Page 2 of A Little Bit Extra

Our staring contest breaks when the woman with him, his date, clears her throat.

“Right. Um.” A soft shade of red rises on his cheeks as he glances back at his menu. “I’ll just take water, too.” His head lifts and his eyes meet mine once again. If he doesn’t stop looking at me like that, I’ll become a puddle from all of this tension.

“Great.” I scribble two waters in my notepad to give my mind something to do instead of continuing to gawk over this woman’s man. She’s clearly irritated, and I need to get my shit together. I try to remember that part in my plan about no distractions. This is a distraction, and an off-limits one. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to read over the menu, and I’ll be right back with those waters.” Clicking my pen shut, I shove that and my notepad back into my apron and turn on my heel to head back toward the bar.

I reach the bar and slide to the right, turning to face the computer. Clicking a few buttons, I open a tab and note the two waters. Out of the corner of my eye, Lucy is sleuthing her way around the corner.

“Yes?” I ask as she approaches before I slide to the other side of the bar to grab two cups to fill with water.

“Cassie, do you realize who you’re serving right now?” Lucy whisper-yells in my left ear. I glance at her while she’s smiling at a few patrons before grabbing two cups to occupy her hands.

“You know I don’t,” I whisper-yell back. “Just tell me so I can bring these waters to them.”

A sigh escapes her lips. “Seriously?”

Based on her tone, it must be someone obvious. Unlike her, I don’t remember the name of every person in this area that may come in. When I first moved, I memorized agents' and directors’ faces, hoping to have them stop in for a cup of coffee and offer me an audition. I assumed someone would care enough to ask me about my dreams and find they could help me reach them. It took me a bit of time before I woke up and realized that if I wanted something, I would have to work my ass off to get it myself.

“We just watched his latest movie? The firefighter one?” Lucy is looking at me with raised eyebrows. She scoffs. “Emmett Davis?”

Emmett Davis. That explains the sense of familiarity when our eyes met, the reason I had an immediate pull toward him.

I pick up the two glasses of water and turn to Lucy, who is still standing there pretending to fill hers.

“Well, you see, celebrities come in here frequently, Luce. It’s nothing new,” I say as I push past her.

She follows me. “I know, I just wanted to—”

“Add some stress to my night?” I cut her off, turning my head to frown at her. “I need to go before they assume I’ve forgotten about them.”

“No, I just think it’s rare that actors are here, so it seems like fate they sat him in your section.”

“Not this again,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes in her direction. Where Lucy believes in fate and that everything happens for a reason, I think the opposite.

Ignoring her reply, knowing she will corner me later anyway, I use my butt to push through the half-door that separates the bar and dining room. Turning in a 180, I stumble into someone. I curse, remembering I’m carrying glasses of water and fearing the worst. My fears are unfounded, though. Instead, two extremely capable hands grab the glasses as the tray slides in between us onto the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sor—” My head shifts to find Emmett standing in front of me. He’s wearing a small smile, as if he’s oblivious to my clumsy self. Turning to bend over, I reach between us to pick up the tray. When I stand up and glance back at Emmett’s face, I find him staring at my ass.

His eyes meet mine, his cheeks tinted with red, knowing he was just caught checking me out. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure what to say. This man is on a date, or something that resembles a date, and he’s blatantly giving me more attention than the person he came here with.

“We can’t have you getting wet while you’re working, now can we?” Emmett winks at me, catching me off guard and suddenly causing me to forget the English language. He places both waters on my tray and walks away without saying another word. Pretending like he didn’t just say an overly flirtatious line to someone he’s never met.

My routine is all fucked up. I don’t even have time to reflect on what just happened. I need to get their orders, place them, and give them the check. Emmett has become a blip in my system. Instead of yelling and throwing the tray, I smile the fakest grin to distract myself from letting thoughts about “you know who” invade my brain.

Following Emmett to the booth, I place the glasses in front of him and his date. I try my best to avoid eye contact, but I feel the weight of Emmett’s stare. When my gaze finds his, a small smile appears on his face. Quickly, I look away, not wanting to blush. What is happening to me? Why am I feeling butterflies from our minor interactions?

I reach into my apron, grabbing my notepad and pen. I flip back to the page with their drink order. “Are you ready to order food, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Luckily, they’re ready. I quickly scribble their food order and tell them it will be out in a few minutes. After I place the order at the bar, I check on my other tables. My feet are tired and I still have three hours left in my shift. I am not used to being this busy, but luckily most of my tables have their food, so I just need to refill drinks and make sure everyone has what they need.

I reach the bar for what feels like the 100th time this evening and am alerted that Emmett’s food is ready. I pick it up and take not even one step toward their table to deliver it when my watch buzzes with a call. I glance behind me, to my right, to my left, trying to find someone to ask to take my tray. I spot Lucy at the register checking her phone discreetly. Perfect. I hand her my tray, thank her profusely, and push through the door to the kitchen, walking toward the break room. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and press accept on the call from an unknown number. I could have let it go to voicemail, but if someone is calling me about an audition, I don’t want to miss it.

“Hello?” I say into my phone, taking a seat in the chair in front of the computer. I swivel to face away from the kitchen and toward the wall and cross my right leg over my left. This is probably my only chance to relax all evening, so I take advantage and sink even lower into the chair.

“Hi, Cassie Mitchell! This is Carla Green, from January Studios. Is now a good time?”

“Um, yes, now is good,” I respond. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to remember why January Studios would call me. Did I submit a tape for a movie? Or did they somehow find me?

“Wonderful. We received your application for the production assistant job, and I have to be honest, we need someone to start tomorrow and we don’t have time to do interviews. I hoped that with your background in entertainment and your current experience in serving and dealing with lots of people, you’d be the perfect person for the job,” Carla says.

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