Shane's P.O.V.

"Guys, which one?" I asked, lifting two different shirts by their hangers. Like a balance, my arms raised and lowered in opposite directions, showcasing what I thought would look best for today.

After yesterday's horrible excuse for a reunion with Mitchie, I really needed to work on myself. And first on my list was my look. I couldn't wear anything that reminded Mitchie of the old Shane Grey. Unfortunately, that really limited me on my choices; it was either a black collared shirt with a white tie or white shirt accompanied with a vest and tie. The mature look was the way to go if I wanted to change my image, to shed myself of the bad impression that had settled in Mitchie's eyes. If I couldn't find the solution to change my true personality, at least I'd try and look like I had changed.

"The one in your right hand," Nate mumbled under his arm, shielding out the gloomy, but bright light shining through the window I had opened earlier.

"You're not even looking," I complained. "Jason, what about you?" I held out my arms and twisted my wrists to examine my options for the umpteenth time. "Collar? Vest?"

Jason groaned and lifted his head off his pillow, squinting his eyes at the clock on the nightstand. "Since when do you wake up this early?" Then he landed face down and back into bed, continuing in a muffled voice. "You're usually the hardest to wake up."

My arms dropped and stared at my two brothers still lying in bed. I felt like tipping each of their mattresses over. That would surely get them up and running…straight for me, but at least they'd be awake. But I held my exasperation in and buried it as deep as it could go in the back of my mind. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. "Well, if you must know, Jason," I started out, completely calm, "it takes more than a couple of minutes to achieve perfection. I've decided to go through my phase of metamorphosis and become the person Mitchie expects me to be."

Jason shifted under his covers and turned his face towards me, still eyes closed. "Metamorphosis? Like…a caterpillar? Like a bug?"

Before I could explain it once more to my drowsy older brother, my younger--and much more bothersome--brother snorted. Instead of confronting me like a man, he shunned me by turning onto his side with his back as the alternative to his face. "You can't just decide things like that, Shane. It's not like you can change how you act or talk over night."

He was definitely pushing it--and I was incredibly close to pushing him off the bed. "Apparently, I can," I said proudly, holding my head high. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a new man. Actually, a changed man is more like it. Shane Grey 2.0."

Nate peered over his shoulder to look at me for two seconds before digging deeper into his blanket. "No, I haven't noticed," he muttered. "And neither has Mitchie, bro. You kind of ruined your chances with her yesterday."

"Yeah, Shane," Jason needlessly agreed. "How do you expect to fix things this time? I don't know Mitchie well, but I take that she's not the material-girl type. She might not accept any bribes from you."

"Hey, I do not 'bribe' girls to go out with me. It's usually the other way around. They'd do anything to go out with the Shane Grey." It took me several seconds to realize that my words were far too arrogant. I cleared my throat from my mistake, throwing my two choices of clothing aside onto my own bed. "I mean, I don't expect to solve things buy spending money on her. That's stupid."

"Strike one, Shane," Nate said, finally facing me, eyes squinting either from drowsiness or a scowl. "Don't lie. I saw that box you picked up at the concierge's desk when we came back to the hotel last night. What was it, a Tiffany's bracelet? A necklace?"

I had no excuse prepared for that. I did order a piece of jewelry for Mitchie, but that was weeks before we left camp. Before Tess had busted Mitchie in front of the entire camp population, to be more specific. But I didn't have it shipped until after my failed attempt to reintroduce the new Shane Grey to the real Mitchie Torres. Maybe I considered giving it to her as some kind of peace offering, but Nate was making the idea sound like one that was bound to be another letdown.

"Strike one?" I asked, ignoring his assessment entirely. I didn't need to explain myself to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing." Nate yawned and stretched with a small smirk on his face. "Just keeping count of all the slip ups the real Shane Grey makes."

He was mocking me. Yeah, so I've said my name a few times now, but it was for a good reason. I was just trying to make the distinct differences between the two different people. Clearly my young sibling was much too young to understand any of this. Poor Nate. So naïve and inexperienced.

"Whatever, young one," I told him, purposely making my tone sound condescending. "You have no idea what you're talking about. Mitchie will forgive Sha-" I caught myself. Another thing I had to work on. "…She'll forgive me in no time. We might even be able to go out a few times before she heads back home."

"And what will happen when she does leave, Shane?" Jason asked, adding to Nate's pessimistic comments. Why couldn't they keep to themselves when I wanted them to? "What if we're the first to head out of this town? What do you expect to happen then?"

