“Where do you think you’re going?”
I spin around, and there she is—the woman from earlier, standing beside a tall, stern man with an aura that screamsdo not mess with me. This must be the boss I was promised, and he looks every bit as intimidating as I had imagined.
He’s impeccably dressed, his suit so sharp and so expensive it’s probably worth my entire house. His blue eyes lock onto mine, looking almost grey in this light, as a flicker of recognition flashes in them, before his expression hardens into something colder. Resentful, even.
“Um…” I falter, glancing between them. “Away from you?”
The woman rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of her head. “I brought you to meet my boss,” she says sharply. “So, talk.”
Oh, dear.
***
The woman looks down at me, waiting for a proper response. And the man—the boss, I assume—sizes me up with an expression that suggests I’ve already failed at impressing him. Although, admittedly, I wasn’t trying.
His expression transforms into something more unpleasant. No matter how hard he tries to conceal it, the disappointment in his eyes is unmistakable.
It seeps through the cracks of his composed façade. Pure resentment.
And I don’t even know why.
“Allow me to introduce my boss, Mr. Steele,” the woman finally says.
My stomach drops. Of course. Kai’s father. The resemblance is glaringly obvious now—the same sharp jawline, the same shade of blue-grey that Kai has in parts of his eyes, too.
“Hi,” I manage, my voice too high and too shaky. “This is all a big misunderstanding. I’m not supposed to be here. I was just trying to return a phone to my friend, and —”
“Unfortunately, we’re short-staffed tonight,” Mr. Steele interrupts, his voice smooth but icy. “You’ll take on the role of a waitress. Whether you intended to or not.”
I gape at him. “But I —”
“Rest assured, you’ll be compensated for your services,” he cuts in, already turning away.
And I stop.
I need the money, of course I do. The moment he says it, I know I won’t be able to make myself leave. And it seems this man knows it too, because he walks away without sparing me another glance.
“For the love of god, put on some proper shoes,” the woman sighs and pulls me back into the room before I have time to object.
***
The tray wobbles precariously in my hands when I step into the ballroom. My feet hurt so bad in these borrowed boots because holy hell they aretight, and the dress—don’t even get me started. I’m readjusting it with each step I take, and it’s beginning to get exceptionally annoying. Also why is this dress so damn short?
My eyes fly across the room, taking in the sea of suits and expensive gowns, the flawlessly polished flooring, and the sparkling chandeliers.
I feel like a sheep in a pack of wolves.
And as I approach a cluster of guests, a man reaches for a drink from my tray. His eyes flicker to my face, trail down, stay there.
What. The. Hell.
What is wrong with people these days?
The fact he doesn’t even try to be discreet makes my skin crawl. I shuffle back, muttering something unintelligible before moving on to the next group of people.
And then I see them.
Christian Ryder and Liam Grey.
