The din of chatter and silverware clinking filled the air. The pungent smell of carbs and coffee clung to every surface in the diner, including my uniform. I tucked my pen behind my ear as I stood in front of my eighth table this shift. At least tips would be good with so many tables packed in my section. The middle-aged couple at my table continued to flip through their menu. I’d visited this table three times now waiting for them to order. I could cut to the chase and let them know that whatever they chose would suck. The only thing that kept this restaurant open was the prime NYC location luring in a continual flow of unsuspecting tourists with their wallets wide open.

Martin reminded us time and time again that customers came to the diner for the atmosphere, not the food. I glanced around at the cracked tiles and dingy paint, tapping my foot. He was a greedy little weasel who capitalized on the fact that he’d allowed a movie to film in the diner ages ago. He’d been trading on that little gem for decades.

“We’ll have the—” Yes, finally! My enthusiasm of finally getting an order out of them was cut short by the clattering of a chair behind me. I spun and caught a streak of blue as the customers from my fifth table of the evening dashed out the front door. Fuck. I dropped my note pad on the table and raced after them, my sneakers squealing on the broken tiles as I pushed through the door.

Martin was crystal clear about the waitress’ responsibility when it came to dine and dashers. As in, it was our complete and total responsibility to stop them and if they got away, well, that came out of our paychecks. Totally illegal, but there wasn’t much choice other than quitting.

The frigid wind and raindrops stung my face as I pushed through the crowds of people with umbrellas wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk. Out of the way. The temptation to start body checking old ladies grew strong as the bright blue jacket of the guy I chased got farther and farther out of sight.

One second I spotted a gap in the crowd and bolted for it, and the next, the world tilted as I slammed my knees into the hard, cold, wet sidewalk.

“Ahh!” I yelped as the crowds surged past me like a rock plunked down in the middle of a river. The rain kicked up a notch and pelted me. The concrete dug into my palms, scraping them as I pushed myself up. I glanced down as a thin trail of blood rolled down my shin. My leg throbbing, I cursed the rain and the asshole who skipped out on the check. I limped off to the side of the sidewalk and found a dry spot under an awning. Shielded from the elements, even a little, I lifted my knee to check out the damage.

“Hey, baby, looking good,” someone from the surging crowd called out. I dropped my leg, suddenly aware of how short my uniform skirt was and the fact that I hadn’t found any clean underwear, so I had gone without that day. I flipped the bird to no one in particular as people flowed by. I hope whoever had called out to me had enjoyed the show.

My pantyhose was ripped and there were a few runs along the length of my leg. Martin required all his waitresses to wear pantyhose, like we were living in the ‘70s. I’d have to stop off and buy a new pair from the corner shop. I leaned my head against the brick wall behind me—and got out some money to pay the check of the dashers. Dammit. Today was not shaping up to be my day. Just like every other day this year.

I limped down the sidewalk, wrapping my arms around myself as icy rain hit me and stabbed right through my cheap pink uniform. On my way back to the diner, I came to a bank and popped inside their toasty vestibule to use the ATM. I slipped my card in, rubbing my hands together and breathing into them. My warm breath temporarily thawed my fingers enough to punch in my pin. A twenty should cover the food and some new hose. A blinking blue message flashed on the screen, "Insufficient Funds." I checked my balance. Less than twelve dollars. That didn’t make any sense. My breath caught in my chest.

I punched in the numbers again. There had to be a mistake. Again, the same flashing screen popped up. I still didn’t understand it. I’d had over three hundred dollars in there last week. I gritted my teeth as tears welled in my eyes. I hated crying. And I hated even more that when I got pissed, I cried. It was an involuntary reflex that had given me so much trouble over the years. I told Colleen not to touch this account without letting me know first. She rambled on about not having the card anyway. She hadn’t touched it in over a year, and I hadn’t had enough money to open a new account anywhere else. The sting of regret ran through me. I rested my head against the cold metal of the ATM and retrieved my card.

The door behind me opened. A cold blast shot straight down my spine as goosebumps peppered my skin, making my wet uniform even more uncomfortable. What the hell was I going to do now? A white, delicately embroidered handkerchief appeared under my nose and I jerked my head away. Standing beside me with her arm outstretched was a little girl.

“For your boo-boo,” she said, pointing to my leg. The blood had congealed some on my knee, but the long drips of blood had stained through the pantyhose.

