ROYAL BRIDE (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (38 page)

“Of course. Thank you so much,” Nick said to the woman, but she had gone back to her work.

He moved to a chair next to a window. Like the woman predicted, Sara arrived soon after. He saw her walk in wearing her black and white uniform. Only a woman with Sara’s curves and eyes could make a simple waitress uniform look sexy. She didn’t see him, which worked best for him, but he couldn’t hide for too long.

“Hello, Sara,” he said.

She looked like she was going to ask him how he knew her name, but she looked at her tag and smiled ever so slightly. Nick was glad she hadn’t asked because he would have had to lie to her again. He wasn’t going to admit to her that he had someone check out her entire life and that he knew everything there was to know about her, even the fact that she had a cat named Pussy Bow when she was a kid. That would freak her out and destroy whatever chances he had of getting close to her. Even being in her presence before the ball was probably a bad idea. She would most likely recoil when she saw him at the ball if he left her with a bad experience.

“I’ve seen you recently,” she said as she put the plate on the table.

Oh good
, Nick thought. She was being nicer today, but he didn’t push it. “Coffee? Dark and strong?” Nick suggested, smiling.

“Oh yeah, the Rolex guy,” she said, smiling in return. She looked at his wrist.

“Not today,” he told her as he pulled up his sleeve and showed her the watch he wore today, which was equally expensive but one he could bet she didn’t know. His gamble paid off; she did not recognize the watch.

“I see you’re keeping it simple today.”

“Yes,” Nick said with a smile. “Simple can be best.”

“Unless you’re riding in the limo parked across the street.” She pointed outside the window and Nick had no choice but to look at the limo. Thankfully, it was a regular black limo and the windows were dark. She wouldn’t be able to recognize David unless he chose to step out of the limo at that instant.

“Work.”

“What sort of work do you do that requires a limo and a Rolex?” she asked curiously.

“Real estate,” Nick said, hoping she wouldn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t lie about his work, but he didn’t want to reveal too much. This visit was not going according to his plan. He had planned to come in and say hello to her just to see her, then leave. He didn’t want her to ask questions that could lead her to suspect the card he sent her was not a mistake. He needed to gain control of the situation. “Investment real estate.”

“That sounds interesting. Would you like some ketchup with your sandwich?” And just like that she had lost interest in him.

“No, this is fine,” Nick replied, cursing himself for showing up at her work place. Now he had given her something else to hold against him. Clearly she didn’t care about his money, or maybe she just didn’t like him. There was no way for him to know, and he didn’t want to hang around any longer and make things worse. And actually, he did like ketchup on his sandwich, but he wasn’t going to ask her for anything, except maybe a way to get out of there really fast.

“Well, enjoy your lunch. I hope it’s to your satisfaction.” She was finished with him and was departing when he called her back.

“Excuse me, Sara. May I get a take-away plate?” he asked. “I have to be somewhere.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll wrap it up for you then,” she replied after a moment of hesitation. She stepped back, took the plate, and walked away. She returned quickly with his food nicely packaged in a Styrofoam plate in a plastic bag.

“I put some ketchup on the side. I have a feeling you like ketchup,” she said as she handed the bag to him. She had a little more than a hint of a smile on her face.

“Thank you,” Nick said as he slipped her a few hundred dollar bills as a tip when she wasn’t looking. He didn’t look back to see her reaction as he walked to the door. He would see her in a few days. No need to push any more buttons.

SARA

When the man left, I went back to wipe the table and pick up the tip I had seen him leave. In as much as I didn’t want a tip from him since I hadn’t done much, my salary was minimal and I had to make up my earnings with tips. I assumed he had left a couple of dollars, and even though it wouldn’t do much for me, it could at least add to my savings for gas money that week. I picked up the loose change and the cash. Five hundred dollars!

My first instinct was to run after him and return the money because it had to be a mistake. He must have meant to drop five singles and had inadvertently left five hundred-dollar bills. I looked up, but he was already out the door. I ran out to catch him.

