“So you’re juggling two jobs and school. No wonder you look like a strong breeze would knock you over.” Regina studied her a moment. “I admire your tenacity, Peterson. I’ve been where you are, and it’s not easy. But I kept my nose to the grindstone with one goal in mind, and it eventually paid off.”
Words of wisdom and admiration from Regina? Had she fallen asleep during her break and dreamt it?
“I don’t hire just anyone to work in my kitchen,” she warned. “You’d have to start out as a prep cook, meet my stringent standards then, maybe.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”
“This is June, our busiest month. Perhaps when the wedding season is over, I can find the time.”
“Thank you, ma’am. You won’t be disappointed. And thank you for trusting me with your event Saturday night. I promise I won’t let you down.”
“How about doing what I’m paying you for tonight before making more promises?” She aimed her thumb over her shoulder. “The champagne won’t serve itself.”
“No, ma’am.” Emily rushed past her, uttering, “I’ll get on that right now.”
Emily wouldn’t call a bonus shift and an indefinite chance in Regina’s kitchen a light at the end of the tunnel, more like a glimmer of hope. But her feet didn’t ache so much when she hustled into the ballroom with a tray of flutes.
The lights were up, the montage over, and the string of speakers singing the honoree’s praises was underway. She suppressed a sigh because the night wasn’t nearly over. Amid forced laughter at corny jokes and intermittentapplause as one speaker ended and another was announced, crystal clinked as she and her fellow servers kept the bubbly flowing. Emily was heading to the kitchen for another tray when hushed voices and rustling from a shadowed alcove snagged her attention.
Curiosity pulled her toward the arched niche. A couple was entangled. Despite the dimness, she saw red nails, broad masculine shoulders, and a stockinged leg wrapped around a hip. The man’s hand up her dress revealed garters attached to stockings the same shade as her nail polish. While he wasn’t detached from the scene, from the way she was grinding against him, she was by far the aggressor.
The sight, private and hot, ignited something inside her. Surprised, flushed, and embarrassed—despite insisting only minutes before that she wasn’t a virgin—Emily turned to go.
“Oh, Gunnar.”
Startled by the unusual name, she nearly giggled. She smothered it and was slinking away when—bang! She walked into the wall and dropped her tray.
She turned just as the man straightened. Her breath caught. Her knees wobbled. Alec. He looked older, his features sharper, faint creases at the corners of his eyes—but that jaw, that mouth, hadn’t changed at all.
Their eyes met, just for a second. She registered his surprise and something else her tired mind couldn’t process. That she’d caught him in an intimate moment made it more awkward. Before the woman noticed her, she scooped up her tray and quickly escaped, melting into the crowd.
In the kitchen, she slumped against the wall and let the tray slide from her fingers onto the service pass with a soft clink. Her pulse thrummed—not from exertion but from recognition, regret, and eight years of longing.
Not a day passed without missing him, wondering, and aching for the life she’d left behind. Shame at the promise left unkept and the years of silence that followed. Anger, not so much over the beautiful woman in his arms, although that stung, but that he wasn’t languishing alone without her, like she was without him.
The redhead seemed familiar, so there was a touch of curiosity thrown into the mix. More than anything, there was envy. She wanted to trade places with her—after clawing the bitch’s eyes out for grinding against him and kicking Alec for letting her.
“Stop,” she whispered. “You were an idiot for letting him go. You don’t get to want him back.”
But the harsh truth didn’t ease the ache. She’d made her bed. Now she had to lie in it—alone.
After a deep breath, she smoothed her hair. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her apron. With a forced smile she wore as routinely as rolling silverware, she returned to work because she had no other choice.
***
The clatter of metal on wood yanked Alec’s attention to the doorway. Surprise, the sudden acceleration of his heart—shock and long-simmering anger—had Alec rooted to the floor. For a beat, as their eyes met, everything around him faded except for Emily. A woman now, she was more beautiful than in his memories.
Her eyes still broadcast every emotion she felt. They flared, her lips parted, and she looked as stunned as he felt. Then, she spun, her ponytail flaring out around her, and faded into the crowd. She was gone before he could breathe her name or react in any rational way. And just like that, the ache he’d buried for eight years cracked wide open.
Indecision consumed him in a single, brutal instant. Stay or go? Let the girl who’d been haunting his dreams slip through his grasp, or chase after her and blow the case he and Dev’s team had been working on for months?
“You seem distracted,amore mio.” Isabella Benedetti’s voice cut into his thoughts, syrup-sweet and sharp as a blade. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, a physical reminder of the role he played.
“Are you listening, Gunnar? Or am I boring you?”
Annoyance flared—hot and immediate—but he shoved it down. Duty snapped into place: keep the cover, earn the access, don’t give her the opening to see the man under the mask. He flattened his tone and let the smooth lie seep out of him.
“Of course not, darling. A server startled me, dropping a tray.”
