, something I’d learned quickly. He did most of the talking, while the younger man merely nodded. Both men ordered the deluxe breakfast, consisting of orange juice, an oversize stack of pancakes, sausage, toast and coffee, which I refilled often.
As I freshened their cups for the second time, the older guy asked me my name. One thing about serving tables topless, you had no place to pin a nametag.
“Kayla.”
“That’s a beautiful name. Don’t you agree, Morgan?”
The younger man smiled at me and said, “It’s a perfect name for her.”
I smiled back and asked if there was anything else I could get them.
The older man caught me off guard with his next question. “Do you have a husband or boyfriend at home, sweetheart?”
I shook my head, surprised at myself for revealing the truth. Normally I didn’t give out any personal information.
“Then perhaps you’ll have dinner with me sometime.”
“I don’t date men I don’t know.”
He tapped his head with his forefinger. “How forgetful of me. Where are my manners? I’m Deacon Masters and this is my assistant, Morgan Grant.”
“You don’t expect me to go out with you now just because I know your name, do you?”
“Why not?”
“How do I know it’s your real name?”
“She’s got me there, Morgan. Any suggestions?”
The younger man leaned over and whispered something into his boss’s ear.
A man sitting in a booth waved at me. “Excuse me,” I said. “I have to take something to another table. I’ll be right back.”
Mary Jo caught me as I walked into the kitchen. “Who are those hotties?”
“The older guy wants to take me to dinner.”
“You go, girlfriend!”
“But I don’t know him. He could be a crazy, for all I know.”
“So you don’t see him again.”
“I won’t—especially if I’m dead.”
“You watch too much CSI, girl. Go out and have a good time.”
When I returned to Deacon’s table, he handed me a business card. A quick glance told me he was an importer of fine wines.
“What you can’t tell from the card is that I travel a great deal and make lots of money, which I enjoy spending on beautiful women. All I’m asking for is a date, but if we click, I can give you your heart’s desires.”
I processed what Deacon Masters had just told me. It would seem he was offering me the chance of a lifetime. Unless he was a serial murderer, why wouldn’t any woman want to date such a charming man? And like Mary Jo said, I didn’t have to see him again. What did I have to lose? Besides, I had absolutely nothing else going for me, and waiting on tables topless was not a lifelong career.
“I’d love to have dinner with you, Deacon.”
He smiled. “Tomorrow night at nine?”
“Fine.” I wrote down the address of the place where I was staying.
“Morgan will pick you up. Wear something nice.”
I left them the check. When I returned, I found a $50 tip waiting. How hard could it be to fall in love with a guy like Deacon Masters?
Morgan Grant picked me up the next night in a shiny black limo. He smiled and told me I looked nice, but I soon learned he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. “You’ve been with Deacon long?”
“Four years.”
“He a good boss?”
“He gives orders, and I follow them. When he’s happy, I’m happy.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Are you writing a book?”
I shook my head. “Just making idle conversation.”
“While we’re idling along here, let me ask you a question.”
“What?”
“What possessed you to take a job as a topless waitress?”
“It pays the rent.”
I found myself studying the man. He had the most gorgeous eyes, the kind in which a woman could lose herself. Tonight he was wearing a knit shirt under his sports jacket, and from what I could tell, he was well put together. I realized I shouldn’t be thinking about him that way. He wasn’t the one with the money.
Deacon was