I glared, giving each of them a fair amount of time to bask in my depreciation. Holding my detestable stare, switching every now and then, I stood in between their beds. They had quit paying attention to me before I even arrived where I stood, indicating how much they cared for my response to Jason's question.

"Our jet, as I've said before, will be the solution," I said. But they just scoffed and turned away from me in unison, burrowing deep into their covers. "But I don't have to worry about that now," I continued, unaffected by their shun. "Until then,…" My arms reached out, stretching the lengths of them, and took a firm grip of white sheets in both my hands. "…Let's get some breakfast."

In a strong haul, I heaved the sheets towards my torso, resulting for Nate and Jason plummet onto the hard carpeted floor. I crossed my arms with the feeling of triumph while they groaned in objection. Their continuous gripes sounded like music to my ears.

But nothing could be compared Mitchie's angelic voice. One that I really needed to hear sometime soon.

Natasha's P.O.V.

"Excellent choice," I complimented the gentleman while jotting down his order. Though I'd been working at this restaurant for months now and could practically memorize the entire table's orders, I had to keep a tab on who ordered what on a pad of paper. It was unprofessional in my perspective; we were initially trained to commit to memory our guests' requests and smile. But it was unavoidable to seem amateurish when it came around to waiting multiple tables at once.

Apparently Derek became aware of my talent of taking many things on simultaneously when he 'generously' gave me his share of tables the other night. Everywhere I went this morning, I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every movement. Creepy would be nothing but an understatement since I was merely working my basic route through the maze of tables. There was nothing different or new about my organized strategy of delivering food and bussing tables. He chose now to notice, after months of working for him?

It felt unnatural for Derek scrutinizing every step I took, so I swiftly disappeared his line of vision by pretending to pick something off the floor. There was nothing to clean on my spotless area but I just had to get away from him. In order to do so, I awkwardly stepped in the direction of the bar in the back of the restaurant, traveling as if I was doing lunges. By the time I made it over to a nearby bar stool, there was a mild burn in my legs. I slumped into the swiveling seat and heaved a relieving sigh.

"What would you like?" I heard a voice ask out of thin air. My body jolted in my seat, clearly taken by surprise that I wasn't alone. Once I felt my heart slowly back down in my chest, my brow furrowed. Hesitantly, I used my hands to push up on the table top and peer over the counter. Right then, a head popped out and I almost fell out of my chair.

"Oh my g-" I had no time to finish my shocked remark; my breath caught when I tried to latch onto anything sturdy before I landed on my behind.

"Whoa!" A hand grabbed my wrist just in time. A sturdy grip, it was. I wasn't released until I was settled and perched calmly on the swiveling seat. "You good?"

I frustratingly blew a gust of air upwards, toward my bangs. Though they veiled back over my eyes, I saw an unfamiliar face. An attractive, familiar face. A face that was graced with astonishing bluish-gray eyes and short brown locks that further intensified his ocean orbs. "Who are you?" I managed to say after a brief moment of recovery.

He chuckled, for a split second flashing a half-grin. With the same hand that saved my butt's life, he slid his hold down to envelope mine into a hand shake. "Chase," he said. "Clearly the rookie around here." He laughed again. "First time on the job and I'm already causing trouble."

"You're new," I stated. No wonder he seemed unfamiliar.

"That's definitely a nice way to put it." His bottom lip pursed a little, showing a hint of contemplation of my words. I hadn't noticed my staring until his mouth moved again. "I like your uniform. Decide to match my style, did you?" I blinked from my embarrassing stare--which I prayed he didn't notice--and looked down. I was wearing something similar. Red top, black bottom. Only he had a black tie and he wasn't dressed in a skirt. "Too bad Derek opposes the idea of name tags…" he casually hinted.

"Oh!" I came quick to realize I hadn't introduced myself. "Natasha," I enthused, holding my hand out again without thinking. He shook my hand again. "Veteran."

His hand recoiled from our second hand shake, took a wash cloth from his apron and wiped at the counter. "Veteran, huh?" While he wiped the surface until it was spick and span, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch a smile, slightly amused at my response. "Do veterans get break times whenever they want to?"

Impulsively, my head whipped left and right, searching for Derek. "What, are you crazy? You must really be new if you think we can just abandon our post."

"Isn't that what you're doing right now?" he asked, now turning his attention to organize the arrangement of alcohol.

