Page 21 of The Wrong Fiancée

"As Leilani would say, chin up…."

"Tits out," I supplied.

"And get on with it," he finished.

I glanced toward the kitchen, where the final touches were being added to the plates. The heat from the open grill mixed with the clatter of pots and pans, and the hum of conversation from the dining room drifted in through the swinging doors. The rush was in full swing, but I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened earlier.

"Yeah. I'll take table twelve's food and then deal with the nasties," I dropped my voice to a whisper.

Chef laughed. "Hey, they're related to you."

"Tell me about it," I muttered under my breath, careful not to be overheard by the other staff. "He came to my place before my shift here today. Wanted to talk."

Chef Nalu's attention remained on the plate his sous chef placed in front of him. He inspected it with precision—the seared scallops arranged just so, garnished with a light drizzle of citrus beurre blanc and a sprinkle of fresh herbs. He adjusted the garnish with a pair of tongs, nodding only after everything was perfect.

"Talk about what?" he asked, handing the plate back to the line cook for finishing.

I shook my head, not wanting to get into the details right now. "Tell you later." I stepped forward to the kitchen pass just as another dish came out—the gnocchi, finished in a sage brown butter sauce, topped with shaved parmesan.

Nalu glanced at me with concern but didn't push for more.

"I better get these out while they're still hot." I picked up both plates.

My movements were practiced and steady, but my mind wasn't. Dean was seated just a few tables over, his presence like a magnet pulling at the edges of my thoughts. But I pushed it aside as I approached the adjoining table.

"Here's your seared scallops." I smiled, setting the first plate down in front of the woman at table twelve. "And for you," I added, placing the gnocchi in front of her companion, "house-made gnocchi in sage brown butter sauce. Enjoy."

They thanked me warmly.

I took a deep breath and walked totheirtable.

I should've guessed they'd make the rounds of all five restaurants at Hale Moana. I'd just have to make sure to check the bookings before I committed myself to a shift next time, I decided dryly.

Pele's Flame was one of the stuffier restaurants on the property. I was more a tiki lounge kinda girl. But when a resort's clientele paid as handsomely as the Moana Hale's did—the dining options were the epitome of high-end island dining.

At the steakhouse, the open-air design allowed for the trade winds to sweep through the room, carrying the scent of sizzling steaks and roasted herbs with it. Tiki torches cast a soft glow over the dark wood tables. At the same time, the flicker of candlelight added an intimate, tropical ambiance.

When I got totheirtable, for a moment, no one noticed me. I mean, who noticed their server—not these richhaoles. I couldn't wait for the fun to begin. Ginny would throw her influence around. Felicity would pout. Uncle Sam would be uncomfortable because his spine was soft. Rebecca and Michael would ignore me, while their daughter Cristin would try to bait me. Theo would smile, trying to make nice, and Dean…well, who the hell knew what he'd do?

"Good evening. I'll be your server this evening."

"Not again," Ginny rage whispered.

Fuck, bitch, imagine how I feel, I thought, but I kept a smile on my face.

"Are you following us?" Felicity asked.

Yeah, because I have the time and energy to do that kind of shit. Please!

"Pele's is short-staffed, Mrs. Thatcher, which is why I was called in."

Uncle Sam put a hand on his wife's, but she pushed it away, glowering at me. "The nerve?—"

"Ginny, let's just order," Dean cut her off, "I'm hungry, and, honestly, I don't understand the problem. Elika is an excellent server,and I'd very much like to get through one dinner without drama."

The gasp that went around the table was so soft that it wasloud.

"Dean," Felicity admonished, but he ignored her and continued to peruse the menu.

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