Page 92 of You Found Me

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Ready to get out of here?” It sounded like a genuine question, not the smug triumph of a man who’d predicted her screwup, but it made her straighten and dredge up what was left of her dignity.

“No. I have a shift to finish.” She spun on her heels and headed for the bathroom.

Was she imagining it, or did he say, “Attagirl” as she walked away?

Surprised, and pleased, she glanced over her shoulder to give him a saucy wink, but Ward had turned to greet someone.

Della craned her neck to see who it was.

Rachel the Brownie Bitch and her sidekick, Cookie Girl, had come in at some point while Della was throwing beer on the floor. Ward’s ex-girlfriend had her hand on his arm and an earnest expression on her face as she offered him a kiss on the cheek.

Rachel looked amazing, Della had to admit. She wore a tailored, curve-hugging black coat, a mock turtleneck, and a pencil skirt that illustrated just how long her legs were.

Della glanced down at her beer-soaked T-shirt, dirty jeans, and stained apron. She might not actually be a waitress, but she looked like one.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she was in competition with anyone. She wasn’t his real girlfriend. What difference did it make if her warden wanted to hook up with an old flame?

Della made her way slowly back to the bar, keeping an eye on this not-so-charming new development.

All eyes were on Rachel and Ward’s meet and greet.

It was…unsettling.

Cherry handed Della another fresh towel. “Never thought I’d see the day Rachel Parry darkened our door twice in one week.”

Della frowned at everything that implied. “Why?”

“We’re too low on the totem pole for a Parry. That one, in particular, likes the country club on the other side of the river. That’s where the McMansions are. The bigger the house, the higher the commission.”

“Commission?”

“Oh, I take it you haven’t seen the billboard? My offers don’t get rejected.” Cherry put air quotes around the phrase and rolled her eyes. “She’s the top agent in the region. Real estate’s how her family made their money, and Rachel Parry Nelsonlovesmoney. That’s why she always looks like she’s dressed for a Bond movie.”

“She does look…professional.” Della glanced down at her dirty, smelly shirt. “I look like I’ve been living under the bar.”

Cherry chuckled. “You don’t have anything to worry about, sweetie. He never looked at her the way he looks at you.”

“Really?” The idea sent a little thrill through her—or Lucy. Yes, definitely Lucy.

“Go on, get changed. I’ll watch your tables.”

Della gave herself a sponge bath in the bathroom sink and changed clothes like she was in between sets, fast and furious. She tried to rinse the beer stink out of her hair under the faucet,but she didn’t think it did much. The stench was still in her nose. Or maybe it was the wet shirt she’d wadded up and wrapped with paper towels.

She didn’t think it took her more than five minutes, but by the time she’d made it back into the bar, Rachel had cozied up with Ward in the corner booth and Gretchen had conveniently wandered off somewhere.

What were they talking about?

She couldn’t just stalk over there and demand Rachel stop talking to her “boyfriend.”

Could she?

No. That would be rude.

Della saw four tables eyeing her expectantly. They were waiting for food, drinks, and her attention.

Della picked up a pitcher of water and the burger and fries for table two, and acted like she hadn’t just upended an entire tray of beer all over the dining room.

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