“Tough luck.” The woman sneers. “I don’t care if you have to prostitute yourself, I expect you to cough up the money.”
God, I wish I could bitch slap her.
Maybe I should become an escort instead of busting my ass as a waitress. The pay would be a lot better. I wouldn’t be catering to entitled assholes. I wouldn’t have a toxic, helicopter boss hovering over me when I’m at work. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of drama.
“I won’t hesitate to sue you or this restaurant.”
A burst of giggles threatens to erupt. Only I would find myself in this colossal mess. This job was my lifeline to dig myself out of my precarious situation. The slimeball’s inability to understand the meaning of the word no lands me in a sea of trouble.
Fuck, I’m going to sink further into a financialabyss.
This latest farce is a reflection of the clown world I’ve been trapped in for the past year. It’s like I’m on a humiliating merry-go-round, I can never get off?—
“You’re blaming the wrong person,” a deep voice says.
I whirl around, and my jaw comes unhinged.
In my distraught state, I must be seeing things.
I blink.
I blink again.
An imposing man I should never have been pining after since meeting him in the Hamptons stands in front of me.
I catch the gasps and murmurs floating in the restaurant.
“…is that… Kazimir Lindström?”
“…no way that’s the captain for the New York Blazers…”
“…holy shit, Kazimir Lindström is in the house?”
“…I can’t believe I’m under the same roof as him…”
Yup, that’s him in the flesh.
Hockey legend, three-time Stanley Cup winner, Olympic gold and silver medalist, Triple Gold Club member, Kazimir Lindström.
I gawk at the Adonis god, flustered.
Just like the first time I laid eyes on him, he takes my breath away.
His narrowed eyes burn with fury, indignation, and outrage.
I’m so shocked by the presence of this gorgeous beast of a man, I’m tongue-tied.
I place a hand against my chest, willing my hammering heart to stop thudding. All that brooding masculinity is a lot to take in?—
Wait. What is he doing here?
The last time I saw my ex-boyfriend’s stepdad, I was at a pinnacle in my life. In the Hamptons, he looked at me with such admiration when I told him I was jumping into an excitingnew career. Too bad all those well laid out plans blew up in my face.
Now, I’m an abject failure. Talk about falling from grace.
I don’t want him to see me at my lowest.
I wouldn’t be able to survive pity shining from the most remarkable pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
