Find Me Alastar(8)

“Yes. I do know that. I want the chef to make me a new sauce. I am paying for a freshly cooked meal, you know.” He lifts his chin as if proud of himself.

The waitress looks up at the ceiling and I drop my head to hide my horror. Oh my God.

He’s always a pain in the ass—it’s obvious she knows him. How embarrassing?

“Anything else… sir,” she asks begrudgingly.

“Yeah, I want it hot. Last time it came out not as hot as it should. I won’t be paying unless it’s at the right temperature.”

Oh, I just want the earth to swallow me up.

She turns to me. “What would you like?”

“I will have the chicken schnitzel please,” I say meekly.

Her eyes hold mine and she raises an eyebrow. “Any special instructions?”

I shake my head quickly. “Nope. Just as it comes is great.” I hand my menu over and she fakes a smile as she takes it.

“How long is the wait, please?” Mark asks. “We are on a tight time schedule.” He taps his watch.

The poor waitress looks at me and I want to slide under the table.

Shut up, *.

“We will be as quick as we can,” she mutters and then disappears into the kitchen.

I look at Mark in horror. What was that? Another waitress walks past us. “Excuse me.”

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Can I please have two glasses of Sav Blanc?”

“Sure.” She heads to the bar.

I look at Mark.

He smiles and raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”

I shrug because if he doesn’t know what I’m thinking then more fool him.

“I’m assertive because I hate bad service.”

“Oh,” I reply, dumbfounded.

“And it’s my killer instinct that got me to the head of marketing. I don’t put up with shit.”

The waitress brings my two glasses of wine back and I gratefully take them from her. I need these babies.

“Yep. I clawed my way to the top. And I had to step on some heads to get there but aggression is needed in the workplace.

God, help me. I drain my glass in one gulp.

He frowns. “Thirsty?”

I nod as I pick up me second glass and widen my eyes. “Really. Really thirsty.”

“So, tell me about more about you?” He smirks as he sits back in his chair.

Stop being so judgmental, Emerson, I remind myself. Maybe this is an English thing?

“Well, as you know, I’m from Sydney–” I begin.

He cuts me off. “Oh, I nearly booked a trip there once, but then I decided to go to Canada instead. Yes, trip of a lifetime that was. Went with my university buddies and got shit faced in every state of the USA. He goes on… and on… and on… and on.

My meal arrives and I sit in silence, eating away as Mark continues to ask me questions then cutting me off every time I try to answer, choosing instead to talk about himself. By the end of lunch, I don’t even have anything to say. I watch him talk to himself as I run through my internal assessment. He’s rude. Is he rude or is this restaurant just bringing out the worst in him? Maybe I’m being rude? Maybe he’s not so bad? Maybe he’s just different to what I expected, that’s all. My inner voice is telling me he’s a twat… but she’s been known to be an over-dramatic bitch, too.

I come to the conclusion that I can be sure of. I have absolutely no idea what is going on here.



* * *



An hour later and the day grinds to an annoying halt. I’m trying to get my phone sorted and it is driving me crazy.

Why are all phone stores so slow? What do they do on their computers and what are they looking at? I sit at the desk and glance at my watch for the tenth time while I get my mobile phone switched over to a UK company. I know for certain that I’m probably getting the worse deal in history, but I couldn’t be bothered shopping around, and even this apparent shortcut has taken over an hour. I’m worried about Brelly. What if her boss is really mean and she can’t contact me? What the hell have I gotten her into? My eyes flicker out to Mark who is waiting patiently outside on his phone.

I am distracted from my thoughts by the lady behind the desk. “So, you have the same number, now all you have to do is just switch your phone off and back on again.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you here for long?”

“Twelve months or so.” “I love your accent.” I smile because almost everyone has said that this morning. “Thank you so much.”

“Just call this number here...” she points to her phone number on the brochure, “if you need any help.”

I smile gratefully and rise from my seat. “Thank you, goodbye.” I head out the door. “All done.” I say to Mark.

“They took their time, didn’t they?”

“Oh, I know. I’m sorry,” I wince.

“No, it’s fine. What do you want to do now?” he asks.

I shrug in excitement. “Can we just look around the shops for a while?”

“Sure, I have a hundred messages to reply to, so shop away and I will wait outside for you.”

I quickly get my phone out of my bag and text Brielle.

Phone fixed, are you okay?