She couldn’t have been more than six or seven. She looked up at me with her big, bright blue eyes and motioned with the handkerchief. Raindrops sat on her hat and coat. The water didn't seep in and soak through her clothes, as it did mine. Instead, it rolled right off.

“Thanks, kid, but I’ll be okay,” I said, crumpling the ATM receipt and dropping it into the trash can as I headed toward the door.

“For your boo-boo,” she repeated and followed me, insisting I take it. I felt bad. I didn’t want to get blood on this super nice piece of fabric.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the handkerchief from her. What the hell was she doing with a handkerchief anyway? Weren’t these only for people fifty and above? I ran my fingers over the thick, luxurious fabric. This thing probably cost more than I made in a week. I took a closer look at the little girl. If ever there were a kid to walk around with a lush handkerchief, it was her.

“Where are your parents, kiddo?” She shrugged.

She had on an adorable navy pea coat, dark tights, soaked ballet flats and an honest-to-God beret on top of her sandy brown hair, with a mini purse slung across her body. Who was this kid? I glanced around, trying to spot her parents.

“You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t run away from people who care about you,” I snapped, nausea rolling through me as I thought about how much trouble she could have gotten into. She shrank back and I cringed. Chill out. I took a deep breath, relaxed, and bent down to her.

“Sorry, kiddo. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” I scanned the people walking around on the other side of the glass vestibule. I looked for someone who looked like they were searching frantically, but everyone as far as I could see just milled around, umbrellas up, doing their own thing. I checked my phone. I needed to get back to the diner before Martin had my head, but I didn’t want to leave her here. Indecision warred in me as I peered down at her. I’d have to take her with me and hope we ran into her mom or dad on the way back to the diner. I didn’t want her getting picked up by the cops. Who knows what kind of shitstorm could rain down on her.

“Which way did you come from?” I asked, crouching down in front of her. I winced at the throbbing pain in my knee. The aching registered as I warmed up inside the bank. She turned and pointed back down the street toward the diner. Okay, that helped some. I’d have to take her with me and hope we ran into her mom or dad on the way there.

“Were your parents in the bank?” I asked, glancing back through the glass. She shook her head furiously.

“My name is Melanie, but my friends call me Mel. What’s your name?” I held out my hand for her to shake it. She slid her warm little hand into mine.

“Esme. My name is Esme.” Her squeaky little voice made me smile. She was a cute kid.

“Okay, Esme. Let’s go. We’ll go to the diner where I work and keep you warm while we figure out where your parents are. Maybe we’ll pass them on the way.”

“My daddy,” she squeaked out.

“Your daddy?” I said, holding onto her hand. She nodded. “Great, we’ll find your daddy and get you back home safe and sound. How does that sound?” I paused in front of the door and prepared myself for another cold blast. She gripped my hand tighter, and I squeezed right back.

“Don’t worry, it’s only a couple of blocks and we’ll be there before you know it. Do you like hot chocolate?” I asked. Her eyes lit up, sparkling under the glare of the vestibule light. She could have my food from this shift. I was sure she was scared out of her mind. “Let’s go, kiddo,” I said, whipping the door open. The frigid air hit us, but the rain had let up, so it was only drizzling. She gripped my hand tightly as we hustled back to the diner. I’d have to go without the pantyhose. If Martin wanted to throw a fit, he could go buy me another pair.

I kept my eye out for anyone frantic as we walked back the couple of blocks to the diner. We pushed through the door and it was business as usual inside. Jeanine covered my tables, and Martin must have been hanging in his office. If he knew what happened, he would have been standing at the register, holding up the check my customer skipped out on, and demanding I pay it right then. I’d be able to scrape by with enough tips to cover it by the end of my shift. Jeanine’s eyebrow quirked up seeing Esme’s hand in mine. I shrugged my shoulders and got Esme situated on one of the stools at the counter.

“Why don’t you hop up here?” I said, lifting her up. She clambered up onto the seat and spun around, looking very out of place in the rundown diner. Someone was probably having a fit over her going missing. I knew all about that. My stomach dropped as I thought about how horrible a feeling that was. “How about some hot chocolate?” I asked her. She nodded, and I called out to Jim for a mug of the warm, chocolatey treat. It was probably the only thing in the whole place that wasn’t horrible. He gave me a sweaty nod and went to work.

