Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I watched it ring on the table, the light filling my dark apartment. I was never enticed to answer. Damage was done. I’d already moved on.
It went to voice mail.
I kept unpacking.
A minute later, my screen lit up with a text message.
It was Liam. Talk to me.
I ignored him.
Anna.
I had gotten a new phone and changed my number, but he still tracked me down. I blocked his number, but that only made him show up on my doorstep instead. He hadn’t moved on, and he had this ridiculous notion in his head that he might be able to win me back.
Never.
When his text messages kept coming in, I turned off my phone so I wouldn’t have to see or hear it.
I worked at a bistro in the city, a casual place with a couple tables in a small restaurant. It wasn’t a fine-dining experience, mainly a common place for lunch. The menu mostly consisted of sandwiches and salads, and our very delicious tiramisu.
I knew it was delicious because I ate it all the time.
I’d just finished delivering food to a table when a previously empty table was taken by a new customer. I pulled out my notepad and pencil and smoothed down my apron before I approached the stranger.
When I was almost there, I lifted my gaze and looked into the eyes of someone I already knew.
Masculine features, intense eyes, and a rough jaw all made up the man looking at me. With his Omega watch on his wrist, his arms out on the table, and his shiny shoes noticeable next to his chair, he made the restaurant stink of cash. He looked at me with fearless eyes, ready for whatever reaction I was about to have.
It took me a few seconds to process what had just happened. It was the suit from the bank, the guy who helped my transaction go through. He pitied me, which was obnoxious. He probably thought I was some poor, weak girl who would be impressed by his fat wallet.
I was only impressed by a fat dick.
I held the pencil to the notepad. “What can I get you?”
He glanced at the menu for a second before he turned back to me. “Coffee. Black.” He handed the menu to me. “And the seasonal salad.”
I tucked the menu under my arm and walked away.
“I know you recognize me.”
I should keep walking and not give in to his comment, but I was a temperamental woman who became irrational quickly. I turned back around and approached him with one hand on my hip. “No, I don’t.”
He smiled in an amused way. “Come on, I’m a handsome guy.”
“It’s nice that you think so.” I turned around and walked away again. I tended to my other tables and pretended he didn’t exist. Even though he’d caught me off guard, I managed to appear indifferent to his visit.
When his coffee was ready, I grabbed it from the barista and carried it to his table. I leaned down as I set it in front of him. “Here you are, sir. Your lunch will be ready soon.” I straightened next to the table and continued to pretend to be unaffected by his surprise visit. After I’d walked out of his office, I hadn’t thought about him again. Yes, he was a good-looking man, but it took more than that to catch my attention.
He spoke before I walked away. “It’s Damien. You can drop that sir bullshit.”
“I call all my customers sir.”
He smiled. “Even the chicks?”
I perfected my posture and held myself rigidly as I looked down at this arrogant man. He was witty and smart, like being good-looking wasn’t enough. The man had everything…which was annoying. “Do you stalk all your clients?”
“Having lunch constitutes stalking?” He grabbed the mug by the handle and took a quick drink, the steam rising past his face before he licked his lips and returned it to the saucer. When he moved his arm, his fancy cuff links were noticeable, looking more expensive than all my jewelry combined. He was another rich pretty boy, the kind that thought he could get away with anything…just like my ex-husband.
“If you aren’t here to see me, I’ll get back to work.” Before he could say another word, I walked off and took care of the rest of my tables as if he didn’t exist.
I hooked my apron on the back wall and clocked out. My hair was pulled out of my ponytail so my strands could be free. One of the things I hated about working with food was having to keep my hair back. Most of the time, the restraint was too hard, and it gave me a headache. So, the second I could, I let my hair go free…even if there was a crease in it.
I left the room with my purse over my shoulder and headed to the door.