Jenna.
She’s at a table near the window, taking an order from an old woman with fragile bones and a strict scowl.
“Eggs over hard. None of that runny yolk,” the old woman reminds Jenna with a lifted finger.
“As usual,” Jenna agrees with a smile.
“Don’t forget to write that down.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bower, we know how you take your eggs,” Jenna says, but scribbles on her small pad anyway. “How are the grandchildren?” She pockets her pen and aims her full attention at the old lady.
I roll my eyes at the sight of her big, bright smile. Still the same pathetic girl as always, smiling and trying to please even though she doesn’t have a single thing to smile about. It still annoys the shit out of me.
Mrs. Bower reaches into her purse to find her wallet and show Jenna a picture, and her frown disappears. “Jack just turned one, and he’s already walking, from one end of the livingroom to the other in thirty seconds. An old woman like me can’t keep up.”
Jenna leans in to look at the picture, pretending it’s the first time, even though it’s probably the hundredth. “He’s so cute.”
“He certainly is.” Mrs. Bower closes her wallet, and her scowl returns. “Now off you go. And remember about those eggs.”
“Of course,” Jenna assures and sets off toward the kitchen, her smile lingering even as she turns her back to the fussy customer. She casts a quick look my way, too brief to recognize me. “I’ll be right with you, sir. Have a seat wherever you like.”
Hearing the word ‘sir’ from her lips does strange things to me. There’s a slow buzzing inside me as I slide into a booth and watch her grab a menu, then head down the aisle toward me.
She still hasn’t noticed who I am when she stops at my table, taking the notebook and pen from her breast pocket.
“Would you like to start with something to drink while you decide?” She aims her bright smile at me, but the moment our eyes collide, she blanches. The spark in her eyes goes out like a light, and her lips fall into a straight line. “Killian?”
“Hi, princess.” I offer her a smile of my own, only not so friendly. “How have you been?” I glance down at her mustard yellow uniform. “Well, you don’t have to answer that.” I widen my smile a bit. “It’s already quite clear.”
Her mouth tightens. “What do you want?”
“I have an offer for you.” I gesture to the seat across from me. “Sit down.”
She averts her gaze. “I’m not interested.”
I rake my eyes down her body. At the disgustingly yellow uniform and the stained white apron. For five years, not a day has gone by that I haven’t wondered how she looked, and this is what she gives me. My mouth twists with disgust. But then I study her face. Her lips are still full and rosy, and her big eyes are as vibrantly green as I remember them, although the spark hasfaded somewhat. There’s a tired look in them now, but even so, that vulnerable innocence remains.
I lower my voice and imbue it with the dominant tone I’ve learned through five years of eager BDSM exploration. “Sit down.”
The effect is just what I’m going for. Her breath hitches, and her eyes become even wider as she lifts her gaze to me. I hold it, imbuing my expression with command. And Jenna can’t resist. She slides into the booth, although she clearly doesn’t want to.
“Good girl,” I tell her, though not very nicely.
Her jaw hardens further, and she hugs her arms around her middle. She really shouldn’t do that. The protective gesture only lifts her breasts, drawing my attention to the nice handful they have grown into.
“Do you like it here?” I ask, glancing around at the place—the worn seats and rough edges. She looks out of place here. Despite her origins, I always imagined her ending up in elegant surroundings. Concert halls and recording studios. Even after I ruined her, the image remained, only the concert hall changed to a fancy corner office with her name on the door.
Despite the tiredness lingering in her eyes, she looks out of place here.
But then I remember the splatters of cum on her back and the mascara smeared on her cheeks as she scrambled off the piano bench, and I think she’s just where she belongs—right where I put her. Far below me.
“What do you want?” There’s a slight tremble to her voice now. I think she’s just barely holding it together. “I’ve done what you said. I haven’t played for anyone for years.”
I open my bag, pull out the folder I’ve brought for her, and hold it out.
“What’s this?” She tentatively takes it.
“A proposition.”
