Rush.
1225 Words
Natalia was in trouble—she had to be at work in less than ten minutes and needed to walk—or rather, run—about seven long blocks to get there.
She was fixing her uniform along the way.
"Damn it! Why do these things only happen to me? My boss is definitely going to fire me the moment he sees me," she muttered, spouting curses into the street without caring who might hear her.
Natalia was lost in her own bubble of problems, one that people living paycheck to paycheck often find themselves in—especially those who work to survive, not the other way around.
Her feet were practically burning; running in heels was no easy feat.
She had worked so hard to earn her position at a prestigious restaurant, and she didn't want to disappoint the people who had given her this opportunity.
She was in such a rush because her boss had specifically told her that evening they would be serving highly influential guests, and punctuality was non-negotiable.
When she entered the building, she pressed the elevator button for her floor and glanced at her watch: **7:59 PM**.
She bit her lip, praying she'd make it in time.
Her boss was waiting at the entrance, frowning.
"You're one minute late. What part of 'be here twenty minutes early' didn't you understand?"
"I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again. I had trouble getting here on time tonight."
"Tonight and every important night. What a coincidence, right? Get in, change your clothes, and hurry up. All the other waitresses are already in their evening attire."
"I'll do it. It won't happen again, I promise."
"And fix your hair, for God's sake. You've already been assigned a table—check the number on your uniform," he added with a scowl.
Her boss, an older man with more style than all the women working there combined, stormed off.
Natalia hurried to the dressing room and changed into the VIP uniform she'd only worn a couple of times before.
She slicked her hair back with a generous amount of gel. Her makeup was still presentable, so she didn't touch it.
Then, she headed toward the section reserved for the most important clients.
When she reached her assigned table, the first thing she noticed was three young men and an older woman, all dressed impeccably.
"Good evening. My name is Natalia, and I'll be your server tonight," she said with a smile so wide it nearly reached her ears.
She handed each of them a menu, careful not to make direct eye contact for too long, as per restaurant rules.
"Thank you, dear. We'll call you when we're ready," the older woman said.
"Perfect. I'll leave this device here—press the button when you're ready, and I'll come over."
Natalia walked away toward the bar, where she helped her coworker prepare drinks when she had free time.
A man had ordered ten Cuban mojitos, so she and her coworker got to work.
"I thought the earth had swallowed you whole, Arrubal," said Leslie, a red-haired bartender.
"Not at all. It's just been a while since I was assigned to VIP nights," replied Natalia, her dark brown hair gleaming under the light.
"I missed you around here. For a moment, I thought they'd fired you."
"That wouldn't be a surprise, considering I haven't been able to get anything right lately. Leopold is fed up with me, but he needs me—that's the only reason he hasn't let me go. I don't know how to feel about that."
"You know you're good at your job. He keeps you because you never disappoint when it comes to customer service. That's what matters."
"I'd like to think it's that simple, but things aren't so easy, Leslie," Natalia replied with a hint of self-doubt, as if she didn't truly believe she was a good employee.
"You've got nothing to lose by trying. If you switched shifts with Ethan, you might have more time for yourself and this job."
"You know since my mom got sick, I'm all she has. If I could manage things better, I would!"
"Just a suggestion. I have a two-year-old son, and I still make it twenty minutes early, as they ask us to," Leslie pointed out.
"That's because he's not in school yet. Trust me, that phase is a nightmare for adults and their schedules."
Before Leslie could reply, Natalia's pocket device buzzed and lit up.
"Sorry, I'll be back in a minute," Natalia said, heading to her table.
At the table, the older woman looked very decisive.
"We'd like a tomahawk steak, a basil lasagna, and carbonara pasta—no pepper," she said.
"Understood. Would you like anything to drink?" Natalia asked, entering the order on the tablet provided to the waitresses.
"Yes, a bottle of wine and two craft beers, please," added one of the men.
The deep, soft yet rugged tone of his voice sent shivers down Natalia's spine.
"I'll have it ready shortly. Please wait patiently," she said, heading off to fetch the restaurant's complimentary appetizers, water, and ice.
Back at the bar, Leslie noticed something was off.
"You okay? You're pale."
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just not used to dealing with people like them. It feels like there's a world of difference between us."
"There *is* a world of difference, sweetheart. But don't feel bad about it. Sometimes, dealing with them is uncomfortable—that's why I stopped being a waitress years ago. Working at the bar is so much freer; people are more transparent when they're drinking."
"I know. Maybe I should quit and join you."
"That's up to the bosses to decide."
"Yeah, you're right. We'll talk later, Leslie."
"Where are you going?" the redhead asked.
"To help Stella."
Leslie smiled, knowing Natalia had a heart of gold.
The kitchen staff received the order via their notification system. In the short amount of free time she had before the food was ready, Natalia decided to prepare napkins, cutlery, and glasses to save time later.
A while later, the alarm in her pocket buzzed again—it was time to pick up the food.
Natalia carefully carried the tray of food and drinks to her table. She placed each item in its proper place, starting by asking whose order was whose.
When she set the glass down in front of the man with the deep voice, her hand accidentally brushed his. Embarrassed, she felt her heart race.
The man gave her a subtle, lopsided smile.
As soon as she stepped away from the table, she realized she'd forgotten to put ice in the beer glasses, distracted by the man's infuriatingly charming smile.
Mentally scolding herself for the oversight, Natalia returned to the table to correct it.
"Excuse me..." she began.
At that exact moment, a searing pain shot through her shoulder. She'd been shot.
The restaurant erupted into chaos as patrons screamed and hid under tables. Several men dressed in black stormed in, firing directly at the table Natalia had been serving.
"This is personal!" one of the armed men shouted, shooting indiscriminately.
The family's bodyguards retaliated almost immediately.
The world went dark for Natalia, and the last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the perfect, chiseled face of the Italian man she had just served.
- Writer
