Betsy

"The guy is an asshole. No. No, it's under control. Of course! Yeah. Oh maybe, how many do you have?"

I yawn and eye the large diamond ring on my finger for the millionth time this week. I start to question it again but that's because it's new. It's too big, I think. It's from Cartier but that's all I know because I was too overwhelmed to find out the carat weight and what it's actually worth. I mean, it's beautiful, the envy of all my girlfriends. They said I've struck gold but they don't understand. I fell in love with Preston before he was the best litigator in Los Angeles. He was different then, and when he proposed last week, I saw a small part of that guy I used to know come back. I thought he would stick around when I said I would marry him too.

For the moment, he's gone back into hiding again.

I've been dating Preston Harrington for two years. Most people would agree with him and his family when they say it's been entirely too long and that we should have been married long ago. But I was still in college, and he was still learning the tricks of the law business from his father, so we decided to keep our relationship casual until we could really focus on it. Now that he's basically taken over his father's position at Harrington-Myers, and I've established a balanced schedule at Five Acres, we've been able to spend that quality time together. He can be a really sweet, loving, passionate guy when you take him away from work and his snobby family. That's the guy I love.

That's the guy I'm going to work hard to keep close to me.

"So Bets, you wanna go to see the Lakers Friday night?" He snaps the phone closed and shoves it into his jacket pocket before taking a sip of his wine. "Eric got courtside seats and they gave him an extra pair."

"I guess so."

"You guess so?" He laughs. "C'mon, how can you not be excited about courtside seats?"

"You know that basketball is my least favorite sport, Pres." I lean in and give him a small kiss on the mouth. "Why don't you just go with one of your other friends?"

"Really?"

I smile. True, it's unlike me to let him go off on his own with the boys on a Friday night. I could use a night with my girls though. "I can hang out with Audra and Steph. It's not a big deal."

He squeezes my hand. "See, this is why I love you. You can be so easy. Most of the guys I know wouldn't dare ask their wives something like that."

I guess that's a compliment?

"Thanks?" I half-laugh.

He kisses me, and pulls back after a while, leaving me breathless as he smiles back at me. "We should go out to Malibu on Saturday or hang out at the beach house. Maybe have that celebratory engagement sex..."

"Pres." I swat him. "We're in public."

"I can't help it. I'm still excited that you said yes."

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe it was just nerves."

I look down at the menu and think about what was just said. I mean, he doubted me. Could he really sense it? That I might think twice because he knew he wasn't the same guy anymore? Something inside is telling me that if he could realize that about himself, and not admit it to me...that this whole engagement might be a mistake.

"I know work has been a change," he admits to me. "A big one with me, personality-wise."

Well, that's something.

"I just want you to know that I'm not going to turn into an overgrown miser like my father," he chuckles. "I'm going to have a good balance between work and home. I promise."

"Ah, Mr. Harrington. Wonderful to see you."

We both snap out of it, and look toward the voice. The owner of the restaurant is standing there, smiling at us. They know each other well. His father is great friends with him, and so, we usually end up here a couple of nights a week.

"Hey Frank." He shakes his hand.

"I've heard all about your engagement." He beams more at me this time. "How wonderful for the both of you. You must let us cater the reception, of course."

I open my mouth to tell him we'll think about it.

"Naturally," Preston smiles.

Of course. I mean, even if I did say something, his family would never think of letting anybody else cater our blessed event. I suddenly begin to wish that we could elope, but the Harringtons, and my parents, would never forgive me, plus the fact that Preston would never do anything to disappoint his mommy and daddy.

Lucques it is.

"The chef is preparing a special meal for you both," Frank continues. "Is there anything else you'd like in the meantime?"

"Some more of this wine would be great." Preston points to the bottle.

"I'll have somebody on that right away. Congratulations again."

"Thank you," I say.

"As always, lovely to see you Betsy."

He kisses my hand, and walks away.

"I'm surprised he didn't pull my pants down and press his lips to my ass," Preston laughs.

My eyes narrow. "Pres, come on. He's always been nice to us."

"He just likes my father's money. You know he's a big investor here."

"Who doesn't like your fathers money?"

He just laughs and squeezes my hand again, as he glances at his empty wine glass. "Where the hell is this wine?"

"I'm sure it's on the way, Pres. You're so impatient."

"I expect a certain type of service. It comes with the territory, Bets."

I don't even answer. It's asshole Preston at his finest, and right now, I almost want to leave. Unlike him, I don't come from money. My parents weren't dirt poor, we were upper middle class I guess, but I was never raised to feel so entitled like him. At times, it disgusts me, but then there are those other times that I love this lifestyle. Before Preston, I never knew how different life could be with wealth. I spend my time in fancy cars, high end shops, and his family's estate in Beverly Hills. More recently, I've been living in a luxury condo in the Hollywood Hills. It was a present given to Preston from his father, after he passed the Bar.

