Page 2 of Real Fake Husband

“You see, sir,” I say, resting my hands on the table to lean in close, “Iamthe supervisor. I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

Maybe if I use big words, it’ll come across condescending enough for him to get the message. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. If he’s gonna be a jerk, two can play that game.

“You’rethe supervisor? Yeah, I’m sure you are. Hey, hey, girl.” He snaps his fingers at Kaylin before pointing at me. “Is she really your supervisor?”

Kaylin manages a weak nod in response to his question. The guy scoffs in disbelief.

I’ve had enough of this dude. If he’s going to act like he can do whatever the hell he wants, then I’ll prove to him who’s in charge of the situation. I backhand one of his half-finished beer bottles, and it falls over, the lukewarm liquid spilling across his lap.

His body jolts backward.

“Oops,” I say in a sugary-sweet tone.

The man’s face immediately turns bright red, and he’s attracting the attention of the other customers. He clearly got more than he bargained for when he decided being an inappropriate douche-nozzle was a smart thing to do.

“You did that on purpose!” he accuses.

“My handjust happenedto slip. Is that a crime?” I repeat his phrasing and arch a brow, backhanding the remaining half-finished beer bottles, and more liquid spills across his lap.

“Oops,” I say again, but not as nice this time.

His face grows even redder.

“Out,” I say, pointing to the door to really drive home the message.

From behind me, Kaylin whispers, “He hasn’t paid yet.”

As I turn around to take the slip from her, he scoffs and climbs out of his booth. Noting the giant beer stain on his lap is incredibly satisfying. It’s hard for a guy to intimidate me in general. Add the fact that it looks like he wet his pants, and whatever tough guy routine he’s pulling falls flat.

Straightening his coat and tie, he looks me dead in the eye and says, “I’m not paying.”

I am so ready to shove my knee into his balls—with gusto—but lucky for him, one of my regulars steps in. Martin is an NYPD officer with thirty years of experience under his belt. Towering at over six feet one, he’s a muscular handsome black man (with the softest heart). Very intimidating. Very perfect. When Martin stands behind me and Kaylin, I can see Mr. Suit shrink back, including his wet balls (probably shriveled down to peanuts).

“Is there a problem here, Josie?” Officer Martin asks sternly, his deep baritone sending a hush across the dining room.

I waste no time. “This man groped Kaylin and is now refusing to pay his bill.”

Martin’s eyes narrow. “Do you want to press charges, Kaylin, sweetheart?”

Mr. Suit pales, and Kaylin’s eyes go wide. “No, no, please, I don’t want any trouble,” she insists.

I want to push her to go through with it, but I know it’s not my decision. It’s hers. If she wants to move past all this, I won’t force it. “It’s your lucky day,” I say to the rude customer. “Now, I’m going to tell you one last time to leave.”

Mr. Suit huffs, but between my glare and Officer Martin’s imposing presence, he’s been beaten, and he knows it. “I’ll go. But it’s not because you told me to. It’s because I would rather be caught dead than step foot in this place again.”

He turns, and I clear my throat. “Um, excuse me. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I place his receipt on the table and slide it over, giving him my best customer service smile. Without even looking at it, he pulls out his wallet, grabs a couple of twenties, and throws them down before he spins on his heel and strolls across the room. He’s trying to be casual, but the tension in his shoulders is evident, even when he ducks out the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I pick up the money. “You all right, hon?” I ask Kaylin.

She nods, clearly still shaken. Poor thing. I pull her into a hug.

“Kaylin, are you sure you don’t want to press charges?” Martin asks.

“No, no, I just want to forget this ever happened. Thanks, Officer Martin.”

He smiles and pats her arm before returning to his steak and potatoes. I take a second to pop behind the counter and grab a big slice of apple pie from the dessert display. Officer Martin’s eyes light up when I slide it in front of him and I return his smile.

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