“I don’t care what you have on tomorrow night,” Cara hissed into the phone. The voice chattering back from the other end was a drawl, disaffected and bored. “No—no, no, no—Craig. Craig, please—“

The sound of the click echoed down the line, and her shoulders slumped. She replaced the receiver, shaking, and then let herself lean against the wall. There were tears starting to form in her eyes, and she had nearly worn out her ability to keep them back. She pressed her hand over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep from making a sound.

“Cara?”

Oh, God. No one could see her like this. Cara whirled away from the door and fumbled with her apron, acting as if she had come in here to change.

“Cara?”

“Uh-huh?” Her voice sounded a little strained, but she might have pulled it off.

There was a pause, and she knew Lexie was looking her over. The night cook at Bell’s Diner was young and supermodel pretty; blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She looked about fifteen…but she was one of the most clear-eyed, observant people Cara had ever met in her life. There was no point in trying to fool her. “You have a customer, sweetheart.”

Cara managed a laugh. She knew Lexie humored her by acting like every other world-weary diner chef out there, and humor was just what she needed right about now.

“Are you okay?” Lexie asked, more softly this time.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be okay.” Cara turned around and wiped her eyes; no use in pretending. “Is my mascara running?”

“Nope.” Lexie smiled and disappeared. “I’m going to go start cooking. This guy always gets the same thing. Give him decaf.”

“Thanks.” Cara smiled after the girl’s retreating form. Four weeks on this job and she was just getting used to the dizzying array of people that came in. When she came out to see a tailored suit and a copy of yesterday’s Times, graying dark hair peeking out from above the pages and a Rolex glittering on the man’s wrist, she hardly gave it a second thought. There were only two kinds of people who came in this late: drunks, and stockbrokers.

She supposed he might be both. That would liven up the night somewhat. Without tips, she was practically working this shift for her subway fare.

“Decaf?” She asked lightly, pasting her diner-waitress smile on her face.

Her smile faltered when he folded his paper and looked at her, assessing. She had expected someone portly, or run-down, but this man looked to be in the prime of his life. The salt and pepper in his hair had clearly been earned with time, but the man wore his suit like he’d been born in it, the polite cut failing to disguise well-muscled arms and broad shoulders. His skin was caramel, his sharp jawline free of stubble, and his eyes were somewhere between black and brown.

“Yes, please,” he said politely.

Cara had to force herself to take a step, and then another. She seemed to have forgotten how to move; her fingers were clenched around the handle of the coffee pot so tightly that she was worried she might break it, and she knew she was staring like a fool. So this man was one of the most attractive people she’d ever met in her life. He was a customer. He was a rich customer. No one needed her staring like a teenager.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” he observed as she poured. His tone made it clear that he remembered nearly every person he saw.

“I’m new here.” Cara managed to jerk the pot up just in time to keep the cup from overflowing. “I don’t usually work this shift.”

Don’t usually, but didn’t have much choice, she thought. How many months in a row had it been since the child support had shown up? And Craig, she thought bitterly, didn’t even have anything to spend the money on. He lived with his parents and talked about clubs and champagne.

But it was no use thinking about that. And no use thinking about Darren, sleeping in their neighbor’s apartment because Cara couldn’t get the thought out of her head that someone might break in while she was gone. She tried not to let her smile flicker.

“My name is Perry,” the customer told her, and Cara nodded.

“Cara.”

“A beautiful name.”

“Thank you.”

A ding sounded from the counter, and Perry smiled over at the plate. “Bless Lexie, one of these days she’ll have my food ready before I even get here.”

“You know Lexie’s name?” Cara asked, rendered curious by this turn of events.

“I make a habit of knowing everyone’s name,” he said gravely. “And Lexie’s eggs are better than Jamie’s. But he makes better pancakes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cara said, at a loss for any other words. She wove her way behind the counter and brought the plate out. “Ketchup? Hot sauce?”

“Hot sauce, please.”

Please and thank you. So he was one of those stockbrokers. The kind that said they weren’t too rich and privileged to remember people’s names. People like waitresses and cooks. People less than them. And wasn’t everyone going to be impressed now?

Cara set the plate down in front of him with rather more force than was necessary.

“Thank you,” he said, so mildly that she had to grit her teeth.

“Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, thank you.” His eyes focused on hers. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“…Ma’am?” Cara asked him. Too polite. He was mocking her.

“It seemed overly familiar to call you by your name.”

“I see. Well, if there’s nothing else I can get for you—”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He asked, his forehead creasing. “Have I said something to offend you?”

“No,” Cara snapped. “You haven’t. Please enjoy your food.”

Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the wall and groaned softly. She was never going to make it if she couldn’t be polite to customers.

“What was that about?” Lexie asked, looking over from where she was scraping the grill down. She was relentlessly neat, so much so that she threw a sponge towards Clara and gestured to the countertops. “Help me out.”

“Sure.” Clara began scrubbing.

“So…” Lexie prompted.

“He’s just one of those ones who mocks you the whole time.”

“Really?” Disbelief rang in Lexie’s voice. “He’s always been so nice to me.”

“Doesn’t he seem a little… too nice? Like he’s just doing you a favor by talking to you?”

