Page 34 of All for her Forgiveness

"And who would pick up my pieces?"

"What?"

"Only those who have support can afford to break, Mr. Ernest. When you have a safety net, whether with friends or family, you can cry on their shoulders. I have no one. When I stumble, I need to learn to get up on my own."

"You have me now. I'll always be by your side, one way or another."

I put on a neutral smile, but inside, a strange glow warms my heart because I've never heard that from anyone. "I need to go. Wish me luck."

"Go in there and show them what you're made of, girl."

I put my hand on the doorknob, feeling all my internal organs stumbling over each other because the fear of messing up is still great.

"Kennedy?"

"Yes?" I ask, turning my head over my shoulder just slightly.

"Don't let them disrespect you. Some of those men in there think they can have anything they want. You're not on the menu, darling. As much as you need the job, you can tell them to go to hell if they try anything. We'll figure out getting you another job if they fire you."

"Alright. I'll manage."

I finally open the door and quickly look around, but I don't stop at anyone in particular. I murmur, "Good evening, I brought your drinks," and then go to the table that serves as a makeshift bar, where the crystal glasses and the ice bucket are.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. From the quick glance I gave, there are five men present, although I couldn't say what each one looks like to save my life.

I ask if anyone wants whiskey on the rocks, exactly as I was instructed, and four of them say yes.

I serve them without looking up and walk back to where the bottle is.

I didn't make eye contact with any of them, but I'm curious to know who was the only one who wanted his drink neat, and when I stop in front of him, I raise my eyes and stare at him recklessly, bottle and glass still in hand.

The moment our eyes lock, I feel a kind of shock running through me. No one has ever looked at me the way the stranger does now.

He has deep brown, almost black, eyes, and it feels like he's cast some sort of spell on me, because I can't move, although in the back of my mind, a voice tells me to get the hell out of here.

He's not just handsome. Yes, his beauty is undeniable, but there's something more in his masculine face that's too attractive. Is it the effect of the firm, angular jawline, which shows so much strength? The straight nose, that together with the ensemble, shows a proud temperament?

And then, I make the mistake of looking at his mouth. It's well-shaped, with full lips, but they're pressed together, as if he's unconsciously clenching them, a typical action of impatient people. Even though he seems irritated, I want to reach out and feel those lips with my fingers.

His hair is completely contrary to the rest of the ensemble—a bit messy and perhaps in need of a trim. But that's the only trace of disharmony, if it can even be called that, because it complements his beauty.

However, the hair doesn't diminish the aura of power that the stranger exudes. On the contrary, it gives him an even stronger air of superiority, as if he couldn't care less about rules or what people consider to be right.

Someone coughs, and I finally force myself to pour the drink. My hand trembles as I watch the amber liquid flow into the crystal glass. I place it on the table in front of the man without looking at him and ask everyone, "Anything else?" silently hoping they'll dismiss me.

"Yes, there's a lot more I want from you," someone says, and I know it came from one of the casino owners, "but nothing that's allowed or on the menu."

I feel my blood boiling with shame and anger because his insinuation is clear, and if he acts like this on my first day as a waitress, this job definitely isn't for me. It's one thing to fend off advances from the manager, but if not even one of the casino owners respects me, my life here will be hell.

I stay frozen near the drinks table, my back to them, and repeat the question I asked earlier, determined that when I leave the room, which I hope will be as soon as possible, I'll go straight to the locker room to change clothes and leave.

Tomorrow, I'll come in to resign.

I'll lose my afternoon cleaning shifts too, but if there's one thing I've learned living with Aunt Riny all these years, it's that if we allow someone to disrespect us once, it becomes a habit. And in this case, it's not just disrespect. It's harassment.

Before any of them respond, I hear a powerful voice say, "I hope you have good labor lawyers on your payroll. You'll need them if this is how you treat your employees."

I'm sure it was the handsome stranger, who ordered whiskey neat, but I don't turn around to check.

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