I hunched partially, sighing in disappointment when I remembered the list of orders burning a hole in my own apron. My hand dug into the pocket on my side while I pivoted my hips inattentively to spin in my seat. "Rookie, if Derek ever thinks twice about name tags, you should definitely consider labeling yours 'Killjoy,'" I said, rolling my eyes in the process of hopping off my seat.

"Nah, I'm good with 'Rookie,'" he responded as I walked away from my safe haven. Over my shoulder, I could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll see you later?"

"Sure," I answered, spinning around so that I was walking backwards. My feet traveled expertly, weaving in and out the clusters of tables. "If you last that long as Mahogany Cork's new bartender, that is," I smirked.

I was rewarded with another shocking smile of his before I knowingly dodged one of the restaurant's huge columns and crept back into the fuss of work. Easily breaking back into my route of waiting tables, warm smiles were aimed at me, greeting me back with no trace of impatience that I expected to receive. I had probably put off my service for a good ten minutes; they were one of the first customers I ushered to a table since early dinner began.

"Hello again, dear," the one female said as soon as I approached within two feet of their table. She was considerably middle-aged with her salt-and-pepper hair, the silver strands and creases in her forehead indicating how long and hair she's been in the working business. Even her attire shouted 'I'm serious' with her plain navy calf-length skirt and snug button-up jacket, buttons and seams perfectly sewn in. How could someone with such a look wear a genuine smile?

"Mrs. Blanche," I greeted casually before angling in another direction. "Mr. Blanche." Now Mr. Blanche looked far older than his spouse; though he had a full head of hair, every single tress had a silvery shine. It looked like his eyebrows weren't keen on growing old, so they remained a dark color which I figured was his old hair color. Like his wife, he wore a suit. Nothing would be fun and games with him, that's for sure.

But had a look of satisfaction on his face. "Ah, Natasha," he said, a smile still attached on his mouth. "There you are."

My eyes shot over to their almost empty glasses, the condensation dripping onto the table cloth and soaking the fabric. "I sincerely apologize," I said, but locking my joints to avoid pulling a 'Charlie' and bowing. "Is there something you two would like before I place your orders?"

"Oh, definitely," Mr. Blanche answered with continuous content. "Today's a special day. This glass of water surely does not fit this occasion. It calls for red wine, if you have it."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Blanche." In my mind, I tacked on a price--an expensive one--onto their bill.

Before I could go and attend to other tables I'd managed to neglect, Mrs. Blanche included, "And we have had more than enough time to decide what to eat." She held out her leather-covered menu to me. "I would like the Pesto Fettuccini, sweetheart."

"And there's nothing like a celebratory plate of steak and potatoes," the husband stated, also handing me his menu.

"Many other customers have had the same opinion, Mr. Blanche," I courteously agreed, nodding with an upheld smile. "I'll be right back with your…bottle?" It was habitual to ask if the customer would like just a glass of the potent wine, but I knew they would go for the splurge.

"That would certainly be delightful." The woman's crow feet appeared when she grinned even wider. She had me beat hands down.

As I backed away from their table, and after I turned to head in the direction of tables that had to be immensely annoyed by now, my ear caught their reason for their unusual cheerfulness. "With this new promotion, honey, I could get you that Lexus you wanted."

"Forget the Lexus, Damien. I want that Ferrari showcased at the dealership."

Of course. It's money that's making them happy.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, I was aware not to drop into a slouch before arriving at any of my assigned tables. Each customer, as I had anticipated, had a twinge of annoyance in their tones when I took their order. But eventually, they eased into an even and calm attitude when I swiftly cared for every single desire. All in all, I had my customers sitting contently and satisfied. I could hear the clinking into my jar of tips now.

I was fluidly serving here and there, a break far from my mind. I was going to say that nothing could break my stride, but I would be speaking too soon. Actually, the words wouldn't have been able to be uttered given that I was suddenly herded into the area for dishes. Hands were latched onto my arms and I almost dropped my pad of orders. Once I was released, I whirled around, absolutely prepared to glare at the only person who would haul me into this place.

"Charlie, what the…?"

"Shay, Shay," she said as she repeatedly shook my arms that she had grabbed onto again. "Shay."

"Yes! What, Charlie?" I whispered loudly, shrugging out of her hold. "What is it now?"

"You met the new bartender." Her glossy green eyes beamed with enthusiasm. And then I knew exactly what she had in mind.

