Wearing a short fur-lined jacket, Annie’s lips were painted blood-red. She waltzed in like she owned the place. On her arm was a guy I vaguely recalled—Joshua, I think his name was. Tall, muscular, smirking. Trailing behind them were four other guys, all loud and cocky, their laughter echoing through the diner like bad weather.
They slid into a booth in my section.
Greta was in the back with deliveries.
I took a breath. I could do this. Just stay professional. Be polite.
I approached their table, notepad and pen in hand.
“Good morning,” I began. “What can I get—”
Annie cut me off. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Emberfang Cinderella.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”
“I’ll have sparkling water,” she said with a smirk. “Make sure the lemon’s exactly three centimeters thick. I’ve got sensitive taste buds.”
“Coffee. Black. Two drops of cream,” Joshua added lazily, not looking up from his phone.
