Read The Billionaire's Heart (The Silver Cross Club Book 4) Online
Authors: Bec Linder
The Billionaire's Heart (The Silver Cross Club Book 4) (31 page)
“Sure thing, boss,” he said, and winked at me.
I went inside.
The club was in its usual state of pre-opening stasis. A couple of the dancers were sitting at the bar, intent on their phones, but most of them were still in the dressing room getting ready. The waitresses who had already arrived were gathered around the bar, chatting with Mike, the bartender, who was slicing fruit for drink garnishes. The conversation petered out as I approached. I was used to it; I had a reputation for being No Fun.
“Hi, Beth,” Mike said, and the waitresses murmured their greetings.
“Hi,” I said. I stashed my purse beneath the bar and took a quick head count. I had scheduled six girls to work tonight, and five of them were already there. Only Nina was missing.
What a pain. Germaine did her best to hire reliable workers, but it was impossible to get it right 100% of the time. It was my job, as head waitress, to ride herd and let Germaine know when it was time to let someone go. If Nina showed up late tonight, that was her last strike, as far as I was concerned.
“Nina isn’t here yet,” Amy said. She had been working at the club even longer than I had, and seemed to think of herself as my right-hand woman. Mostly harmless, but it could be annoying when she prodded me to address an issue I wasn’t ready to handle yet.
Like now. “Javier told me,” I said. “She isn’t late yet.”
“She probably will be,” Keisha said. “She texted me earlier and said she was really hungover.”
I ground my teeth. The waitresses had a distinct pecking order, and Nina hadn’t yet established her place in the hierarchy. The girls who had been working at the club for a while usually stuck up for each other and presented a united front, but Nina was still an unknown quantity, and they all wanted to see me chew her out for their own entertainment. I wasn’t happy about it—employment issues weren’t for public enjoyment, and they caused genuine problems for both me and Germaine—but there was no way to deal with this catty nonsense without making the waitresses feel chastised and defensive. I wasn’t in the mood to put up with their sulking all night.
So I just said, “None of you need to be worrying about this. I’ll deal with it. Who’s working a private party tonight?”
They all exchanged glances, as if I wasn’t standing right there watching them do it. Amy said, “Me and Tubs are doing Wilkinson’s party.”
“Good,” I said. I glanced at my watch again. Five minutes. “I need to speak with Germaine. Please send Nina to see me when she gets here.”
“Germaine’s in there with some dude,” Amy said.
“So I heard,” I said. “I’ll take my chances.”
I walked away, rolling my eyes. I liked the other waitresses, for the most part, but sometimes it really seemed like I was dealing with a bunch of kindergartners. I had been working at the club for too long. Most of the waitresses were young, in their early 20s, and they stayed a year or two at most before they moved on to other things. I got older every year, and they all stayed the same age.
Not that I was especially old and wizened. I was only twenty-five.
I felt a lot older than twenty-five.
Germaine’s office door was open a crack. I peered inside, not wanting to disturb her if she was in there with a client. She was seated at her desk, frowning—not an unusual state of affairs for Germaine. The man she was speaking to had her back turned to me, and I couldn’t see his face.
I started to back away, but Germaine made eye contact with me and beckoned me into the room with a tilt of her head.
I knocked to alert the man that I was coming in, and then eased the door open. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said.
“Not at all,” Germaine said to me. “Please come in.” She glanced at the man and then said, “You should probably close the door behind you.”
That was a little strange, but I did as she said. “It’s about Nina,” I said.
Germaine opened her mouth, closed it again, pursed her lips, and looked again at the man. I still couldn’t see his face. He was tall, dark-haired, and wearing a nice suit. Standard client fare. I saw men just like him every night of the week. I didn’t know what had Germaine so unsettled, but she was very obviously displeased about something this man had said or done.
“Should I come back later?” I asked.
And then the man turned around and said, “Please don’t, Bee. I was hoping we could have a talk.”
My heart started pounding in my chest.
Bee
. Nobody had called me that in eight years. Not since—
But I didn’t know this man. I didn’t recognize him.
Dark hair, gray eyes, clean-shaven. Tall. Broad shoulders. Big hands hanging at his sides. Our eyes met. He smiled at me, lopsided, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other, and then I knew.
I knew him.
My God.
It was Max, after all these years: Max, alive, breathing, and standing here in Germaine’s office, smiling at me.
I took a step toward him and slapped him across the face.
_____________________
Coming early 2015.
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Other Books by Bec Linder
The Silver Cross Club
Author's Note
While I fudged many things about Elliott’s work and about international development in general (if you work in the field, please forgive me), access to clean water is a real and serious problem. According to the World Health Organization, 1.6 million people die each year from diarrheal diseases that result from inadequate access to sanitation and safe drinking water.
I’ll be donating a portion of the proceeds from this book to Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders).
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to D, for helping me come up with the title, and to Debbie, for the truly excellent photomanipulation work.
I am grateful to Mr. Linder, as always, for everything. I would not have finished this book without his unwavering encouragement and support.
And thank you to all of my readers.
©
2014 Bec Linder, all rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. References to real places and entities are used for verisimilitude and are intended as fictitious representations.
Cover design
©
Bec Linder. Cover photograph Dreamstime.com