“Excuse me,” I called, but he didn’t hear me with the distractions and noise of the busy street. “Hey, Mister!” I called even louder, but he had already crossed the busy street.

I tried to follow him, but a bus slowed right in front of me. I waited for the bus to come to a complete stop so I could navigate around it, but I was too late. Before I could get to the other side of the road, his sleek limousine had pulled out.

I looked at the money in my hands, wondering how I could return it to him, but a thought hit my mind. The money wasn’t a mistake. The man wore a Rolex and had a limo. He probably had meant to tip me the exorbitant amount, which I was not opposed to. What I would be opposed to was if his rich ass came back wanting more from me. I debated what to do with it. It was legitimately mine; I had earned it as part of my privileges of serving Mr. Rich. Even though I thought it was way too much, I decided to accept it. My rent was due and the money would go a long way to subsidizing it. And even if I didn’t have impending rent, I had a party to go to.

Amy had promised to shop for me, but I couldn’t leave everything up to her. I needed to pay for some stuff myself. I took a second look at where his limo had been parked, which had been quickly replaced by two cars. It was almost as if he hadn’t been there. I whispered a thank you to no one in particular, pocketed the money, and went back to work.

Throughout the rest of my work day, my mind remained on the stranger and how deeply he had looked into my eyes with his dark brown, sexy eyes like he could see the depths of my soul. I smiled as I remembered the way his lips had curved into a slight smile when he spoke. I bet those lips tasted like sugar, no honey. He had to taste like honey. Men like him didn’t taste any less sweet.

I needed to get a grip on myself. I almost poured coffee on a client while lost in my imagination. Mr. Rich had distracted me like no one else had. I got through the day like clockwork - smiling at customers, taking orders, serving food, cleaning up after them. Each time the door opened, I looked up in anticipation, expecting Mr. Rich to come through the door, but I was disappointed every time.

By the time evening rolled around, I was a hot mess. All I wanted to do was get home and sleep him off. I was probably never going to see him again anyways.

I didn’t have to work the next day, and though I would have liked a chance to go in just in case he showed up again, common sense told me a man like that had more to do with his weekends than come to a deli chasing after a waitress, if that was what he was truly doing.

After tossing around on the bed for a few hours and getting nowhere with my day, I decided to get up, shower, and take a walk. My walk didn’t clear my head like I hoped it would. Thoughts of Mr. Rich kept playing like a movie. After a few miles, I gave up and walked home, put my PJs back on, and got back into bed. I had more important problems than my raging hormones to worry about. I had yet to solve the problem of what to do about the stupid elite ball I had no business going to. Funny how I could still be influenced by peer pressure even as an adult!

I lay on my bed twiddling with the pre-invitation, or was it a save-the-date card? I knew better than to let Amy's crazy decisions override my common sense. It didn't make sense to dress up, wear a necklace that wasn't for me, and attend a party I wasn't technically invited to. Alarms might go off as I stepped into the building. Nick Saunders could rip the necklace off my neck and call the cops on me.

If I ever had a chance of working for his empire, impersonating someone else at his ball would destroy it. Saunders owned most of the city, so if I ever wanted a decent job in this town, the sensible thing to do was place that call and return everything to the right Sara.

Unless I wanted to work at the coffee shop until my hair turned gray.  

I grabbed my cell phone and punched the numbers on the card but hesitated to push the "talk" button. I stared at the phone until it timed out, then I did it again. What if Amy was right? All the good breaks I've had in life were due to Amy's input. She helped me get accepted into the college of my dreams and obtain a scholarship that covered most of my expenses. I still had to get student loans, but it would have been worse without the scholarships. She encouraged me to apply for jobs that I would never have had the courage to consider. Unfortunately, due to the economy souring, I wasn't able to get the job of my dreams with Saunders. So she had gotten me a job at the coffee shop while we looked for other jobs.

