Page 13 of Dirty Boss

“Nice to see you too, princess,” I replied.

The hostess’s eyes bounced between the two of us, and then she slowly backed away.

My waitress cocked her hip and leaned her tray against it. “Let me guess. Chicken again? We all know how adventurous you are.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I might want one of the specials.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re unbearable?”

“Not recently, why?”

She rolled her eyes, and I watched the way the light played on her cheekbones, her clavicle, her hair. Some of the tightness between my shoulder blades eased, and I leaned back in my chair.

I knew, in some corner of my mind, that I was acting like an ass. I knew she probably just wanted to do her job, and I was antagonizing her. But everyone else in my life—other than my five-year-old daughter—tiptoed around me like they were afraid of me.

I liked Alba’s sharp words and unimpressed looks. It brought me back down to earth. Reminded me of where I’d come from. It wasn’t the oozing, slimy smile that men like Roger gave me. It wasn’t the odd deference my employees seemed to adopt around me.

Her attitude was real and raw, and it made me feel like I was just a one-van contractor scraping by in the city again. I was nothing special, and neither was she, and that was just fine.

With a sharp smile, she rattled off the specials. Then she added, “No creepy bigwig to impress today?”

My own smile matched hers. “Just me.”

“What happened? He decided you weren’t worth the trouble and now you’re sad that he hasn’t opened the purse strings for you?” When my smile slipped, hers widened. “Oh, I’m right, aren’t I? Ha!”

“I think I’ll have the chicken,” I said.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, grabbing the wine glasses I wouldn’t use from the place setting in front of me.

I watched her move through the restaurant, gliding between tables and effortlessly charming the other patrons. She caught me watching a few times and scowled at me.

When she stopped at my table with my food, I couldn’t help asking, “How did you guess?”

She blinked at me. “You’ve ordered the chicken every time, big guy. It wasn’t rocket science.”

“Not about the chicken. About the investor I was meeting with last time.”

“Oh,” she said breezily and waved a hand. “You didn’t stand a chance. Enjoy your lunch!”

“Wait—” I said, but she was already gone.

I chewed and swallowed, but my mind wasn’t on the food. When she stopped by a few minutes later with a saccharine sweet “How’s everything tasting today?” I couldn’t help setting my fork down and leaning forward. “What do you mean, I didn’t stand a chance?”

“Oh, did I huwt your feewings?” She pouted, blinking big blue eyes at me.

Insolent woman. I wanted to put her over my knee. My cock throbbed, and I realized it wasn’t just the pressure release valve of sparring with her that brought me back here, day after day. It was the fact that she made my blood thrum in a way nothing else had in a long, long time. I was no better than Roger, was I? “I want to know what you noticed,” I insisted.

And I did. I had to have a gaping blind spot to have failed to snag an investor after all this time. I needed to know what it was. I needed to fix it, so I could shape the business—and my life—exactly how I planned.

Alba knew something I didn’t. That was unacceptable.

She dropped the mock-sympathy act and shrugged. “He probably saw that polyester suit and four-in-hand tie knot and dismissed you before you even sat down. You look like a littleboy playing dress-up. Then you declined to share that bottle of wine he ordered, and he decided to milk you for a free lunch.”

I won’t lie; I was offended. I leaned back in my chair and scowled at her. “What’s wrong with my suit?”

The waitress looked me up and down, arched a brow, and shook her head. “If you have to ask, I’m not sure I can even help you.”

And she walked away.