Romance: What The Billionaire Wants by Elizabeth Ward

 
     
     
     
    My feet are aching but the music is good in the Star Nine-Five bar, so I manage to keep the smile on my face as I carry yet another tray of cocktails to table seven.
    As I lean down to place the drinks on the table, I can’t miss the way the guys check out my boobs and butt. The one closest to me isn’t even trying to hide his pervert session, even though he’s got one tattooed arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.
    Oh, and she’s glaring at me.
    I stifle a sigh. I probably won’t be getting a tip from this table now. How is it my fault that her boyfriend is a sleazebag?
    As I head back to the bar, three sets of lustful eyes on my butt, I roll my eyes dramatically at my boss, Gemma, and she sends me a wink before turning to another customer with a wide smile.
    Gemma is a machine. She’s been on her feet even longer then I have and yet she still looks radiant and bubbly. I might resent it if she hadn’t been my best friend since high school. We’ve seen each other through enough hard times to be soul mates and I know that her exterior is a mask, just like mine; she’s just better at holding hers in place.
    Her father owns the Star Nine-Five and put Gemma in charge while he travels and generally enjoys his retirement. Under her management, she turned it from a back alley dive into a popular, out of the way club serving scrumptious cocktails and meals, and offering a stage to various indie bands passing through. It has become the ‘It Place’ to people in-the-know almost overnight.
    “Yo! Can we get another round over here?” A rowdy group of guys at table fourteen yell and I set my smile in place before making my way over.
    “Looking good sexy,” the loudest one states while staring at my breasts.
    Sigh.
    Two hours later, the band is packing up and the crowd is thinning.
    “Heads up,” Gemma warns, peering over my shoulder. “Your stalker’s arrived.”
    A thrill ripples through my veins but I refuse to let it phase me. He’s just another guy looking to get lucky, nothing more.
    “He’s not my stalker,” I say, poking my tongue petulantly at Gemma as I drop the cloth I’d been using into the bucket.
    I turn just in time to see our newest regular making his way towards the bar and feel my breath catch in my throat.
    He’s been coming to the bar every night for the last two weeks.
    And always dressed impeccably in three-piece suits and ties.
    He never arrives before ten and always sits in my section, always alone. Although he’s usually sitting when I talk to him, I know he’d dwarf me if he stood up.
    Everything about him seems to be at war with everything else.
    His black suit and crisp white shirt stretch over a seriously hard body, wide shoulders, and long legs.
    His hair is long, hanging almost to his shoulders in jagged edges and is almost as black as his suit.
    And a damn handsome face.
    A straight, slightly too long nose, angular jawline and delicious lips all seem to make his already severe expression that much more intimidating.
    And that’s what makes his impact that much stronger.
    He strides into the bar on those impossibly long legs, looking like he’s forging into battle. Then his gaze lands on me, just like it has right now.
    I swallow hard, my stomach flipping as tiny lines form either side of his cool blue eyes and his mouth curls into a smile that could only be described as heart-stopping. He gives me a salute with two manicured fingers and takes a seat in my section.
    “My gosh, he wants you…” Gemma gives me a cheeky smirk when my face flushes. “To take his order.”
    “Funny,” I smile, grabbing a pad and making my way over.
    When I reach his table, I offer a bright smile and say, “Hello, again. Are you ready to order?”
    “Scotch and ice.” His voice is deep and smooth with a slight accent, possibly Irish.
    His voice alone sends chills down my spine.
    My gaze drops to his lips just in time to watch him lick them and my mouth goes dry. His gaze