Nothing.
I hurried toward the front entrance.
They were gone.
My stomach dropped.
I went straight to my manager’s office.
Jett barely looked up when I rushed inside.
“Table twelve left,” I said. “They didn’t pay.”
He sighed.
“Maybe they stepped outside for a cigarette.”
“They’re gone.”
“You sure?”
“Check the cameras.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t have time to go through footage during dinner service.”
Then he said the words I had been dreading.
“You know the policy. Walkouts come out of the server’s pocket.”
I stared at
