Page 7 of Hooked on Marshall

“Work can wait,” he snaps. “I’m more concerned about you and whatever is making you so upset.”

“It’s nothing,” I snap. “And since it’s not affecting my job, it’s really none of your concern.”

He flinches at this. But when he takes a breath to say more, I rush around him and back into the building. I clock back in and go against policy by leaving my cell phone in my back pocket. Mark always required us to leave them behind the bar.And I can only assume that Marshall will follow that protocol. But until I know for sure, I’ll take the risk.

Because the last thing I need is for Marshall to catch wind of who Jonas is and the fact that he won’t leave me alone. I tried to block his number earlier this week, but once he figured it out, he changed his number, too. At this point, I’m just doing my best to ignore him. I don’t want to read his messages, but I also want to know if he’s figured out that I’ve come back home. If that’s the case, then I need to be prepared for one of two things: facing him or running from him.

Somehow, I manage to keep my interactions with Marshall to a minimum for the rest of the night. But not without noticing his annoyance with me because of it. I take another break just before nine in the evening, and I make sure to walk to my car to check my phone. When I do, I find a half dozen more messages from Jonas.

His frustration is evident at my lack of response. And while he wasn’t the type to resort to bursts of anger or violence, he was very good at manipulating people. Which is how I ended up ruining my career for him.

At a loss for what to do, I finally respond. I keep my reply short and to the point. And I pray that it’s enough to end this.

I want nothing to do with you anymore, Jonas. Please stop texting and calling. I’ve moved on with my life and want to enjoy it. You should enjoy yours as well. Without me.

I reread it three times before hitting send. Then I close my eyes and rest my head back on my seat. In less than thirty seconds, my phone is ringing. And it’s Jonas. I decline the call. Twenty seconds pass before it rings again. Still Jonas. I decline the call again. Ten seconds and he calls again. I let it ring until it goes to voicemail. I watch and wait. Sure enough, I get a notification that he’s left a message.

Steeling my nerve, I tap my screen to listen.

“Lana, you can’t do this to me,” he chokes out. “Everything I ever said I wanted with you was the truth. And I still want it. I’m sorry things worked out the way they did, but my feelings for you were so strong that I allowed us to break the rules. I want you back here with me. I’ve spoken with my Uncle Josh at length about my feelings for you and he’s agreed to rehire you as long as we can keep things professional on the job. And I’ll admit that was my fault. Please, please don’t let us be over. I’ll…be in touch again soon.”

With that, he hangs up.

And all the shame and regret I felt when we were discovered comes flooding back. I check the time and see that I still have ten minutes left on my second break. I need that time to get myself back together, so I don’t get questioned by Marshall again. Saturday nights are always busy, and I need to bring in the tips so I can get myself back on my feet.

When it’s time, I get back to my job, still keeping my phone in my back pocket. As busy as it is, I don’t even have to think about my interactions with Marshall when they happen. But as the night wears on, it becomes clear that a group of men at a high top in the bar have overindulged. They are loud and rowdy and have come on to every waitress that has passed by their table. At last call, they voice their disdain but quickly call over their waiter to order another round. He walks over to Marshall to put the order in, but Marshall refuses.

And that’s when things get ugly.

To my surprise, Marshall gives the subtle signal for the police to be contacted. Since I’m closest to the landline, I handle it. As Marshall approaches the angry men, I give the dispatcher a quick rundown of what’s going on. She tells me there’s a unit close by and should arrive in less than five minutes. I thank her and hang up. Then I head to the door to look for them.

Many of the other customers in the bar have gone quiet as they wait for things to escalate. Some, who are regulars, have risen and moved into a position to assist if necessary. As diplomatic as Mark, Marshall quietly explains to the men why he will not serve them anymore more alcohol. And politely asks them to pay their bill and leave. Unaware that the police are already on their way, there’s a brief episode of pushing and shoving. But the combatants are quickly outnumbered and wisely decide to do what’s asked of them.

When their bill is paid, a brief round of applause follows their departure. I push open the door to allow them to exit, smiling when I see a police vehicle enter the front lot. Just as the last of the group walks outside, he turns to get in one last dig at Marshall.

Or so I think.

“Since we can’t get served alcohol, maybe we can get served something else.”

Before I realize what’s happening, he yanks me off my feet and tosses me over his shoulder.

Seven

I stiffen when the last of the group, and the most aggressive, turns around as soon as he steps out the door. The look on his face has me worried. And I hate that Lana is only inches away from this asshole.

“Since we can’t get served alcohol,” he slurs, “maybe we can get served something else.”

With that, he grabs Lana and tosses her over his shoulder. She screams for help. Then punches at the mans back with her fists as he takes a hard right into the parking lot. My legs move without thinking as I dart after them. I yell for them to stop just as blue and red lights illuminate the parking lot. Lana is still screaming when her captor reaches a large SUV. My stomach sinks at the thought of them getting her inside before I can reach her.

“Lana!”

I watch the man drop her to her feet, where she loses her balances and collapses to the pavement. He pulls her back to her feet, and she’s fighting with him while he yanks open the back door. Just as he goes to manhandle her inside, I slip my arms underneath his and put him in a headlock. The sudden loss of his support means Lana drops to the pavement again, a painful sob leaving her that has me seeing red. I’m aware of voices behind me as I pin the man against the back of the SUV.

He’s spewing curses at me while his friends grab at Lana and start to argue with the police officers. One of them, Ryland James, is a high school classmate of mine. He listens as Lana tells him what just happened. His partner then pulls Lana away from the other asshats while he walks over to me.

“Is this the one who carried off your employee?”

“Yeah,” I say as I continue to struggle. “He’s pissed because I cut them off.”

---