Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

MARIGOLD

T he bank had been a madhouse all day. By the time I finished my shift, my feet were throbbing from standing in heels for eight hours, and my head felt like it might split in two from all the rude customers I'd dealt with. Like I had been dipping into their accounts and personally stealing their money. It was somehow my fault they were overdrawn or forgot to cancel their Netflix subscription.

I checked my watch as I hurried out of the bank, knowing I had exactly twenty minutes to catch the subway to my second job. I slipped out of my heels and put on my waitressing shoes.

The subway platform was as crowded as ever. I clutched my bag close. If anybody tried to snatch it, they were going to have a fight on their hands.

I could hear the rumble of the approaching train echoing through the underground station, mixing with the cacophony of hushed whispers and impatient footsteps. The distinct smell of dust, metallic tracks, and countless human bodies filled my nostrils. The everyday symphony of the subway.

The train arrived, packed to the brim. I somehow managed to wedge myself between a businessman scrolling through emails on his phone and a woman with a stroller. The ride was bumpy, and the smell of sweat and perfume hung in the air, but I tried to focus on anything but how exhausted I was. The subway was a different kind of beast. I remembered how excited I was to move to the big city and get to ride the subway.

But now, I would kill to have the money for a taxi. I loathed driving in the city. I knew I should probably sell my car instead of paying to park the damn thing, but just in case. I did like to go for drives when I had the time.

The train screeched to a halt at my stop. I pushed my way through the throng of people, finally emerging onto the street.

The restaurant where I worked as a waitress was only a block away. I arrived at the employee entrance out of breath, my feet screaming for mercy, and hurried inside. The familiar smell of frying food and spilled soda greeted me as I made my way to the staff room, where the rest of the team was already buzzing around, getting ready for the dinner rush. I grabbed my uniform from my locker and headed straight to the bathroom to change, barely noticing the smudges on the mirror as I pulled off my blouse and slid into my uniform.

The uniform was simple: a black polo shirt, black pants, and a green apron with my name tag pinned to it. The material was rough against my skin, and the apron strings dug into my sides as I tied them tightly. I ran a hand through my hair, quickly pulled it into a ponytail, and headed out to the floor.

The restaurant was bustling, full of families with loud children, couples on dates, and groups of friends catching up over greasy burgers and fries. I took a deep breath, adjusted my name tag, and plastered on a smile as I approached my first table.

Smiles meant tips.

"Hi, I'm Marigold. I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks?" I asked, hoping my voice didn't betray how exhausted I was.

The couple at the table barely looked up as they ordered two waters and a plate of nachos to share. I hurried to put in their order, my mind spinning with the long list of bills I had due at the beginning of the month. Rent, utilities, insurance—everything seemed to be piling up all at once. The meager tips I was making at this job weren't going to make much of a dent. But I forced myself to stay positive. Things always had a way of working out, right? I just needed to keep my head down and keep working.

Maybe tonight was the night I got one of those guys that wanted to be Insta-famous with a huge tip to the struggling waitress.

Fingers crossed.

I made my way to the next table, my feet aching with every step. A group of four, laughing and chatting loudly, ordered drinks and appetizers. I quickly jotted down their order. As I turned to leave, I caught sight of one of the other servers, Cassidy, rolling her eyes as she walked past me.

"Same annoying customers, different day," she muttered under her breath as she passed. I couldn't help but agree. The family sitting at her table was one of our regulars, and they always had the same complaints: the food was too salty, the portions were too small, the drinks took too long. It was like clockwork. They tried anything they could to get a discount on their bill. They figured if they complained enough, they could get something for free.

"Tell me about it," I replied, glancing at the table she was serving. "If I have to listen to Mr. Johnson complain about his well-done steak being too dry one more time, I might scream."

Cassidy chuckled, but it was a weary sound. "Hang in there, Marigold. Only a few more hours until we're out of here."

I nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. The thought of my bed waiting for me at the end of the night was the only thing keeping me going. I pushed through the next few tables, taking orders, delivering food, and smiling through the pain. But no matter how hard I tried, the tips were terrible. A couple left two dollars on a fifty-dollar bill, and another table didn't leave anything at all.

My heart sank as I added up the paltry amount of cash in my pocket. This wasn't going to be enough. I had no idea how I was going to make rent, let alone pay the rest of my bills. I had to stop myself from letting the worry show on my face as I greeted the next customer, a man sitting alone by the window.

"Hi, I'm Marigold. Can I get you something to drink to start off with?" I asked, barely looking up from my notepad as I prepared to jot down his order.

There was a brief pause, followed by a deep, familiar chuckle. My pen stilled, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Been a while," the man said, his voice smooth and unmistakable. "Why is this working for me?"

I looked up slowly, my breath catching in my throat. There he was, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smile on his face, one arm draped casually over the empty chair beside him.

Zayn Bancroft.

My heart did a somersault as I took in the sight of him. I never thought I'd see Zayn again, let alone here, in this dingy family restaurant where I was currently a hot mess. My mind went blank as I struggled to find words, any words, that wouldn't make me sound like a complete idiot.

Why was I always a sweaty mess when I saw him? It was like he only showed up when I was at my worst.

"I, um, I'll be right back," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and fled, my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear Zayn calling after me, but I didn't stop. I pushed through the swinging doors to the back, where the kitchen staff was bustling around, and bolted for the staff room. Once inside, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. My hands were shaking, and I could feel the panic rising in my chest.

This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not after all this time.

"Marigold, what the hell?" My boss's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking thoroughly pissed off. "What are you doing back here? You're supposed to be on the floor."

"I just needed a minute," I managed to say, my voice trembling.

He wasn't having it. "You don't get a minute. Get your ass back out there, now."

Before I could respond, Cassidy stepped in. "Hey, take it easy on her," she said, shooting me a sympathetic look. "She's had a rough day."

My boss scowled but didn't argue. He stormed off, muttering under his breath about needing to find better help. Cassidy handed me a bottle of water and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"You okay?" she asked.

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I was lying to her or to myself. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks."

She offered me a small smile before heading back to the floor. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Zayn Bancroft. Of all the people to walk into this restaurant, it had to be him. The memories came flooding back, unbidden and unwanted. The time we spent together in Mallorca, the lies, the heartbreak when he left. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Get it together, Marigold," I whispered to myself. "It's just one conversation. You can handle it."

But as much as I tried to convince myself, I wasn't prepared for what happened next. The door to the staff room swung open, and Zayn strolled in like he owned the place.

"Zayn, you can't be back here!" I exclaimed, my voice a mix of surprise and panic.

Before I could say anything else, my boss came storming in, his face turning an alarming shade of red. "Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of here right now, or I'm calling the cops!"

Zayn didn't even flinch. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to my boss without a word. My boss stared at the money, then at Zayn, and I could see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he grumbled something under his breath and stuffed the bill into his pocket before stalking out of the room, leaving me alone with Zayn.

"I can't believe you just did that," I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

Zayn shrugged, leaning casually against the wall with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "I needed to talk to you."

I crossed my arms, trying to keep my composure. "What do you want?"

He studied me for a moment, his gaze lingering on my apron and name tag. "You look… different."

"Yeah, well, working two jobs will do that to you," I shot back, feeling the anger bubbling up inside me. "Now, are you going to tell me why you're here, or are we just going to stand around making small talk?"

His smirk faded, and he straightened up, his expression turning serious. "I have a proposition for you."

My heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed hard. "A proposition?"

He nodded, taking a step closer. I thought he was going to kiss me. I could smell him. My body ached for his touch. The olfactory sense was a powerful one. It triggered memories I was desperately trying to bury.

I licked my lips, drawing his attention to my mouth.

He was going to kiss me. If he kissed me, I was going to melt into a puddle.

That would definitely get me fired.

I stepped back and did my best to pull myself together. "What do you want?" I asked again with a little more conviction.

"I know this is out of the blue, but I need your help, Marigold."