Try as I might, my life isn’t private, especially when I’m away from Monaco, the country I’ve called home for the past six years.
But when I see her back to me again, I can’t stop myself from calling out.
“Excuse me.”
Her back stiffens, steps falter, but she doesn’t turn around.
Nor does she come to a complete stop.
That pisses me off.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to be ignored.
Alyssia picks up speed, an attempt to get away from me.
Cute.
She obviously doesn’t know me well enough to know that once I’ve laid eyes on something I want, I don’t give up until it’s mine.
Long strides allow me to overtake her just like I’m known to overtake on the corners of the track. Before she’s aware, I’m directly in front of her, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
Her eyes balloon right before she covers her tray with her free hand to keep it steady.
“Oh,” is all she says.
“Oh?” I chase her gaze with my own, making sure to not let her break eye contact.
“Did um …” She clears her throat. “Did you need a drink, sir?”
Sir.
Her voice comes out pleasantly detached. Nothing like the smoky, sultry notes it held that night in Vegas.She’s going to play this game, huh?
“While I’m not opposed to you calling me ‘sir,’ I think you’re aware that I don’t give a damn about a drink right now.”
Fire ignites in Alyssia’s eyes when I give her a sardonic grin.
Heat rushes through my veins seeing the way her detached façade slips.
A blink suppresses the ire in those toffee pools long enough for her to hold out her tray in front of her.
She looks as if she’s going to ask the question a second time, but she’s stopped.
“Alyssia,” a male voice calls.
I narrow my eyes at the older man approaching us. “There you are,” he says to her before looking over at me. He smiles, that pasted, professional smile all staff give at these sorts of events.
“Mr. Townsend, did you need something?” he asks.
I move my gaze back to Alyssia. “A drink, apparently,” I say, taking a glass from Alyssia’s tray.
She looks everywhere but at me.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself this evening. It’s truly an honor to have Watson Catering serve at such a prestigious crowd. Isn’t that right, Alyssia?”
My free hand tightens into a fist. I don’t like the floundering look that crosses her face.
“That’s right, Mr. Watson. If you’ll excuse me, I need to restock.” She nods toward the tray although there’s still three glasses of champagne on it.
