Enough addicts and alcoholics had crossed his path over the years for him to know the signs. “Nervous stomach, more likely.” He’d caught her stealing crackers from the salad bar. “All the same, tell the other waitresses to let me know if they see anything odd.”
“That mean you’re going to let her keep waiting tables?”
“How else is she going to get up-to-speed? Another day or two and she’ll be fine.”
There was a loud crash.
“Another day or two, huh?” Darius said. “You sure?”
Across the room, their newest employee had just spilled a salad on... Oh, Lord—was that the deputy mayor?
Max ran a hand over his face. “Send a couple bottles of Amatucci reserve to the table, and tell him the entire night is on the house.” He watched as the mayor’s right-hand man slapped away Arianna’s hand before plucking a piece of arugula from the lapel of his gray flannel suit. Hopefully the drink and a few profuse apologies would be enough to soothe the man’s ego.
“And your new puppy? What about her?”
“Move her to somewhere where she won’t cause damage for the rest of the night,” he said.
“You mean you’re not going to let her go?”
He’d certainly fired employees for less. Only he couldn’t shake the memory of her anxious expression, or that she was in a roach hotel to beat all roach hotels. Attraction to her aside, there remained the fact she was a woman clearly looking for an escape. What kind of man would he be if he cut her loose?
“Tomorrow we’ll try her at the hostess station.” Now that he thought about it, he should have assigned her that position to begin with. Who wouldn’t want to follow her to their table?
“You’re the boss,” Darius said, with a look that said he disagreed. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
So did he, thought Max. So did he.
* * *
“Arianna, may I speak to you for a moment?”
The fussy, nasal voice of the maître d’ had the uncanny ability to cut through the restaurant din like an upper-crust trumpet. By itself the tone was enough to make Arianna’s insides cringe. When coupled with the distinct sound of disapproval, it made her feel sick to her stomach. Or sicker, as the case may be. What had she done this time?
Javier stood at his seating station, impatiently tapping his pen against the wood. His rigid posture reminded her of the music instructor her father had hired when she was twelve. A dictatorial virtuoso who she’d been certain had moonlighted as a prison guard. Come to think of it, she wouldn’t be surprised if Javier moonlighted at the same place.
Smoothing the front of her waitress dress, which was doubling as a hostess outfit for the evening, she excused herself from the diners with whom she’d been talking and headed toward him. He immediately tilted his gel-slicked head toward a corner away from the crowd. “I thought I asked you to seat the last party in section four,” he said, once they were out of earshot.
“I did.” At least she thought she had.
“No, you seated them in section three.”
Section three, section four...what difference did it make? Four people needed a table, so she gave them a table with four chairs.
Apparently, from the maître d’s dramatic sigh, it mattered a great deal. “Did I not tell you that restaurant seating is like a mathematical equation? You make a mistake on one side of the dining room, then the entire scheme is thrown off-balance. Now I’m going to have to redo the entire seating chart. Again.”
Arianna lifted her chin. Perhaps, she wanted to say, if she’d been allowed more than five minutes to study the floor plan before the restaurant opened... Traditionally, memorizing information on quick order wasn’t a problem, but lately it seemed her brain was constantly foggy and sluggish. It did not help that the majority of her energy these days seemed to center on trying not to run to the ladies’ room.
Apparently, Javier wasn’t done lecturing her. “And did you tell a couple they couldn’t sit in one of the back booths?”
“They were walk-ins. You told me the booths were reserved.”
“I also told you customer service is our number-one priority. As the first face they see when they come into the Fox Club, you are in a sense Mr. Brown’s ambassador, and as such, you never tell a customer you cannot accommodate their request.”
“But I thought I wasn’t supposed to disrupt the seating chart.”
Javier glared at her. “From now on, come and get me if there’s a special request. I don’t want you making decisions on your own.” He reached for the reservation book while muttering under his breath. Arianna caught the words empty-headed and useless.
They were enough to make her see red. Raising herself to her fullest height, she stared down her nose at the maître d’. “Listen here, you...”
“Excuse me.” A tall, elderly woman approached them, preventing Arianna from finishing. The newcomer wore a pale green gown that, while dated, Arianna immediately recognized from the stitching as a designer original. She was carrying a leather tote bag and a large brown canister.
“Javier,” she said, in an upper-crust voice to rival the maître d’s. Another time, Arianna would find it amusing that she, the actual royal, had the least affected voice. “It’s five past seven. Mr. Riderman and I distinctly requested a seven o’clock reservation. I mentioned it to this young woman, but she told me I had to wait.”
“The rest of her party hasn’t arrived yet,” Arianna told Javier, figuring that he would appreciate the defense, since he set the rule.
He didn’t, though. He snapped to even greater attention. “My apologies, Mrs. Riderman. She is a new employee. Had I seen you walk in I would have attended to you personally. May I send you and Mr. Riderman a cocktail with our compliments?”
The elderly woman’s hand fluttered at the offer, her gigantic cocktail ring spinning on her thin finger as she did. “Mr. Riderman isn’t drinking this evening. I, however, will have an extra dry martini.”
“Very good.” Arianna had to force herself not to roll her eyes at the bow Javier offered the woman. The palace guards weren’t that effusive. “Now if you follow me, your regular table is ready.”
There was another exception to his rules? If he was going to allow exceptions, then there should be a list for employees.
Javier glared at her when he returned. “You are very lucky, Mrs. Riderman is a forgiving person,” he said.
Oh, no, she refused to let some uptight little man lecture her on this. “You specifically instructed that no party was to be seated unless everyone was present.”
“The entire party was present.”
“No, Mr. Riderman...” She stopped, suddenly remembering the bronze vase. “You mean she is eating with her dead husband’s...?”
