If it was possible to go slowly insane from hearing keys click on a keyboard, Nami was sure she'd be three padded squares from the loony bin by now.
Her hands kept busy; wiping out glasses she'd cleaned twice-over already. Her feet itched to walk back over to his table…again, and give-him-a-hint-to-get-out/see-if-he-needed-anything-else. It was already two hours past closing. 2 am. Everyone else gets to go home when he comes and stays this late.
Her rag hand twisted inside the expensive glass with vigor.
The cooks don't even stay, since he never orders food after closing.
Nami threw the rag down with a grimace.
That doesn't keep him from staying as long as he damn well pleases.
She grabbed a different rag and a squirt bottle full of cleaner. The counters would be polished with a vengeance…for the second time.
Damn the rich bastard for sweet-talking the boss and waving money under his nose. And damn her boss for allowing this. Out of all the restaurants he could have picked to loiter at every week, it had to be the one she worked at.
She scrubbed non-existent spots from the counter-top, imagining his face under her cleaning rag of fury.
He just had to come here and throw his money around so he could get his way…and sit in her section…damn it.
The bar counter was done all too soon, again. There was really nothing else for her to do. She leaned on her elbow with a silent huff and blew a long wavy brown strand out of her eyes.
She could see him sitting across the room at "his" table. Leaning slightly back against his chair, eyes intently focused on his laptop…and whatever the hell he was typing. He couldn't do that at home?
She wearily glanced over at the clock. Its hands were steadily creeping near the 2:20 mark. She let out a gusty sigh and decided to go "see if he needed anything."