None of that has turned me into a snob, and I guess that's thanks to my job. Going there everyday reminds me how many people are less fortunate than myself. That's why I love it. I'll never quit because there will always be somebody I can help.

"Finally," Preston grunts it as the wine waiter arrives with a fresh bottle for us. It's not the same waiter as before though. No, the other was older, seasoned, knew exactly what to say and where to stand. This one is young, probably new, and I know if Preston is in the mood, he'll take his frustration out on the poor guy.

I pray he can pour the wine and disappear before that happens. I'm sure this type of work is no party.

"Sorry about the wait." The young man forces a smirk and pulls the bottle out of its chiller. "I had to go down to the wine cellar for it."

"Well, you could have moved a little faster," Preston replies. "I like two glasses before dinner."

The burning sensation travels from my neck up into my cheeks. I don't look anywhere else but down at the table. Then I hear laughter, but it's not Preston's.

Which means my fiance is being laughed at.

I pick my head up to view our new waiter. My eyes glaze him up and down. He can't be much older than us, and is cute in a rugged way. He has slightly untamed curly hair and stubble that he should have probably taken care of before he came to work, but something is telling me that Frank is giving this guy a break. The bags under his blue eyes make him look run down, really tired. I'm sure he has a lot going on outside of this place, but that doesn't mean he's going to take shit from a guy like Preston.

"What's funny?" Preston snaps.

"Nothing...don't even worry about it." The waiter fills Preston's glass, then mine. "Anything else I can do for you tonight?"

"Yeah."

Then Preston does the worst thing possible. He knocks the glass off the table, and I cringe as it shatters into a thousand pieces. The wine runs underneath my shoes, and I do my best to pick my feet up from the floor. "Pres!" I gasp.

He waves me off. "Well, what are you waiting for, you idiot? Clean it up right now."

The waiter stares him down, giving him the meanest, coldest look I think I've ever seen. It's with good reason of course, but there's more to him, I can just tell.

He doesn't take this kind of treatment, from anybody.

"What the hell is your problem!" The waiter yells. "You're an over entitled, rich piece of shit, you know that? You fucking clean it."

Suddenly, the whole place goes silent.

Preston looks bewildered, shocked. I doubt anyone has ever spoken to him that way.

Suddenly, Frank is rushing over to us again, obviously alerted by someone about the situation.

Our waiter's future is bleak. Even if this isn't is fault, he'll take the blame.

"Mr...Mr. Harrington?" Frank gasps, his eyes shifting nervously between myself, Pres, and the waiter. "What seems to be the problem?"

Preston stands up, brushes himself off, and gives Frank an enraged look. "I'll tell you what the problem is! Your waiter knocks over my glass of wine, and then he calls me a piece of shit! What the hell kind of place is this turning into...."

He keeps rambling, and I just sit there, taking it all in just like everybody else in the dining room. Occasionally, my gaze will land on the poor waiter. He's standing against the wall, wine bottle in hand, rolling his eyes as he waits for the inevitable.

"...and I want him fired!" Preston yells.

"Mr. Harrington, I'm deeply sorry...so deeply sorry. We'll comp everything, of course, and I will handle this matter personally." Frank glares at our waiter.

The young man swallows hard.

"Preston, let's just go," I say, tugging on my fiance's hand. "Please?"

Preston seems to snap out of his rage and finally looks at me, sighing a little, before giving my hand a squeeze. "Fine."

I pull him away, catching Frank's voice as the doors are opened for us. He's angry, and didn't bother to take his employee behind closed doors to crucify him.

"You're fired, Jason!"

My heart sinks, but I don't look back. When we get outside it takes everything inside of me not to start screaming at my fiance before the valet arrives with his car.

"What the hell, Preston!"

He gets in on the drivers side, and the valet closes the door for him. "What the hell? What do you mean? Did you hear what he called me?"

"You provoked him."

"He's vermin. He'll find another job scrubbing the scum out of a public toilet, and that's where he belongs. Honestly, I'm appalled that Frank would stoop that low and hire somebody like that. I can't wait to tell Dad..."

He continues to ramble on about it all, and just I cross my arms and look out the window. Oddly enough, I'm just in time to see that same young waiter being thrown out of the restaurant by a couple of burly kitchen staff members. He yells at them in protest but they push him away forcefully, before going back inside.

"That's the last time I go there," I hear Preston say.

I can't respond. I'm too distracted by that poor guy--Jason. He's sitting on the sidewalk now, his head buried in his hands as if the world has collapsed around him.

I feel responsible. I mean, it's not his fault. He's not timid and his pride got in the way. Part of me wants to get out of the car and beg Frank to let the guy have his job back.

But I don't.

The part of me that is loyal to Preston and our lifestyle won't allow it. As my fiance drives us further and further away from the restaurant and the rest of downtown Hollywood, I know the young waiter's misfortune is something I'll have to live with, and try to forget about, somehow. This is what comes with marrying Preston Harrington. His hobby is making people in service jobs feel smaller than him, weaker than him.

That will never change.