"Yeah?" I let my eyes roam, helplessly staring at a mountain of dirty dishes. "What about Chase?"

She sighed deeply. "Chase," she repeated, her tone laced with wonder. "Oh wow…"

I rolled my eyes before glancing at her tables over her shoulder. Completely empty as usual; the celebrities weren't into dining at the normal time so they would arrive later with their probable arrogance. "Charlie, if you're just going to stand there and gawk for another ten minutes, I have some customers with blood pressures that could sky rocket any second."

"You have to introduce me, Shay!"

"Introduce yourself," I suggested bluntly, brushing by her. "It's easy. Just say hi. He'll say hi back. And voila, you've gotten yourself through the introduction." I spoke so quickly that I thought my words had slurred together. I didn't want to waste any time. The tips were still in the credit cards of my customers, and if I didn't get them to sign that receipt soon, a deduction would be in order.

"Please?" she begged. "You don't have to do it now. Maybe later tonight, before we close?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Whatever." I waved my hand behind me, paying not much attention to this side conversation that was costing me--and my mom--essential tips. A few meters from where I stood, where one of my tables were, I saw a table of five swiveling their heads around for their waitress--me. "Talk to you later, okay?"

I didn't stay to hear her response. From my apron, I plucked one of the longer lists and prepared to make amends by asking if they would like more white wine or an espresso to end their night. But before I could make it around three other tables to my destination, Derek slid in front of me, out of thin air.

"Natasha." He stared at me with wide, penetrating and speculating eyes. He seemed quite aware that he was blocking my way, but each time I stepped to the side, he would mirror me a nanosecond later.

I gave up on making my second escape. Maybe found out about my first. "Yes, Derek?"

"You're doing exceptionally well lately…"

"Oh." I blinked, caught off guard from the compliment that was extremely rare to hear from him. "Thanks."

He crossed his arms in front of him, narrowing his eyes. "No complaints, whatsoever."

Really? None? "But of course, Derek," I sweetly replied, showing no sign of doubt in myself. Contesting his choice of words would certainly put his sporadic spree of praises at an end. I had to milk it for all its worth. "I would really hate to be anything short of your standards."

The corner of his mouth twitched. An actual smile. Maybe he saw right through my buttering-up and was amused at how hard I was trying. Or, he was actually in a good mood. "Some of the customers have even requested to be seated in your area. You are quite the model waitress."

Maybe he didn't know that he was stroking my ego. I felt my head inflating, and I had to pop it before it got too massive. "I don't think so," I murmured humbly. "There are other employees here that have been working here longer than I have."

"And they don't have the same kind of determination or persistence," he insisted.

I shifted my weight onto my other foot, feeling uneasy now. Well, if you didn't spend so much time spying on me, you would notice. "If you think so," I said, my smile still attached to my face. While I listened--more or less--to more of Derek's appraisal that was considered atypical in my book, I looked past his shoulder and saw my customers fidgeting in their seats. If I didn't want to wave goodbye to a good chunk of tonight's tips, I had to get Derek to stop chattering.

"…Maybe a promotion is in order."

"That's nice of you to say, Derek, really," I spat out quickly and began to walk around him. "But table four's about to-" My feet came to a stop, realizing things faster than my brain should have. I slowly turned on the balls of my feet to face Derek again, who was looking a little smug. "Wait. Did you say…?"

The words were impossible to form. As great as the opportunity was, I was bemused. Exactly what does a waitress at a restaurant get as a promotion? A position as a cook? Boy, that'd be one of Derek's huge mistakes. I'd probably give the whole restaurant a one-way ticket to the hospital and court for an inexplicable lawsuit.

"That's right," Derek said, holding out his hand for me. Was he offering me a handshake? "You get to wait the V.I.P. section of the restaurant now."

"Oh." I blanked for a second, a little disappointed, but shook his hand anyway and cracked a thankful smile. "Thanks, Derek."

"And there's a raise in it for you, too, of course," he added.

Suddenly, my smile wasn't that difficult to hold up anymore. My hand shook his more vigorously than before. "Oh, wow," I breathed disbelievingly. "Thank you, Derek, really. Thank you."

"Ah, you deserve it, Natasha." He waved his hand as if it was nothing. He had no idea how much it meant to me. Maybe it would be too early to ask him for an advance on my paycheck to buy my mother some more medication. How many pills did she have left? Four? Three? "Now hurry up and finish waiting on your old tables. The booths need some tidying up."