What was the worst that could happen if I did go to the ball? It wasn't my fault I got an invitation card addressed to me. If Nick Saunders got mad, I would simply return the necklace, apologize, and let myself out. Maybe if they needed a waitress, I could volunteer to help and earn some extra money while I was there.

Common sense, which had been escaping me more often recently, demanded that I call and inform them I had been accidentally invited. I punched the numbers on the phone again and pressed send. It rang a few times and went to a voicemail.

"This is Nick Saunders. Please leave a message."

Shit! The number was Nick's personal cell phone? The real Sara Nolles must be important enough to have direct access to him. I quickly hung up the phone as the beep sounded to leave a message. I was not going to leave a message for the richest man in town. What would I say to him?
Hi Nick, you invited me to a party and sent me this lovely necklace, but I can't go and I can't wear it because I'm not the real Sara Nolles. But my friend Amy thinks I should go, so I wanted to make sure it was okay with you.

Okay, that sounded dumb. Real Sara Nolles? When did I become the fake Sara? Maybe if I dialed again and just said that I got an invitation by error and wanted to get a return address? That sounded more reasonable and more adult.

I picked up the phone again and punched the number for the millionth time. What if he picked up? Was I ready to talk to him? Rich men frightened me. Maybe all that money and fame rubbed me the wrong way. I wasn't going to call him. I'll just drop by one of their offices on Monday and drop off the card with a note. I could ask him to have someone call me to arrange to pick up the necklace so I made sure it got back to him. I couldn't imagine how expensive the necklace was and how much trouble I could be in if I lost it.

With my decision firmly made, I got out of bed and put on some shorts and a tee. It was still early enough to go for another walk or even run a mile or two. As I laced my sneakers, strapped on my running watch, and cranked up the music on my headphones, I knew I had made a good decision regarding the party.

When I returned from my run, three miles and thirty minutes later, Amy was sitting in my apartment. I swear the way she showed up at my apartment as she pleased, it's hard to imagine she didn't live there.

"Running away from home?" I asked as I opened my door and found her sprawled on my bed flipping through the latest copy of
Fashionette
magazine. "Blueberry pancakes," I murmured as the familiar smell of her delicious pancakes hit my nose. Amy was the cook between the two of us. I always opted for carry-out and didn't think twice about ordering food for every meal. 

"Vanilla blueberry pancakes," she corrected. "You didn't have any sausage or bacon."

"Maybe because I hardly cook," I pointed out. “And maybe because I’m not a big meat person.”

"Maybe you should cook once in a while," she said as she got out of the bed and walked to the tiny kitchen. “And maybe you should buy sausage.”

"Amy, you know I can cook very well. I just choose not to cook,” I reminded her, slightly irritated, which was useless because it really never bothered Amy when I got mad at her.

"Sure you can cook. When was the last time you cooked? Fifth grade?" 

"Third maybe," I said, laughing. "I'll take a quick shower and be right out."

"Hurry up so the food doesn't get too cold!” she yelled as I disappeared in the shower.

"Yes, ma'am!" I called as I closed the bathroom door. In less than ten minutes, I was dressed in sweats and sitting with Amy. 

"So why are you here so early?" I asked between forkfuls of food. 

"We're going shopping," Amy said dryly.

"For what?" I asked. I was really short of money and shopping was not on my list of things to do. “I don’t need anything at the mall right now.”

"What do you mean?” she asked, slightly irritated. “Of course you need to go to the mall.”

“What do I need at the mall?” I asked.

“Your ball gown, idiot! The party is a week away and you have nothing to wear."

"Oh, a dress. Amy, you know I can't go. You know it doesn't make sense. It's sort of crazy and…” But even as I protested, I knew I was fighting a losing battle.

First off, I really did want to go to the ball. I wanted to see how the rich folks lived. And secondly, it had crossed my mind that Mr. Rich may be there. A guy who wore expensive watches, rode in limos, and dropped five hundred dollar tips certainly had to be on the guest list. Even though I hated to admit it, I was curious about him. I wanted to know his name or at least get to know him just a tad bit more.