It was almost midnight the next day when he returned to Howdy, now dimly lit and fully packed. The town’s Saturday night crowd consisted mostly of teenagers and young adults, all of them drunk while cheerfully dancing to a Spotify-sourced playlist. Christien towered over all of them easily, however, allowing the billionaire to spot her right away.

She was working behind the counter again and still looking like a clown. It occurred to him then that her uniform – the same one she had worn yesterday – was different from the other female servers. She had on a checkered shirt, suspenders, a tough-looking leather belt, and brown pants.

She could probably have passed as a dead ringer for Westworld’s Dolores Abernathy, the billionaire thought, if only she also wasn’t wearing the kind of makeup that made her look like she was auditioning for a bit role in The Walking Dead.

So why was that? Surely the woman yesterday hadn’t been the first to laugh in her face about her face? And why was she dressed differently from the other women making up the staff?

The longer he studied her, the more he realized how little he knew of her---

But why does that matter, Death quizzed him in his mind, when you don’t believe she’s the rainbow you’re looking for?

Christien ignored the imaginary mocking words that ran through his mind. He had no answer for it anyway. Right now, all he knew was that he owed this to all the people who were foolish enough to hope he had the strength to never let go.

And so for better or for worse, he must believe that this little mutant of his –

The billionaire took a seat across Kharis. “Good evening, Ms. Stamos.”

A startled look crossed her face, which unfortunately made her look even more awful than usual.

Despite the horrible makeup---

Her friendly dimpled smile reappeared after a moment, and she said cheerfully, “Howdy.”

And the horrible accent---

“Mr. It Doesn’t Matter, right?”

And horrible sense of humor –

He had to believe Kharis Stamos was the woman he was looking for.

For better or for worse, he reminded himself stoically, and so with this the billionaire summoned a polite smile to his lips, murmuring, “You must be tired after serving this crowd.”

“Not really. I like working here.” She handed him a menu, but when he shook his head, she asked, “You don’t want anything?”

Her visibly astonished face had him staring. Did she never get tired, Christien wondered, of wearing her heart on her sleeve the entire time?

She suddenly winked at him, the sight hauling him back to reality. Unbelievably, it also had color flushing the billionaire’s high-boned cheeks, and Christien was torn between disbelief and irritation.

But through this---

His heart had also started beating hard and fast.

Because…

He looked at her. She winked at him another time, and again it left him incredulous and irritated –

And so his heart beat even harder and faster.

How long had it been since he had felt genuine irritation? How long had it been since something, much less someone, had been able to catch him off guard?

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

Instead of answering her, he heard himself ask, “What time does your shift end?”

Her grotesquely shaded lips curved in a knowing smile, and he was half-revolted, half-fascinated by the sight. How in hell could this woman not care that the thick multiple slashes of her lipstick had made her mouth as dangerously cavernous as that shark from Jaws?

“I get off in about ten minutes.” Her tone was just as knowing as her smile, and this, too, was fascinating. What the hell did she know to make her speak like that? Did her mind operate in a parallel universe or something?

And it was as if she had heard him think when she said very sweetly, “You’re going to ask me out, aren’t you?” The lips curved once more, but this time it was a hundred times more knowing, as if it were saying---

You’re so into me. And we both know it.

The billionaire slowly straightened in his seat. Be still, my heart. Kharis Stamos may indeed be the woman he was looking for, if only for the way she was able to make him feel.

Incredulity. Irritation. Insanity.

It probably wasn’t how Jaike Hepburn made Derek Christopoulos feel, but since emotionally challenged beggars like him couldn’t afford to be choosers, he summoned another smile, saying, “Yes. I am.”

A giggle. “I knew it.”

“Did you?” His tone was just the right amount of casual and ice, the perfectly polite way to make it clear to Kharis Stamos that he didn’t care to hear anything else.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work.

“See that guy?” She pointed to the bartender, and the billionaire nodded. “And that one?” She gestured to the old man who had just stepped out of the kitchen.

“The cook?”

“Uh huh. Those two are my grandfather’s friends. Marvin isn’t just the bartender. He co-owns the club with Juan, the cook.”

“I see.” A pause. “Actually, I have no idea why you’re telling me that.”

Another giggle. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She gave him a sweet smile of apology. “I’m easily distracted.”

Since there was no way he could answer that without sounding like either a liar or a jackass, the billionaire only smiled politely.

“I told them about you last night.”

“I see.” But this, again, was a lie, and when no other words seemed forthcoming, Christien was forced to ask for clarification. “May I know what you told them?”

“What else?”

The odd look sent his way made the billionaire feel obliged to apologize, but if he did – what for?

He glanced back at Kharis, who was still gazing at him chidingly.

I cannot believe I’m about to apologize for no reason, the billionaire thought.

But in the end, he heard himself say, “I’m sorry. I must’ve missed something, but I don’t see what your grandfather’s friends have to do with me asking you out---”

“It’s exactly that!” She rolled her eyes at him. “I told them I had a feeling you’d ask me out. Did you think I didn’t notice? You couldn’t stop staring at me last night.”

Because you have the most horrible makeup in the world.

“Then you asked for my name---”

Your name, not your hand in marriage!

“And that’s how I knew,” she declared triumphantly, “you had a crush on me.”

What the fuck?

She peered at him. “You do, don’t you?”

No.

The word brimmed on his lips.

Hell, no.

But then those brown eyes of hers claimed his, and instead the billionaire heard himself say, “I guess the secret’s out.”