Foreman settled in the seat across from Amber, still discomfited by her high-handedness towards waitstaff. The maitre d' had looked surprised when she'd diverted them to the table she'd chosen, but that expression disappeared almost before Foreman had seen it. He was better at hiding his emotions than their last waiter, anyway. He accepted Amber's dismissal of the wine with a tight smile, told them the specials and that their server would be right with them, and then headed back to the front of the house. Foreman settled his coat on the back of his chair to hide his frown. He usually made it a point to be as polite as possible to anyone serving him, and to tip generously even when the service was mediocre. He'd been ignored plenty of times, and he wanted to do what he could to make up for the stereotypes working against him. He'd never get away with Amber's attitude.

It wasn't worth the hassle of bringing it up, though. He doubted he'd change Amber's mind, and it wasn't as if he couldn't ignore it. He liked the sight of her sitting across from him, knowing she was there with him, that tonight they'd be leaving together; it was worth a few uncomfortable moments. Foreman had only seen her once when she was any less than in charge--Friday night, when she'd realized what it meant that he worked for House. "What will you do if you don't get the job?" he asked. He'd wanted to know, and maybe he shouldn't ask or put her on the spot, but Amber must have thought of the possibility. Made contingency plans. That was part of staying on top: always having a plan when the first one didn't work out, instead of floundering around and being taken by surprise.