Page 97 of Camera Shy

It’d be the first time.

Of all the things Finn and I have done together, we haven’t crossed that line. I’ve never felt his muscular arms around me when I woke up in the morning. And I’m ready to.

“Adorable,” Mr. Harvey says.

I flinch right before my fist tightens. That stupid word.

“Avery, honey, I am terribly sorry to be rude, but may I have a private word with my son? Just some family affairs I don’t want to bore you with.”

“Dad,” Finn intones, “I’ll just join you at the bar.”

Except it’s crowded with patrons waiting for their seats and most certainly not private. “Don’t be silly,” I say, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “I have to run to the ladies’ room anyway.”

Finn lets me out of the booth and I scour the restaurant for the bathroom. Far back right. I strut gracefully in my sensible heels right into the luxurious bathroom. I don’t understand the bathrooms in these elegant restaurants. They are cleaner and better kept than the dining room itself.

I’m in a stall with my thong around my ankles when I hear a voice I recognize and one I don’t. Our waitress and another woman.

I’m convinced there’s a sixth sense women have when they know someone’s talking shit behind their backs. It’s a feeling. Your muscles go wobbly. Your skin constricts. Your face flushes, the blood filling it at least a few degrees hotter. Every instinct in my body tells me not to pull up my underwear, flush, and present myself.

So I stay quiet.

And I listen.

“…if I get the shit Monday brunch shift again, I swear I’m quitting,” says the unfamiliar woman’s voice.

“You’ve been saying that for months. Who would pay better?” Penny asks.

“Emeril’s new restaurant has openings.”

“Then apply,” Penny snaps, her tone full of irritation.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry, I’ve worked six nights in a row. I’m exhausted. I’m about to cash out, clock out, and head home. I just rang out the VIP booth.”

“Speaking of which…” the other woman’s voice drops to a seductive purr. “Can you deliver a note for me?”

“What?”

“Your VIP table. You know who that is, right?”

“According to the credit card, his name is Griffin Harvey.”

She lets out a shrill chuckle. “You have no idea who the Harveys are, do you?”

Penny sighs, clearly trying to express her disinterest. “Outside of being the road block between me and my pillow—no. No, I do not.”

“Old money. The Harveys own like half the Strip. Worth billions.”

Penny grunts. For the first time in this conversation, she seemed amused. “Well, that explains the fifty percent tip—”

“Fifty percent?”

“And the old guy slipped me his room number. Can you believe that? My wedding is in six weeks, for Christ’s sake.”

“Ha. He’s worth the trade. You take the old man. I want his son.”

“Emma, you’re somethin’ else. And anyway, sorry to bust your bubble, but the woman he’s with is his girlfriend.”

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