“Not really.” Lexie shook her head. “And even if he was, wouldn’t that be…kind of better than everyone else we have in here? I mean, so he says nice things and tips well. Doesn’t matter if he thinks he’s better than us. The rest of the people who think that, say rude things and don’t tip at all, see what I mean?”

“There is that. But I don’t think I’ll be getting a good tip.”

“What did you say… ?”

“Nothing.” Cara shrugged. “It was how I said it.”

“He’ll tip well, anyway. He always does. Lord knows he has the money for it.” Lexie shot a glance over her shoulder, and shook her head at Cara’s uninterested expression. “Doesn’t anything interest you these days?”

“Not really, no. I’m too tired.”

“Well, look alive — that’s Perry Hammond, and he’s worth seventeen billion dollars.” When Cara only raised an eyebrow, Lexie snorted. “And it looks like he’s pretty taken with you. Even tired, you look like a million bucks.”

She was probably right. Cara’s curls, when they behaved themselves, tumbled fetchingly in a waterfall of auburn, and her blue eyes were very bright in her heart - shaped face. She was not tall and stately, as many New Yorkers seemed to be, but she had a sweet smile and a sprinkle of freckles over her tiny nose. She was, she admitted, very pretty.

Not that it ever did her much good.

“Well, I’d need to be seventeen thousand times as pretty to be on his level,” she told Lexie wearily.

“Well, don’t say I don’t ever set you up.”

“I won’t.” She dropped the sponge in the sink and washed her hands. “I suppose I should go see if he needs anything.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lexie said encouragingly.

“Don’t. I’m just going to get him some coffee.”

“You could at least try—” Lexie was saying as the door swung shut.

“Can I get you anything else?” Cara asked. She was trying to keep her voice pleasant, but it was remarkably difficult. What was it about this man that set her on edge? First he looked like a stockbroker, then he looked like an athlete, then he was too polite by half, and now she found out he was a billionaire. He set her on edge, and she couldn’t figure out why.

“No, thank you.” He slid a fifty onto the table and stood. His food had been eaten, the silverware placed neatly on the plate; the coffee mug piled on top with a used—but folded—napkin. “I hope you have a good night, ma’am. I hope you know I did not mean to offend you.”

“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t seem to say anything else, so she only watched while he hesitated, before nodding his head and leaving, expensive shoes tapping on the laminate flooring.

It was such a pity when the jerks were handsome.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Mr. Smith.” Cara turned at the voice and smiled, this time a bit more sincerely. The man who owned the diner was kind, very forgiving of her mistakes, and observant enough to call out the riff-raff who took liberties with the waitresses.

“I see Perry was here,” he said now, eyes fixed on the fifty. “Good man.”

Cara refrained from rolling her eyes, and Mr. Smith looked around himself before heaving a sigh.

“I, uh…I have something to tell you. Lexie, could you come out here a moment?”

“Sure thing, Mr. S.” Lexie walked out, wiping her hands on a pristine white towel.

“Ladies…” Mr. Smith cleared his throat. He looked sad all of a sudden, sadder than Cara had ever seen him, and with his tired expression, she realized now how old he looked. “The diner is shutting down.”

“What?” Cara whispered? Fear clamped down, icy, on her heart. She needed this job, needed it desperately. It barely covered her rent, let along utilities or food, and Darren hadn’t had new clothes in a year, and… “No.”

“I’m sorry, Cara. I know… I know you’re depending on your check. I’ll try to get it to you as soon as the building sells.”

“You don’t have it…” Cara lost her words in a wave of panic. “When’s the last day?”

“Today,” he said, and his eyes were sad. “I… was at the bank earlier. They said—well, never mind what they said. I’m sorry. I’ll tell the rest of the staff tomorrow.”

The coffee pot was shaking so hard in Cara’s hand that she thought she might drop it, and she barely got it onto the counter before she was running for the exit, listening to Lexie’s desperate call for her to come back.

In the alley, she leaned against the wall and felt a sob bubble up in her chest. Extra shifts and no paycheck. Every time, every time she thought she was getting a little further ahead, every time she thought she might break even; the world found some way to take it away from her. Every time.

“Ma’am? Cara?”

Oh, God. She could not deal with this.

“What?” Cara asked. She stood up and wiped her nose, daring him to comment on her appearance.

“What happened?”

“The diner’s closing down,” Cara told him. And then, because the words wouldn’t seem to stop, she added, “And I’m behind on my rent, and my son doesn’t have clothes that fit, and this job was supposed to be the one that…”

Oh, don’t mention school. He’d laugh. She couldn’t bear to have him laugh. Not about that.

“Can I… would you let me help you?”

“Help?” Cara said bitterly.

“No?” He guessed; one dark eyebrow slightly raised.

“No,” she confirmed. She should take it, the rational side of her brain whispered, and her pride whispered that she could not, she couldn’t accept this. “I know this game. I’ve seen what this looks like. I know what people expect when they throw money around like that, and you know what? I’d rather be poor.”

She slammed the door of the diner in his face, covered her face with her hands, and bit down on a scream of rage. The last thing she’d needed tonight was an offer like that. Lexie might tell her to go for it, smile at the rich man, but all that told Cara was how little Lexie knew about the world. Because Cara had met men like Perry Hammond before: polite, well-dressed, and generous. And there were always strings attached. Men like Perry never went for women like her, not unless they wanted something.

And she had nothing more to give.