Serving the Billionaire
an hour ago,” he said, and I took a step toward him without meaning to. I liked coffee, and I never got to drink the good stuff, just whatever swill was on sale that week at the grocery store. Carter probably had his coffee flown in directly from Jamaica. I would be an idiot if I turned down this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to drink a billionaire’s swanky coffee.
    It was kind of terrifying how easy it was to justify my decisions. Or else it was just that Carter kept making it easy: first the money, then the hot sex, now the hot coffee. I hadn’t been able to say no to him yet. I wondered if I would ever be able to.
    “A cup of coffee sounds good,” I said, and watched as one corner of his mouth curled into that familiar half-smile.
    He disappeared into the kitchen, and I draped my coat over the back of the chair across from his and took a seat. He had a stack of papers resting beside his laptop, and an open file with some sort of official-looking document inside. It surprised me that he was working already, so early; didn’t he have people to take care of paperwork for him? But maybe that was the difference between being a millionaire and being a billionaire. Carter hadn’t gotten where he had by being lazy and outsourcing grunt work.
    He returned with a mug and set it down in front of me. “I don’t know how you take your coffee,” he said. “There’s creamer in the fridge, and sugar—”
    “Black is fine,” I said, even though I usually drank my coffee with a generous pour of creamer. I didn’t want to cause him any trouble. He was obviously busy, and I was interrupting. I was keeping him from his work. I just wanted to drink my coffee and leave.
    He sat down and immediately directed his attention to his laptop. I raised my mug and blew on the steaming coffee. It smelled incredible. I took a hesitant sip. Still too hot to drink, but rich and full-bodied in a way that supermarket coffee never was. It was too bad that I wouldn’t be able to linger and fully enjoy it.
    He glanced up at me and gave me a rueful smile. “I’m sorry for ignoring you like this,” he said. “I have a conference call with the president at 11, and I need to review these files before I speak with him.”
    “The president of your company?” I asked. I didn’t know anything about business, but I knew that companies had presidents. I was pretty sure.
    His mouth did something that I couldn’t interpret. “The president of the United States,” he said.
    I didn’t have anything to say in response to that. I curled my shoulders forward and sipped my coffee. What was I doing here with this man who had the President on speed-dial? I was a waitress. I was an ordinary person. I had nothing to offer Carter; I could only hold him back.
    The realization washed over me in a flood of embarrassment. My face went hot. I couldn’t believe I had indulged a single fantasy, however far-fetched, of dating him, of getting to know him, of somehow becoming a part of his life. We were from two entirely different worlds. I had nothing to offer to Carter beyond sex.
    We sat in silence for a few minutes as I sipped at my coffee and he typed at his laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. I wondered what he was going to talk to the President about. I couldn’t imagine a world in which I was important enough to talk to the leader of the free world. What would I even say? I wondered if Carter ever felt nervous, talking to the powerful, important people he knew. Probably not. He was a powerful, important person too.
    Just as I was sinking into the benthic depths of self-pity, he shut his laptop with an authoritative snap and pinned me with a searching glance. “So, I suppose this is when we’re supposed to make stilted morning-after conversation.”
    I laughed awkwardly and looked down at my coffee mug. “I wouldn’t know.”
    He didn’t say anything, and I glanced up at him quickly, feeling shy. He was watching me with an expression that made me

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