Chapter 4

In a panic, I yanked the door shut and scooted backward inside the van. On the way, I bumped a stack of boxes and sent them tumbling. A sudden clatter – the sound of metal cascading onto metal – made me cringe in absolute horror.

Yup, there went the extra silverware.

But it wasn't the silverware I cared about. It was the noise.

So much for silently hiding out.

I gave a mental eye-roll. Yeah, right. Like I hadn't already been busted.

What now?

Should I hunker down and hope he goes away? Or crawl out and face the music?

In the end, I didn't have to do anything, because a moment later, that same cargo door swung open, and there he was – Zane Bennington himself.

His gaze was sharp, and his mouth was tight, which was a shame really, because he had a nice mouth. Or rather, it would've been a nice mouth if his lips weren't compressed into a hard, ominous line.

Our gazes locked across the short distance, and I felt myself swallow.

I was still on all fours, and I had to crane my neck to stare up at him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with that obnoxiously thick hair, and cheekbones that made me just a little bit jealous. His suit was dark and tailored – obviously expensive – with a white button-down shirt, open slightly at the collar.

In every possible way, he looked like a million bucks, which was almost funny, because if the stories were true, he was worth way more than a million – probably more than a billion counting all the assets.

And yet, he wasn't much older than I was.

Talk about lucky.

Him, not me.

Still, I tried to smile. "Uh, hi."

He didn't smile back, not that I'd expected him to. In a dangerously quiet voice, he said, "Get out."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

Suddenly, I didn't want to get out. True, the van was a cluttered freezing mess, but the guy in front of me was something else entirely. I mumbled, "That's okay. I'm good."

His gaze hardened. "You think."

Was that a question? It didn’t sound like a question. I cleared my throat. "You're probably wondering who I am, huh?"

From the look in his eyes, he knew exactly who I was – an insignificant bug to be flicked off his pricey jacket.

Into his silence, I said, "I'm just the caterer."

No. That wasn't quite true.

I tried again. "Well, not the caterer-caterer. I mean, I'm just the assistant, one of several, actually – because, you know, it's a pretty big party, huh?"

Right. As if he didn't know. This was his place, after all.

His cool gaze swept over me, and he looked decidedly unimpressed.

Then again, I was hunkered out, doggie-style, in a van.

I sat up in the confined space and tried to ignore the random fork or whatever that was poking against my right ass-cheek. I ran a nervous hand down my frilly white apron and said, "The thing is, I was looking for a candle."

His jaw was so tight, it was a wonder he could even speak. "A candle."

I hesitated. Was that a question? Again, I wasn't quite sure. "Right. You know. The kind you put under a serving thingie to keep it warm?"

Damn it. The thingie had a name. Normally, I knew the name, but the guy was looking at me with such loathing that I was finding it hard to think.

He moved a fraction closer. "The doors," he said, "why were they shut?"

"You mean the van doors?" I gave them a quick glance. "I shut them because it's freezing out."

If the answer satisfied him, he sure as heck didn't show it. "It's April."

Yes, but it was early April, and this was Indianapolis, not Tampa. And besides, springtime or not, the night was unseasonably cool. Somehow, I managed to stammer, "Right. But it's dark, and there's a breeze."

Right on cue, that same breeze ruffled the ends of his thick hair, making him look like a some kind of movie star in one of those annoyingly sexy slow-motion shots. It was especially annoying now, because this guy wasn't moving at all. Instead, he was eyeing me with open hostility.

Like an idiot, I started blathering. "So, you see, I shut the doors to keep it out – the breeze, I mean. I would've fired up the van – you know, for the heat – but I didn't think it would take so long to find the candles." I gave a nervous laugh. "I don't suppose you have any on you?"

He didn't even crack a smile. "Who do you work for?"

So much for softening him up with humor.

"Vista Catering." I pointed vaguely to my right. "It's, uh, written on the side of the van, actually."

His gaze didn't waver, and he made no reply.

I cleared my throat. "If you don't believe me, just look." I plastered on another smile. "Go on. I'll wait."

Or, I'll run screaming into the house for my purse and car keys.

Stupid? Probably. But the guy was making me nervous, and not only because he'd caught me eavesdropping. For all his money, there was something about him – something barely civilized – lurking underneath his rich, glossy surface.

One thing I knew for certain, this was a guy who wasn't afraid to break a few eggs. And right now, I was feeling like a giant chicken.

In front of me, he still wasn't moving. He repeated his question, more slowly this time. "Who do you work for?"

I was freezing and tired – and yeah, maybe a little scared. I hated being scared. In fact, I decided, I wasn't going to be, not tonight.

