Page 48 of Laila Manning
She wore her long brown hair tied up in a neat bun with just the slightest bit of makeup on her face, showcasing her natural beauty. Her tight black uniform shirt hugged her body effortlessly, and my hands ached to slide around her waist, anchoring her to my own body.
I saw her just last night, but I was desperate to see her again. Last night I kissed her, touched her body, and made her come in my arms, and then I had to leave for work.
But not now.
I was off now, changed into jeans and a plain shirt, searching for my drug of choice.
Laila.
She was talking to a man at the podium about the wait time as I stood back and watched. She didn’t notice me, but I felt her presence in every nerve ending in my body. I wanted to take her away from here and back into the serene calmness of her apartment, but she wanted to work and be normal, so I settled on showing up and killing the time she spent at her shift by watching her. At least that way, maybe the time would stop passing by at a crawl.
Any bit of euphoria I’d been feeling from having her in view again slid from my body as I watched her interact with the customer. The guy she was talking to was a millennial prick with a man bun and pants rolled up over his ankle bones like he was expecting a flood. And he was also raising his voice at my Dove.
Mine.
“What do you mean it’s a two-hour wait?” He snapped, “It’s five thirty. No where is that busy at five thirty.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” She replied, wringing her hands together in front of her as he got closer to the podium. “We have a full reservation list for the night and only keep so many walk-in slots available, and my next one isn’t until after seven. Would you like me to put you on that list now?”
“No, I don’t want to wait until fucking seven to eat!” He roared, and the woman he was with sighed dramatically as she scrolled through her phone. The rest of their group grumbled their objectionsfrom the side of the lobby as well, voicing their discontent with the wait time. “There are empty tables right now!”
“They’re already reserved for the reservations that have been booked.” She tried again, “Like I said, I’m more than happy to put you on the list—,”
“Fuck your list.” He bit, taking the last step toward the podium as he pointed his finger at her face. She whitened like a ghost as he raised his voice at her and stepped into her personal space. I scanned the lobby for any other employees working to intervene, but she was alone. And that was unacceptable. “And fuck you!”
“Sir.” She gasped, backing up until her back pressed flat against the wall separating the lobby from the restaurant, but he didn’t get another step closer before I clapped my hand on his shoulder and spun him around.
“Apologize.” I growled. “Now.”
His face went molten red as he sputtered at my interruption. “Who the fuck do you—”
I didn’t let him get another word out before I punched him in the throat, closing off any chance of him finishing his sentence or any other offensive one.
“Zeke!” Laila gasped from behind her podium.
“Woah!” One of his friends came up, putting himself between me and the sissy punk that tried to act tough against a woman but turned into a simpering puss the second he faced off with a real man. “He’s sorry!” His friend rushed out, glancing back at where his friend was still doubled over, trying to get air past his crushed windpipe. “He’s drunk and stupid.” His friend kept on. “He didn’t mean it. We don’t want any trouble with the Shadeport Crew.”
“What’s going on out here?” A voice boomed around the lobby as patrons cleared apart, allowing a path as one of the owners, Peter,came out of the kitchen, scowling at the crowd. “What happened?” He snapped at Laila, who opened her mouth and shut it, unable to form a word, before the last of the guests moved and he finally made eye contact with me. “Mr. Evans.” He stopped short, glancing at the man whose face matched the shade of a blueberry, with fire in his eyes as he glared at me. “Forgive me—” Peter said.
“Where is your security?” I cut him off, looking over at Laila, whose eyes were still as wide as saucers as they bounced back and forth between me and her boss.
“They’re—,” Peter turned in a circle, looking for the men he paid to protect his property and business. “I don’t—”
“You don’t know.” I snapped. “And your employees are left to handle assholes on their own because your security can’t be found.” He blanched as I nodded at Laila. “Rule number one in running a successful business, Peter, is to stop the riffraff from even coming through the front door to disrupt it. You can’t do that if you don’t have any security manning that front door.”
“Right.” He nodded quickly as more members of his management team filled the space. “You’re absolutely right. One hundred percent. A misstep that won’t be made again, thank you for intervening.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” I stepped forward until we were chest to chest and pointed at Laila over his shoulder. “She’s mine.” I growled, and his eyes widened. “Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes.” He stammered and nodded like he was an electronic screen glitching out. “I understand it perfectly.”
“This will never happen again.” I stated plainly. “She will never be left to take care of your trash for you again. Or I’ll take care of you.”
“Absolutely.” He stiffened his spine, “This problem will be corrected immediately.”
“Good.”
He relaxed for a moment and then turned on his heel, snapping his fingers as two bouncers suddenly appeared from thin air. “Have this man removed.” He pointed to the sniveling mess, who was finally breathing again. “He’s being blacklisted from all of our restaurants.”
