Page 71 of Savage Suit
She swung her head in my direction and lifted a brow. “What a font of information you are,” she cooed. “Charming.”
I glared at her.
Unfazed, she slid her tray forward. “The recipe calls for garlic, an onion, EVOO, butter, jumbo shrimp, pepper, salt and the pasta.”
Despite her attitude, the dish still sounded fucking amazing. Though the meal wasn’t fit for breakfast at all, thoughts of all the ingredients combined appealed to me and my empty stomach. “Sounds delish.” If you want friends, show yourself friendly, right? I’d try it and see how it turned out. “I’m surprised they’re serving the dish so early, though.”
“No complaints from me. I’m not that big of a fan of breakfast foods.”
My eyes widened. “Who doesn’t like breakfast foods?” I asked in outrage.
I loved breakfast. Whether eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, waffles, toast, or grits, I’d happily wolf it down, no questions asked.
“Me,” she quickly responded, a small smile coming over her full lips.
Progress or pandering? I’d vote her smile as progress since she didn’t have to cater to me for anything. Relaxing a little, I forged ahead. “Not even pancakes?”
“Pancakes and waffles are alright sometimes.”
“That’s acceptable,” I teased, shaking my head.
“Thank you for your kindness, ma’am,” Megan quipped with a regal nod.
I grinned, more at ease, cheering our turn had arrived.
“Morning, Miss Buford,” the portly server greeted, his gaze roaming between us. “Are you two ladies together?”
“Yes, Billy,” Megan confirmed. “I’ll have the garlic shrimp spinach pasta, please,” she said, then looked at me as Billy leaned behind the counter and came up with a ceramic plate.
Well. Okay. No lowly mess trays.
He heaped a pile of pasta on the plate and handed it to Megan. It smelled divine and looked fucked-up. The fresh pasta had been overcooked and now resembled a glob of starch.
I glanced at the electronic menu on the wall behind Billy. “I’ll have the spinach ham omelet with Swiss cheese.”
Billy offered me a blank stare. “You temps are all the same,” he said with disgust, then nodded toward the left side of the room. “Line for that is over there. That’s a specialty dish and must be prepared as ordered.”
I peeped around Megan and sighed at the line for the station he indicated.
“Here, we have this pasta, beef stroganoff, chicken tetrazzini, fried chicken, French fries, and corn.” He assessed the chafing dishes on each side of him. “You’ll have to go back to the end of the line if you want anything you passed up. Besides the omelets, there’s also a wrap station, a fruit bar, and a salad station.”
“Can you please get Ryan’s omelet, Billy?” Megan asked. “She’s Mr. Keegan’s hire as the new project manager for Amage.”
I’d never seen anyone go from motherfucker to ass kisser so quickly. His horrified expression satisfied me to no end.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry, Ryan.”
“I’mMs. Hagen,” I stated. If I wanted respect in this place, I needed to set boundaries. Iftheywanted my respect, they needed to treat me with civility.
“Yes, yes, ma’am, of course,” he said, tripping over his words. “Meal’s on the house, Ms. Hagen, ma’am, to congratulate you on your new position.” He looked at Megan. “I’ll be honored to pay for yours as well, Miss Buford. What would you like to drink?”
“A Coke, please,” Megan responded.
“A cup of coffee for me,” I said. “Black, please.”
Megan wrinkled her nose. “You like black coffee?”
“Yep. It’s my favorite.”
