For half a second, he almost smiled.
Then he made a call.
“Push it back.”
He listened.
“No.”
He glanced toward me.
“The restaurant didn’t delay me. I’m running late.”
Something about that sentence landed harder than I expected.
Only minutes earlier, one minute had supposedly been worth humiliating me over.
Now the delay belonged to him.
He ended the call.
Then dialed another number.
“Tom? It’s Alan.”
My stomach tightened.
Tom was the owner.
Alan really did know him.
I braced myself.
Instead, Alan said,
“I need you to know something about your waitress Katrina.”
He looked toward me.
“She did nothing wrong today.”
I stared at him.
“I treated her badly. If you hear any complaint about what happened, the responsibility is mine.”
He listened.
“No. Don’t call her manager. She didn’t cause this.”
Another pause.
“I did.”
Then he hung up.
Diane appeared beside me.
“Wonderful.”
She folded her arms.
“Now that Mr. Ten-Minutes has officially cleared your reputation, you’re calling your doctor.”
I groaned.
“Diane…”
“You’re having pain at seven months.”
“I need to finish my shift.”
“You need to avoid delivering a baby beside the pie case.”
Elizabeth snorted.
Even Alan’s expression cracked slightly.
I finally took out my phone.