I locked my elbow from doing a salute in response to his order. "Sure, Derek. But, after, do you mind if I take a break for a while?" He was still in a good mood. I needed to take advantage of it; my feet were killing me in these uncomfortable red heels.

His eyes squinted more than usual, contemplating a good few seconds. "I guess. But only five minutes. Reservations are pouring in anytime now."

"You're great, Derek," I complimented, but only for the moment. Any other time and I'd be lying through my teeth.

I sped through my tables and collected my tips happily, the stingy amounts notwithstanding. Once my last table on the lower level of the restaurant was cleared, I practically jogged through the employee back door, ignoring the blistering pain on my feet, and grabbed a cup of hot coffee along with my jacket. Before I could escape, a hand rested on my shoulder, startling me.

"Oh!" I gasped, almost tipping my brimming paper cup of caffeine. My eyes met a pair of--now familiar--cloudy blue ones. "Chase, stop doing that!"

He chuckled at me and dropped his hand. "Sorry." I saw he had his own mug in his hand, but it was empty. "Heading out?"

"Nah." I shook my head, only having to blow my bangs away from my face again. I rose my cup of coffee. "Quick break."

"Warden let up?" He fought a grin, but I could see it slowly appearing.

"Sort of." I shrugged into my jacket and pulled on my hood. Right then, almost comically like a cartoon, Charlie peeked her head out from the corner in the hall, grinning like a madwoman. My eyes glazed over. "Oh. Have you introduced yourself to everyone else on staff? Most of them are pretty nice."

"Yeah? Like who?"

He was asking all the right questions, thank god. I needed to speed things up. "Charlie. She's a good friend of mine. Works up in the V.I.P. section. Or shall I say, our section," I added in almost a proud way.

"Charlie, huh? Yeah, okay," he said, nodding. I flashed him a smile and waved, much too quickly to be polite. "Oh hey," he called. I muttered unintelligibly. "Next break time, maybe you fill me in on all the other employees' backgrounds. Don't want to make friends with the wrong people, you know what I mean?"

"Sure," I agreed easily for the umpteenth time in my life. Always so helpful. Ugh. Stop it. "Next time."

Shane's P.O.V.

So breakfast was a let down. And so was lunch. Mitchie wasn't at Mahogany Cork either times. Maybe she was avoiding me and my arrogant self. I don't blame her.

But I was really hopeful, actually. I was set on proving myself before my two weeks were up and she flew back home. Not that I didn't have a plan B if it did come down to that, but still. It would be much easier for me to make things right now, rather than flying heaven knows how many miles across the country--or world, maybe--to convince her that I'm a changed person. A changed man.

I guess. But first I had to convince myself if I wanted to make it look believable in front of everyone else.

After a day of leveling my bad P.R., my brothers and I walked the streets of this miniature city. Besides the comparatively decent hotel they had located in the far, far end of the city, near the borders of city limits, there was absolutely nothing going for this place.

No grand mall, only small outlets. No big screen movie theaters, just one-showing, small, silver screens that could be passed off for table cloths. Even their car rentals weren't worth renting. I mean, who would want to be seen driving in a outdated mustang. Well, maybe Nate, but that's only because he's willing to drive anything with wheels attached since he got his driver's license while I was imprisoned in that camp. Jason, on the other hand, didn't care much for the car rentals either. And by that I meant he would drive an ancient Volkswagon Beetle and be satisfied.

Must I be the only one born with great taste?

…Crap. There I go again. At least I didn't say anything out loud for Nate to count another strike against me. Not that I cared or anything. Not much.

Anyway, the entire day was agonizingly slow for me. My brothers wouldn't let me do anything or say anything to explain my 'great' experience at that camp. I could only call that dank place sincerely amazing because of one girl. The one who saw me for who I…wanted to be. But I truly wasn't that person. Deep down, I still desired all the latest technology, craved all the latest fashion, adore all the attention. All of it.

She had to believe I was someone else. I had to make her think I was someone she could like.

So as I walked the cracking sidewalk of some dreary street, casually walking in the middle of this large huddle of paparazzi and wearing my new Raybans to shield my eyes, I thought about Mitchie.

I thought about how her brown hair blew in the humid summer wind, how her adorable smile would appear when I cracked some joke I'd heard Jason say before, and how her voice matched perfectly with mine. I thought about how happy we could be. How we were so perfect for each other. Yin and Yang, I guess. She's the sweetest person in the world, the most perfect being in existence, while I'm the guy who can't seem to control the stupid things he says from coming out of his mouth.

