Zane
Gasps spread through the guests, as they watched the mess in front of Cassandra. Slowly, I placed my own glass back on the table.
She was trying to dab the liquid up from the man's watch, but she was only making it worse. The guests had began to whisper, and the man —one of my managers— only stared at her, his face turning red with embarrassement and discomfort.
“The staff will take care of it, Cassandra.” I said.
She paused, and her eyes slid to me, “I can take care of my own mess.”
Her tone was so cold, and confrontational, that it had shocked all of the guests at the table. My eyes narrowed, because if she was trying to cause a scene, it was definitely working. She scowled, rubbing the watch in aggressive strokes of a napkin.
The man gently pulled his arm away, “I think you s
