Page 32 of Never Date A Player
Not sticking around to question it, I move into the lane?—
“Hold up, Snow.” Maryanne smiles at her customer as he hands her a tip. “You can have my tables at ten,” she says over her shoulder. “I need to leave early.”
Wait—what? She’s offering the tables that pour in a ton of money in tips? To me? Not one of the senior girls?
I take too long to respond, because Maryanne faces me, her expression pure exasperation. “Do you want ’em or not?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you,” I say in stunted English.
I glance at Amber, who has paused in her conversation to gape at Maryanne. She snaps her mouth shut and walks over. “Uh, Maryanne, I can cover for you.” Her head twitches awkwardly as if she’s trying to refrain from cocking it like a pissed-off bird. She looks down at me, even though I’m several inches taller. “I have more seniority than Snow.”
Maryanne counts her cash and winks at another customer. “Thanks, but Gen’s got it.” She speeds off, her short legs pumping in her cheap heels—the same ones I’m wearing.
Amber’s mouth purses and she glares at me before storming off to Mont Belle Lounge.
That was—I don’t even know what. Unbelievable? Brilliant?
Maryanne was the first waitress to haze me with the Snow White nickname. Now she’s calling me Gen and giving me her tables? And putting Amber in her place…
Wow. Just—wow.
I’m trying to not think about why she’d do that, and whether she feels sorry for me after the Drake incident. Pretty sure she knew something was up with him. But like that night when she offered to take the drinks to his party, I’m not going to question her generosity.
“She said that? Maryanne?” Nessa stares in disbelief after I relay the events.
“I can get someone else to cover her section if you think you’ll need me here tonight.” The bachelor party is rowdier than when I left. I don’t want to leave Nessa in the lurch, even if good tips are singing to me.
She shakes her head and waves me off. “I’ve got this.”
By the end of the night, I pull in a few hundred dollars working Maryanne’s blackjack tables—my best score to date.
Let’s hope my luck holds in the race. There is a five-thousand-dollar prize for first place down to one thousand for fifth place. I’ll be lucky to finish the mudder, but if by some miracle I win something, it would go a long way toward building self-confidence and financial independence. I refuse to sit back and let things happen to me. This time, I’m fighting for myself.
Chapter Ten
Half the businesses in Lake Tahoe use the word chalet in their title, even the rundown places. Cali and I dubbed our cabin, with its corrugated roof and seventies brown carpet, the chalet in honor of the outdated strip malls with the same name. The Pinecone Chalet Business Center housing Sallee Construction doesn’t conform. The architecture has a log cabin feel, the building new and well constructed.
Cali hasn’t returned from her mom’s and she’s ignoring my text messages. The truth about her ex came out wrong. This has gone on too long. I feel terrible and wish she’d talk to me. Until she returns my calls or comes home, I’m forced to sit on my hands and wait. Which sucks.
I push open the glass door to Sallee Construction, my thoughts still on Cali, when the receptionist says, “Oh, no.” She looks up abruptly. “What’s your astrological sign?”
I glance to my left and right, taking in the insignia on the wall to make sure I’m in the right place. “Me?” She nods gravely, her blond, frizzy hair held back by shell combs. “Virgo?” I say, hesitantly.
Her mouth moves rapidly as she reads the computer screen. Her face relaxes. “You’re fine this month. Just romantic stuff. But those Leos”—she blows out a breath and shakes her head—“they need to worry. Not a good month to be a Leo.” Her face brightens in a way that’s almost comical after the horoscope drama. “What can I do for you?” She takes a sweeping glance. “You here to see one of the boys?”
My face heats. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed. I’m not here to see a guy, but her talk of romance threw me. “No. I’m here for… I’m participating in the Alpine Mudder. A friend said your company builds the obstacles?”
“We do.” She looks at me warily.
Didn’t Zach say this would be on the down low? I should have followed up with him before I came. Why the hell did I think I could waltz in here and get information?
I clutch my purse, suddenly second-guessing my rationale for coming. “I was hoping to get information—nothing top secret or anything—just the basics on what might be out there. On the course. With the obstacles.” I’m stammering. This is bad. I already sound guilty.
The receptionist breathes in through clenched teeth as if I’ve touched on a delicate subject. “Well—the person who usually handles acquisitions entered the race this year to raise money for his tribe. Conflict of interest.” She taps her lip. “I suppose John is handling this project. He’s the owner. Just a minute.”
She picks up the phone receiver on her desk and punches a couple of buttons. “John, I have a girl here who wants to know about the mudder obstacles. Do you have time to talk to her?” There’s a short pause. “Okay, I’ll bring her back.” She sets down the receiver and rises. “I’ll show you to his office.”
“Wait. Um, what did it say?” I gesture to her computer. “About my sign.” I feel silly asking, but seriously, she can’t leave me hanging.
