Page 8 of Marrying My Orc Boss

“Thank you, Gustav,” I say as he heads back to his station.

“Hey, Dennis, steak medium, I’ll do the chips,” he calls out.

“Yes, chef!” Dennis shouts out.

While I’m waiting, I grab a drink of water. I’d prefer a large glass of ice-cold white wine, but Alan wouldn’t be too happy about that.

“How are you holding up?” It’s Vera.

“I’m here, you?” I ask.

She takes a plastic bottle with her name on it from the staff fridge and shakes it in front of me.

“Vodka is how I am holding up,” Vera says as she takes a gulp. “Want some?”

“I’m good. I got school in the morning,” I reply.

“I’ve no idea how you do it, girl, but you do, and hats off to you for that,” Vera says.

“Well, that’s the thing, I think I need a third job,” I confess.

“Seriously?” Vera asks.

“‘Fraid so, long story,” I reply.

“Well, in that case, you are in luck, girl,” Vera tells me. “I heard about this job. It’s at that golf club, what’s the name? The Sycamore. That’s it. They offered it to me, but I’m too busy. It’s really good money, but I’m banging this orc, and girl, and after one of his five-hour sessions, I honestly can’t walk. Banging an orc is the only second job I want right now..”

Without thinking too much about Vera and her orc toyboy, I quickly answer. “Tell them I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” Vera asks.

“Yes, I really need the extra cash,” I tell her.

“Okay, here’s the number. It starts in two days,” Vera says as she hands me a napkin with the number scribbled on it.

“Order up, Sally!” Gustav calls from the kitchen.

“Thanks, Vera, I owe you one,” I call out to her as I hurry to the pass to pick up the order.

Picking up the fresh steak and chips, I make my way through the busy restaurant, weaving in and out of the tables as I go.

Reaching the table, I notice the family with coats on, ready to go.

“Here you are,” I say with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I put the tray down on the table.

“We’ll have that to go, please,” the mother says, “Oh, and the bill as well. I trust we won’t be paying for Harry’s meal. Those hard chips ruined our family night out. Harry is devastated.”

I look at Harry, who still refuses to make eye contact with me, crippled by the embarrassment of his lovely wife’s actions.

“Okay, not a problem. One doggy bag is coming up, and I’ll sort out that deduction from your bill,” I tell her.

So I hurry off to sort her doggy bag, hoping the chips will be hard on the journey home.

“Alan, table seven wants a meal removed. Said it wasn’t up to standard,” I call out.

Alan appears in a flash. “Really? What dish?” he says.

“This one that I had remade for them. It’s now in a doggy bag to take home,” I explain, rolling my eyes.

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