When I spoke, my voice came out snippier than I intended. "Vista Catering. You did hear me, right?"

"I heard you."

"But what? You don't believe me?"

"No. I don't."

Damn it. The way it looked, there was no way on Earth that I'd be leaving with my catering job still intact. Oh sure, anything was technically possible, just like it was technically possible that I might win the lotto someday, well, if I ever splurged on a ticket, that is.

I sighed. Oh, screw it.

If I was going to get tossed out anyway, there was no point in groveling. "You know what?" I said. "You're right. I was just hanging out here for fun. I mean, why would I be out watching a movie or something when I could be crawling around in a van, looking for a stupid candle in a pile of forks."

He gave the van's floor a perfunctory glance. "If that's your story, it needs work."

"It wasn't a story," I told him. "It was sarcasm. You did catch the tone, right?"

His gaze narrowed. "I caught something."

Again, I felt myself swallow. "What?"

"And I don't know what she is," he continued, "but I'm gonna find out." He flicked his head toward the main house, where the party was still going strong. "Now, get your ass back to work."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He glanced toward the house. "Wherever your station is, find it. And don't leave until I say so."

I stared up at him. "Until you say so?" Okay, I knew that he was the customer and all, but I wasn't his servant. "You can't talk to me like that."

"Why not?"

"Gee, I don't know. Because it's rude?"

"You think I care?"

No. He didn't. That much was obvious.

Asshole.

Probably, I should've been relieved. After all, if he was ordering me back to my station, there was at least some chance I'd get to keep my job. If I were smart, I'd probably scurry back inside and count my blessings.

I bit my lip. Damn it. I was smart. I had a bachelor's degree in public relations. With honors, too. My stomach sank. And what was I doing? Working as a catering assistant.

True, it was honest work, and I didn't mind it most of the time. But under the guy's scornful gaze, I was starting to feel like a giant loser – not because of my job, but because my degree had cost so much, and netted me so little.

And now, I just had to ask, "Let's say I do go back inside. What then?"

His eyebrows lifted. "If you go back inside?"

"I mean…" I hesitated. "Are you gonna tell on me?"

"The person I'd tell is me."

"Well, yeah, sort of. But I mean are you gonna tell my boss?"

"I am the boss."

Talk about arrogant. And besides, that wasn't even true. Not really. I mean, it's not like he owned the catering company.

I made a sound of frustration. "Oh, come on. You know what I mean."

He studied my face. "Do I?"

Okay, that was definitely a question, even if it was obviously rhetorical. "Listen," I said, "I don't want to go back in there, only to find out that I'm fired later." I lifted my chin. "If I'm getting bad news, I'd rather hear it now and be done with it."

A shadow crossed his features, and the van suddenly felt ten degrees colder. "Trust me," he said in a voice that inspired zero trust. "Losing your job is the least of your worries."

Was that a threat? It sounded like one. Still, I met his gaze head-on. I wasn't afraid of him, or at least that's what I kept telling myself, even as alarm bells kept ringing in my head.

No – not alarm bells – a phone – his, apparently, because it sure as heck wasn't mine. I knew this, because I had no cell phone. Well, not since last Tuesday, anyway.

This was yet another long story.

As I watched, he reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a cell phone. After glancing briefly at the display, he pulled it to his ear and said, "What?"

He listened for a few moments before disconnecting the call without so much as a goodbye. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and eyed me with renewed scorn. "You're still here."

Yes. I was.

"Well, yeah," I stammered. "I haven't found the candles."

"Fuck the candles."

I tried not to flinch. "What?"

"Your station," he said. "Find it. Now." And with that, he turned and walked away, but not toward the house. Instead, he walked in the opposite direction, heading toward the rear of his property.

Through the open cargo door, I watched him as he strode across the narrow parking area and into his massive back yard. He kept on going, making his way around the swimming pool, past the pool house, and into the woods beyond.

I felt my eyebrows furrow. Well, that wasn't weird or anything.

I couldn’t see him anymore, but I could feel the remnants of our encounter, haunting me like a bad dream.

Jerk.

And where was he going, anyway?

Inside his estate, there had to be at least a hundred guests. Was he ditching them?

It sure looked that way.

I blew out a long, unsteady breath. He was right about one thing – forget the candles. If I hadn't found them by now, they obviously weren't out here. And besides, I'd been gone far too long for a simple errand.

I scrambled out of the van and slammed the door shut behind me. With my heart still racing, I dashed back through the rear entrance and returned to my catering station – well, what was left of it, anyway.

And it wasn't good.