“How long until the performance is over?”
Whoever spoke to me has a voice so powerful it could have been heard from the lunar platform.
The feather duster, along with everything on the shelf beside it, hits the ground as I turn around to see who the unfortunate soul is who nearly scared me to death. I was prepared for a regular client, but there’s nothingregularabout this man.
No, ma’am. Everything about him is superlative.
Oh my…
I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with such an impressive appearance, even considering the fact that I’m a card-carrying fan of romance movies, the kind where the protagonist leaves us with wet panties in two minutes.
I give the man—who nobody needs to tell me is wearing a suit that surely costs what it would take me ten months of salary to save—a thorough examination.
The leather dress shoes are so new I can see my reflection in them. The navy-blue suit pants don’t have a single crease.
As I raise my gaze, I’m not the least bit ashamed of dissecting this delicious male specimen.
I’ve never seen anyone who looks like this in person, and I want to memorize every detail very well. I really need a new avatar for my fantasies—Giulio Berruti was starting to wear out in my erotic dreams.
The man is huge—which isn’t very hard to achieve, considering I’m only five feet two—but he’s big in a hot way.
Scratch that.
Hot, no. More like scrumptious.
His chest is as broad as a wall, and I don’t think I could even measure his shoulders if I spread both arms. Yeah, I know, I tend to exaggerate. His hands look like tennis rackets and make me certain he could reach several parts of my body at once. Even the guy’s neck is handsome. Can you believe that?
Finally, I return to his face, which I only gave a quick glance before.
What can I say? He has a lot of material to be examined.
But before I can get to his eyes, the contraction in his jaw shows me he’s annoyed, and I take a step back. I’m not one to be easily frightened, but for goodness’ sake, besides being a giant, the guy is intimidating as hell. Not the kind of intimidating that makes you feel physically threatened, though. He’s the kind of person you don’t want as your enemy, because he gives off the impression he’s about to bite someone at any moment—which, given his appearance, doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.
Whoops! Focus, girl.
He didn’t seem to be in a good mood when he talked about my little dance, but now he sounds like he’s about to fire me, even though, as far as I know, he’s not the owner of the café.
As always happens when I get nervous, I start talking like crazy.
“Yes, sir, I’m done. I usually don’t dance in the morning because I wake up in a bad mood, but this sunny day had the power to transform my Friday. Sunny days always get me excited. Do you prefer winter or summer? Oh, I almost forgot. Black coffee or with cream?”
Only after I notice his astonished look do I realize that he’s probably ready to request that they take me straight to the madhouse—and that can’t happen. I have to keep saving money to move forward with my plans, and of course, to pay off all my debts.
Taking a few breaths to calm myself down, I clear my throat, straighten the hem of my dress, and brush off an imaginary speck of dust from my ten-dollar uniform. Gathering all the dignity I can muster, I lift my head, looking him straight in the eyes, as my mother taught me to do. “If you’ll follow me, sir, I’ll take you to a table.”
I think he’s not very used to taking orders, but it seems like I left him speechless, although I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
As I walk, I try not to knock anything else over, keeping my steps steady, but I feel his gaze burning into my back.
I survey the cafeteria area and think thatHis Majestydoesn’t quite fit in here.
It’s not just because of the expensive clothes. Even if he was dressed like a beggar, he would still stand out in the restaurant that serves a full breakfast for three dollars and ninety-five cents—with coffee refills, of course.
He’s the only customer at the moment, and when we reach the table I consider the nicest here, I stop and wait for him to sit. Instead, however, the sexy giant stares at me as if he’s in front of a laboratory guinea pig.
“Black or with cream?” I make an effort to only ask that because the two-minute verbal diarrhea from earlier has left me feeling embarrassed.
“Aren’t you going to pick up the pots you knocked over?” Just like the first time he spoke, his voice sounds harsh, coming from someone who doesn’t have much patience and is used to giving orders.
