“The party is a group of hotel investors. I expect you to treat them with the utmost respect.”

“As opposed to spitting in their food?” It slips out, but I don’t regret saying it. I’m tired of people speaking to me like I’m not a person.

“You’re on thin ice, Olivia,” he says through his teeth. “We’ll be speaking in my office after your shift.”

Ivan storms off and leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. My usual response is to lie down and play dead, nodding quietly at his lewd requests to undo a few more buttons or to be a little more friendly. I always bend and break, crumbling to his feet because I can’t afford to not have this job. He knows that, which is why I’m his easiest target.

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you to give each of them a lap dance.” Celeste is frowning next to me.

“He’ll probably suggest I blow him when we’re speaking in his office later.”

Celeste grimaces. “Just quit, Liv. There are thousands of restaurants in New York.”

“He knows a lot of people. He’ll slander me around town.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll take thirty-two and thirty-three for you.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “They’re small tables.”

“You’re too good, Livi. You deserve better.”

I don’t have time to stand there and agree with her, so I give her my best brave face and walk back into the dining room.

The lights are dim and the tables are crowded, busy chatter illuminating the restaurant. I straighten the skirt of my black, button-down dress. It fits tightly against the curve of my hips and lands an inch above my knee. Ivan would have me in heels if it wasn’t such a hazard.

I arrive at table thirty-two and I’m reciting my lines before I look up.

“Good evening, I’m Olivia. I’ll be your—”

I don’t expect Asher to be staring back at me, awestruck and lips parted, eyes like a deer in headlights. I also don’t expect him to be with a woman, whose beauty is encased in coiled curls and smooth dark skin.

A date.

He’s on a date.

I straighten up.

“—server tonight. Can I start you with a drink?”

Asher forgets how to speak, which is a far cry from the man who has left me twenty-seven voicemails since yesterday.

“Olivia, please call me.”

“Olivia, I need to speak with you.”

“Olivia, this is important.”

“O. Please just call me.”