“I’ll be right back. Okay?” I said. Her hand shot out and gripped mine tightly, squeezing my fingers together. She had quite a grip. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just going to go right over there to my friend. See her?” I said, pointing at Jeanine, who shot back and forth from table to table. “I’m going to go help her out. She’s doing me a favor by waiting on those tables for me, and I don’t want to upset her.”

“Okay,” she squeaked out, so low it was barely a whisper.

“Thanks, Esme.” I rushed over to Jeanine. She shot me a glare and I cringed.

“Did a little sightseeing? And picked up a stray?” she said, bustling past me into the kitchen. Looks like my share of the tips would be a lot smaller tonight. But I owed her. Jim slid a cup of hot chocolate to Esme across the counter. She lifted it up and took a small sip. A big smile spread across her face as she tried to lick off the whipped cream she’d gotten all over her chin. Clearly a bit happier, she kicked her feet and spun slowly on the stool.

I rushed back and forth from table to table, bringing out the orders that were placed while I was out, and cleaning up as customers left. Every so often I’d shoot a glance to Esme and another out the window, looking for anyone freaking out about a missing child. Droves of people passed by, and a few people came in for a meal. Other than that, it was like any other day.

Esme seemed perfectly content to hang out on the stool, spinning around some and drawing a picture or two on the placemats with some crayons I’d scrounged up from the back. No one spoke to her and she didn’t speak to anyone else. I couldn’t help but wonder where she came from, or how long I should wait to call the cops. Plus, I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. A sharp pang stomach, and I wrapped my arms around myself.

Sometimes, kids make mistakes. They get angry and run away, never thinking about the consequences of what they’ve done. Not considering how it could change the course of their entire life in a moment. I knew how the mistakes of children could be held against them – even ruin their life. I didn’t want anything like that to happen to Esme.

I popped of the kitchen with an armload of plates, all ready for my biggest table of the night, when I saw a hulking man in a dark suit standing in front of Esme, trying to talk to her. He had a short buzz cut and wore sunglasses, despite the rainy weather. Esme scrunched herself up against the counter, not looking happy to see him. Who the hell was this guy? Everything happened so quickly. One second he tried to grab her, and in the next I dumped my plates down on the nearest table and threw myself between them.

I planted myself in front of her and pushed him back with both hands as hard as I could.

“Hey, don’t you fucking touch her,” I hissed, getting right in his face. He didn’t even flinch as his shaded gaze snapped to me. “Do you hear me? Back off,” I said, pushing him back again. He didn’t shift an inch as my hands met his solid chest. My pulse began to pound. Who was this guy? Why was he talking to Esme? Was she in danger? More and more questions flew through my head as I glared up at the unflinching man with the earpiece. Esme slid her hand into mine. I turned to give her a reassuring smile when the front door was flung open with an alarming bang that made me jump and put my arm protectively around Esme. What the hell was going on? I tried to peer around the asshole towering over me.

“There you are,” came a voice smoother than silk, even though I could hear a note of the frantic anxiety that only losing a kid will create in a parent. A brute of a man rushed in, flanked by another huge guy in a black suit. This one had dark brown hair that was longer on top. I named him Hulk #2. Esme leaned to the side to get a better view, and a tall man with chestnut hair rushed forward. His expensive cologne wafted by, scenting the air with something other than pancakes, burgers, and coffee. He smelled better than any man I’d ever encountered. Hulk #1 escorted Hulk #2 out of the diner, and by that I mean he practically threw him out the front door.

Before I even knew what was happening, Mr. Cologne had his arms wrapped around Esme, and she hugged him back.

“Are you okay?” the man asked, crouching down and squeezing her in a hug. “Don’t do that to me, sweetie.”

As he turned with her in his arms, everything suddenly made more sense. I was face to face with Rhys Thayer, one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Also one of the most generous, from what I’ve read, but he wasn’t feeling generous right then.

Kissing the top of Esme’s head, he kept his gaze on me and I was definitely aware of the scrutiny. My fingers tingled and I wanted to take a step back, but I was frozen. He pinned me with his stare, eyes burning into mine. What happened to the good-natured philanthropist I’d seen so many news features about? His eyes were laser-focused on me and I finally took a step back. For a second, the intimidating mask slipped when he glanced at Esme wrapped up in his arms. Searing my skin, he gave me the once over, glaring at me like he could destroy me at any moment. Maybe he could.