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Not only because I knew a tip would be passed to me in it. But because Frank was watching.

When he lowered that bristly lip to the top of my hand, though, it took actual work not to recoil as I grabbed the cash with my thumb.

I casually moved around the table as I discreetly shoved each tip down my bodice.

“Monroe,” Milo finally called. And, damn, if my name didn’t sound like it belonged on his lips.

“Mr. Grant,” I said, giving him a genuine smile as he took my hand.

I wished he’d kiss it again. But I didn’t blame him for not wanting to after Mr. Mustache did.

His fingers did linger on mine for a beat longer than necessary, though.

I felt scorched.

I pressed my thumb to the cash, then pressed my palm again to my chest.

“It’s been my pleasure, gentlemen.”

With that, I walked off.

As soon as I was out of sight, I damn near ran to my dressing room.

I wanted to get changed and out of here before Frank excused his guests.

As soon as I was behind a closed door, I kicked off my shoes and then started to put the cash from Milo down on the table. When I noticed something tucked in with the money (a lot of money, too).

A little sliver of white folded between the bills.

I dropped the cash and reached for the paper, unfolding it and finding a note.

Café 72. Tomorrow, 3pm. - M

I was pretty sure Café 72 wasn’t even open for lunch. But he clearly had pockets deep enough to make the manager and chef open just for him.

For us.

I mean, I wasn’t going to go.

Right?

Even as I tried to tell myself all the reasons it was a terrible idea, though, all I could think about was the way his gaze lingered, how his lips felt on my hand, how he crooned my name.

Yeah.

I was going to be there.

I just had no idea it was a damn job interview.

CHAPTER FIVE

Milo

Jesus Christ, she was beautiful.

She stood under those stage lights like she belonged to them—the black dress, the soft spill of her curves, her dark hair falling loose, her blue eyes sharp enough to hold a room captive without any force at all.

And I had the distinct, irrational sense that noticing her was a moment I would never forget.