Page 13 of Billionaire's Desire
He looks at the menu and says, “We’ll have the chicken alfredo, please. For both of us.” The woman sitting across from him nods appreciatively.
I write down the order and repeat it back to him to make sure I have it correct. “Chicken alfredo, got it. And for your side dish?”
He thinks for a moment and says, “We’ll have the garlic bread.”
I nod and say, “Excellent choice. That’ll be two servings of chicken alfredo and garlic bread. Would you like anything else?”
They both shake their heads then she adds, “No, that’s it for now. Thank you.”
I smile at both of them, “You’re welcome. I’ll place your order right away and it should be out shortly.”
I rush to the kitchen and place their orders, bring them their glasses of water before I head to the second table.
Table thirteen.
I am a lot more confident now, but as quickly as that thought gets into my head, it dissipates.
The last person I expected to find is sitting at table thirteen and beside him is Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler. I recognize them from the large portrait hanging in the ballroom and almost every other room of this gigantic yacht. They are the owners of the Sapphire, and they are seated with the rude man from two days ago. The one who almost cost me my job and then almost cost me my dignity over a bottle of Merlot. The very same guy, with the same stormy gray eyes, and today he is wearing a black suit.
What in the hell is he even doing here?
What the fuck?
“Universe,” I want to scream, “I was doing so well. Why now?”
But instead, I plaster a fake professional demeanor on my face and begin a conversation with the table.
“Hello, welcome to the Sapphire. May I start you off with something to drink?” I say trying really hard to keep my calm.
There is a small hint of a smile on Mr. Wheeler’s face when I mention the yacht’s name.
“Can we get a bottle of your best whisky and three glasses of water, please?” Mr. Wheeler says to me.
“Of course, sir.” Then I hurriedly head back to the bar to grab a tray and the drinks for them.
I shake my hands, trying to keep the jitters away.
“I can do this. I can do this. I can do this,” I repeatedly murmur the mantra to myself.
I walk slowly, balancing the filled tray precariously. If I broke this bottle, I would not be able to pay for it. Also, dropping an expensive bottle of whisky in front of my boss is a guaranteed way of never getting hired by them ever again. I cannot afford to miss out on the opportunities provided by the temp agency.
I wonder if the Wheelers would throw me into the water if I couldn’t afford to pay for the bottle. I am pretty sure the sexy stranger would help hold me down as they tied me up. The images those thoughts conjure have me biting my lip to hold my breath.
As I approach the table, the man has his eyes trained on me even though Mr. Wheeler seemingly is in the middle of explaining something to him. There are a bunch of papers littered on the table. They must be important.
I reach the table cautiously and I am sighing a breath of relief before everything implodes.
In slow motion, I saw the tray tilt and the glasses of water spill all over the stranger’s pants and the documents laying on the table.
My blood immediately chills.
“Fuck! Fuck!” I scream internally, but all I can let out is a low whisper.
“Oh no, I am so sorry!” I exclaim, laying the tray on the table and reaching for a couple of paper towels.
The look of horror on Mr. Wheeler’s face is only offset by the pity on his wife’s face.
The stranger however, is looking up at me with an expression of annoyance and frustration. “This is just great,” he mutters.