But she didn't have to know that we were opposites. Just perfect pieces of a puzzle that were meant to be together. It was fate.

I could handle being someone I wasn't. Just as long as I was the man Mitchie wanted. I could be him.

Well, I could try, the more appropriate word being.

"…When are you planning to record that song with Peggy ?"

"Who?" I asked, a little dazed from my prior reverie.

"Peggy," Jason whispered under his breath as he nudged my arm with his sharp elbow. I flinched away, glaring at him through my sunglasses. "The girl who won that contest. Remember? Peggy?"

He seemed a little too enthusiastic every time he said that one girl's name. Hmm. Whatever. I could care less. "Oh, right. Peggy." I nodded, flashing my heart stopping smile at the cameras present and hovering around us. "We plan to have a talk with our manager first before we make any plans."

An assault of questions followed, mercilessly opening fire on me. Oh, and I guess my brothers, also. They were handy, though. All the unimportant questions that didn't have anything to do with me, I let them answer.

We crossed the street, the cluster of people stalking along with us, and began to walk along another block that would seem endless to me. Underneath my shades, I was bored out of my mind and rolling my eyes constantly. When and where exactly was Mahogany Cork at? Wasn't it just down the street from the hotel we were staying at?

Oh wait. We had a driver then.

I groaned internally, frustrated at why we decided to go on foot from one of the retail shops to the restaurant. Surely, I couldn't have been the one who made the absurd decision.

"I'm so glad you guys are still in the city," I beautiful voice said brightly from beyond the crowd of cameramen. I heard faint giggles and a more distinct and familiar laugh after a car door slammed shut. "We have to spend as much time as possible together before I go home."

"Oh please. It's a must. You have to tell me everything about…you know who."

Who?

Who?!

I knew that was Mitchie even under all that giggling. I just couldn't see her from the sea of heads blocking my line of vision. At that moment, I actually wanted all that attention to vanish, just so I could see her. And so she could see me.

But then I remember I had changed after breakfast, after hope died down when I didn't find her at the restaurant. I was wearing some of my nicer clothes. Ones that I would approve, and none that Mitchie would. My appearance wasn't entirely believable that I was a different person, so I would have to up my personality.

Joy.

I cleared my throat, took off my glasses, and squared my shoulders. My hand involuntarily ran through my hair. I tried stretching my neck as far as it could so that I could see over the paparazzi, but through the small spaces in between their heads, no one was there. I couldn't hear anymore girlish giggles. She was gone.

Maybe she went inside with her friends. Yeah, that's it. I had to stay positive. All the better to help with my personality. Keep it positive. Keep it natural as much as I can possibly handle. Be nice.

I had to start off somewhere. I had to get the nice guy ball rolling if I wanted to gain momentum and sway Mitchie into believing me.

My hands stuffed into my jeans, chewing over what I could do to get a head start. I fumbled with loose change that was randomly--and unusually--placed in my pockets.

Weird. I never use cash, much less possess any clinking coins.

But I could find some use for them, that was for sure. I just needed some homeless person. There had to be some pathetic poor person lurking around this city, right?

Just as the media began to disperse into a thinner line of people, I saw the ideal specimen crouched down at a doorstep near Mahogany Cork, curled in miserable ball and holding a flimsy cup. The poor person looked wretchedly depressing to look at.

Perfect.

I pulled out my change and it clinked in my hand as I tossed it a few times in the air. I followed my brothers up until we reached the front door of the restaurant. I motioned for them to wait a few seconds; maybe my little act would help us all with my bad P.R. So really, I wasn't only thinking about myself. I had my brothers and band in mind.

See? It's working already!

I stretched out my arm--not too keen on getting close to the homeless person-- and dropped the change into the cup. "There you go, buddy. You need it more than I do."

Feeling a bit more confident in my alternate self, I waved goodbye to the paparazzi and headed inside with my brothers, my arms draped on both of their shoulders. One big happy family band.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hold my fake smile for long. There was an unbelievably long line at the host stand. I groaned internally again.

Natasha's P.O.V.

What the hell?

All I heard was something thud lightly into my cup. Oh, and that remark. "You need it more than I do."

Again…What the hell? I wasn't even finished with my coffee!

