Laura

 

 

 

His hands tightens around my upper arm, almost digging painfully into my flesh, as I try to escape. I freeze, taking a moment to collect myself before I dare to turn back to look at him.

I have to look up to meet his gaze, a rare occurrence for me. Tall men have always been my weakness, and having to look up to him like this makes me weak in the knees.

But he’s more than just tall.

He’s irresistibly handsome.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says, his voice calm and deep, yet underlined with a hint of threat. “What are you sorry about?”

Why is he delaying me like this from my job? Is he playing a game with me? Teasing the scantily dressed server for his personal amusement?

He’s obviously very well aware of his good looks and the effect it has on women; it’s written all over his stunningly gorgeous face.

“I’m sorry for almost spilling the drink on you, sir,” I reply politely.

“Sir, huh?” he repeats my words, casting me a dark look. “I like the sound of that.”

His narrowed eyes fixate on mine and his grip tightens around my arm, causing me to grimace in pain as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. The way he looks at me is unsettling in so many ways. It’s as if he’s searching for something, peeling away layer after layer to see what lies behind the professional facade I portray when I’m working. His eyes are so curious, yet they’re piercing right through me with a kind of violent intensity.

Is he trying to intimidate me?

“Let go of me. You’re hurting me,” I hiss through my teeth, trying not to cause a scene.

He loosens his grip on my arm, but his eyes remain zeroed in on mine, continuing to invade my privacy in a way I‘ve never experienced before. I almost feel violated just by the way he stares at me.

When I avert my eyes, he squeezes my arm again, wrenching on it in such a way that it forces me to look back at him.

Doesn’t he worry that people are watching us? I’m pretty sure we’re attracting attention. He’s making the guests look at me suspiciously, as if I did something wrong.

“Don’t you dare turn away from me,” he says in a low but commanding voice. “Look at me.”

I obey, meeting his penetrating gaze again, but with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“What is wrong with you, sir –?”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” he warns. “Ever.”

Who does he think he is?

Is he on something? With these rich guys you never know, especially at these high-profile events. It wouldn’t be the first time I‘d witnessed the negative influence drugs can have on people who have too much money for their own good. Their trips to the bathroom are often for more than just answering nature’s call.

He doesn’t really look like he’s high on something. His pupils aren’t dilated, and as piercing and intense as his eyes may be, there is a frightening clarity there. They’re not even blurred by too much alcohol.

It seems he can’t find whatever it was he was looking for. When he loosens his grasp around my arm this time, he quickly diverts his gaze, freeing me from his incisive inspection.

I yank my arm away and take a step back, clearing my throat in a dismissive tone. My upper arm still pulsates from his fierce touch, and oddly I sense a twinge of loss now that it’s gone.

Our eyes meet a final time. There’s something strange about this man, and it‘s not only the way he looked at me or the way he spoke to me, but it’s the way I... feel.

There’s something about him. He feels familiar. Close.

Have we met before? Is that why he was looking at me so intensely, because he was trying to place how he knew me?

No. Even if he couldn’t remember me, I would certainly remember a man who was so handsome and had so much charisma and power about him.

“What’s your name?” he asks brusquely.

“Laura Brown,” I answer in a hurried breath, unnecessarily adding my last name. “Why...why do you ask?”

An unnerving thought occurs to me.

“Are you going to complain about me to my boss?” I ask, panicked.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Fuck, I can’t get over how handsome he is.

“No, Laura, I just needed to know,” he says.

“Why?” I repeat. My heart is pounding now.

His expression signals that he’s not going to respond to my question.

“Is this all you do?” he asks, his eyes casting around the room. “Serving at functions.”

I frown at him and my cheeks flush.

Is this all you do? His condescending tone says it all. He thinks very highly of himself, more highly than he considers the likes of me. I’m just a server, after all.

Of course, I’m more than that. Much more than that. We all are. And I feel the sudden urge to prove it to him. I may be a college dropout who has to work two jobs to get by, but I am so much more than just a low life.

I know people like him. Business people. Rich people. Their lives are empty without their jobs and the wealth and status that comes with it, so that’s the only way they know to define themselves and everyone around them. In reality, they are the pitiful and deprived ones.

I hate the way he assumes he‘s superior to me, but there’s nothing I can do about it. This is neither the time nor the place to lecture a man like him.

Not that I’d even be capable of doing that. He’s rattling me way too much. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since I bumped into him, and I‘ve never had this hard of a time maintaining composure. He’s frazzling me in a way that no one ever has before, and I don’t know how to deal with it.

“That’s none of your business,” I retort, sounding harsher than intended. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. And I’m sure you do, too.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, mimicking his earlier gesture of scanning the room around us. I’m met with Layla’s gaze from afar. She’s throwing me an “Is everything all right?”-look, which I acknowledge with a nod.

He notices the exchange, his eyes traveling back and forth between the two of us as he assesses the situation.

“Are we done here?” I ask, trying to sound confident, even though my voice is shaking in sync with the empty tray in my hand.

He smiles.

“You can go,” he says. “But to answer your question, no. We’re nowhere near done.”