Page 93 of Crave

“Just thought what?” I ask. “What is it about me that made you think I was the help? It’s clearly not my outfit, so what is it?” She remains silent as she continues to watch me. She licks her lips repeatedly but doesn’t answer my question.

“Say it!” I snap.

“I’m sorry. I just thought that—” The door opens and Rebecca quickly turns around. Jake comes walking in, his eyes only on me.

“You ready for lunch, baby? You must be hungry.”

“Sure,” I say, standing up. “Just having a little chat with Rebecca here.”

Rebecca turns to face me, her face completely red. “Mrs. Healy asked me to deliver your itinerary, Mr. Clark.” She drops it on his desk and practically runs out of the office.

“I guess she couldn’t get out of here fast enough.” He grabs my hand, kisses it, and then intertwines our fingers. “Let’s get out of here before my dad makes good on his threat to crash our lunch. Neither he or Troy have any shame.”

I grab my purse and we walk out, hand in hand.

“I have to take this, princess. Come and grab me when our table’s ready.” Jake walks out of the front door of the Italian restaurant not far from his office, his phone already attached to the side of his face.

It’s a busy lunch crowd, and I lean against the wall as I wait for our table to be called. I busy myself people watching. The crowd is mainly filled with businessmen and women. I try to blend into the wall when the door opens and a familiar figure walks in. Tracy Clark waddles inside the restaurant, thankfully completely oblivious to my presence. I inch closer to the wall and try to blend into a group of black women as Tracy gives her name to the hostess. I assume she’s told to wait since she stands in the middle of the entryway. She looks casual in her black leggings and purple maternity top, her hand resting on her protruding belly.

Jake walks in just as the hostess yells out Clark party of two. He finds me immediately and holds his hand out for me.

“Your wife is here, Mr. Clark. I can seat you now,” the hostess announces, surprising both me and Jake.

“What? My wife?” he asks, confused.

“Yes.” The hostess points to Tracy Clark. The color drains from Tracy’s face when she sees us and realizes the hostess’ mistake.

“How the hell do you figure she’s my wife when you saw me walk in here with my girlfriend?” He lifts our joined hands to show her. The hostess’ cheeks redden at Jake’s rebuke.

“I apologize, sir. I assumed she was your assistant.” The word is like a slap to the face. His assistant, the housekeeper. In other words, the help.

“You think I hold hands and kiss my assistant while I’m waiting to meet my wife? What the hell is wrong with you?” I squeeze his hand to reassure him that this is just a mistake, and normally that would work, but it has no effect on him today.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the hostess says again. She swallows nervously, clutching our menus to her bosom as if they will protect her from Jake’s rage.

“It’s just a mistake, baby. Calm down.” My words would have worked if Tracy hadn’t chosen that exact same moment to speak.

“It’s an honest mistake, Jake. We do have the same last name.” She turns to the hostess and says, “I’m sorry about this.”

Jake’s body goes rigid at her words, and I watch in slow motion as he turns towards his ex-girlfriend turned sister-in-law. His brown eyes darken at the same time that he clenches his jaw. My normally jovial boyfriend is gone as he snarls at Tracy Clark.

“Don’t you ever apologize for me.” His words are slow, but his tone is menacing. “I told you years ago not to ever speak to me again.”

She throws up her hands in surrender. “I’m not doing this. If you want to make a scene, you’ll have to do it on your own.” She walks away from us and finds a spot against the wall. The once loud entryway has gone silent. Everyone is now watching us, waiting for a scene to unfold. I tug Jake’s hands and we follow the hostess to a secluded table. Relieved to be away from the probing eyes, I sink into my chair.

Jake takes a long sip of his ice water, and I do the same, wondering if it will always be like this.

“I’m sorry, Dee. You know what? Let’s go eat somewhere else.” He stands up, but I hold my hands up.

“I’m hungry. Let’s stay.” I pick up the menu and start to look at today’s specials, ready to put this entire day behind me.

“Whatever you want.” He sits back down, but he doesn’t pick up his menu. “I promised you no more drama and I failed today. I’m sorry. I felt the hostess was disrespectful towards you.”

“It’s fine, Jake.” I want to tell him that this isn’t the first time nor will it be the last time that this happens. I want to say that this week has been filled with nothing but people reminding me of how invisible I am.

I stare at the menu for several minutes, all the words blur together.

“You’re mad at me? I don’t think you’ve ever gone this long without speaking before.”

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