By the time I looked up, the 'good Samaritan' was gone. All I remember seeing was some silver band on the finger of the hand that offensively dropped something.

I shot up from my very comfortable, and warm, position and inspected my cup. My hood slipped off my head and I tilted my cup from side to side, hearing something metal scrape along the bottom of the paper cup. I mouthed my confusion, but remained silent. The photographers perched outside the restaurant might document me as some deranged homeless person.

Which I was absolutely was not!

My teeth grinded with my locked jaw. I was close to crumpling my paper cup in my hands, risking the hot coffee spill over and burn my fingers. Burnt fingers was a bad thing when you're a waitress.

So I swallowed my anger--an not my coffee, I can't say enough--and stormed back inside. I hung my jacket back onto the coat rack and readjusted my apron around my waist. I tried to shake myself out of my fury before I went out and greeted any new customers that I prayed weren't stuck up and stingy. But I shouldn't hold my breath. Stingy and celebrities went together like milk and cookies--only they weren't at all sweet.

A little less flustered and with an oh-so fake smile that I could only create at the time, I pushed through the kitchen swinging doors, armed with my pad of paper and pen…and the cup of coffee I'd forgotten was still in my hand.

"Oh god, oh god, I'm sorry!" Charlie needlessly apologized a million times. I found her patting down some customer with a cloth napkin. She probably spilled something. Again.

And then I saw the line building at the host podium. Angry faces that almost matched mine were slowly forming, incredibly impatient. Charlie's tables were yet to be cleared and littered with bottles of beverages, half-eaten plates of food, and very little tips.

I sighed and trudged lightly over to her tables. I was only helping her out once again because I knew what's-his-face was going be sitting at one of her designated tables as usual. The faster the table was cleaned, the faster I could get him out of this place where he wasn't within spitting distance--or whatever else I felt like throwing at him at the time.

Once the table was cleaned, a new table cloth was spread out, I set down my cup I had to keep with me; Well I couldn't just put it down on some other table with people already sitting at. I found a flap of fabric wrinkled on the far end and I tried reaching for it, only to have knocked over my cup. The coffee stained a dark blot on the rich red fabric, in company with the coins I started to glared at.

I didn't mean to do it on purpose. Maybe my infuriated subconscious did, but oh well. What happened, happened.

With a smirk, I turned away from the stained table--still with my toppled-over cup-- and attended to my end of the V.I.P. section.

Thanks, but no thanks, Richie Rich. I am no charity case.

As I politely greeted the new guests, I saw something in my peripheral. I began to feel anxious but held it under wraps when I saw a group of three--one of which I knew was the host--walking toward my area.

"U-uh," I stammered nervously, "Yes, okay. Chef's special. Anything else?"

My gaze flickered back and forth as I saw the group of three being seated in the empty booth next to me. I regrettably finished taking my current table's orders and walked over a few steps to my left woodenly. They were already in conversation when I approached.

"Hey, this spot's pretty nice," the curly headed one said approvingly, looking out the window at the clear sky.

"Yeah, we're lucky our usual table wasn't cleaned off, huh?" the much older looking one added. I held back my scolding mutter. "It's a nice view from here."

"Oh yes," the boy I clearly remembered being classified as Shane agreed. "A very nice view, indeed." Although he wasn't looking in the same direction as his buddies were. He was looking around me, and staring at someone.

Hesitantly, and kind of awkwardly, I looked over my shoulder and rolled my eyes almost immediately. He was staring at that girl, Mitchie, who was sitting not five feet in my old assigned area of tables.

"Oh my god, he's looking over here!" one of the girls sitting with Mitchie whispered loudly.

"Shh!" Mitchie shot back, fighting an obvious grin. And with little will power she had, she surrendered and met googly eyes with Shane. Ugh.

"You know, guys," Shane called, still holding an adoring stare at Mitchie, "I think this should be our new booth. I like it here. It's…convenient."

Fabulous. Just fan-freaking-tastic. I'm caught in between some sickening relationship that I doubted would succeed between these two and I have to serve this jerk. I repeat: Fan-freaking-tastic.

(A/N: Oh wow. More than a month. Sorry I haven't updated in a while! I've been focused on a lot of things. Namely, Video Girl, but I'm sure not many of you mind.

I hope this chapter was okay! I thought it was light-weight good! Haha.

Review?

PS: For those who it may concern, I plan to update Video Girl next weekend. I get a week off starting next weekend, so I have more time to prepare.)