Page 122 of Fighting for His Life

He tips up his shoulders with a smile.

“Fine,” I sigh. “Not like I have a choice. Do I?”

“Just remember to get the order right and don’t keep him waiting too long. You’ll be fine.” He looks over my shoulder, “he just went to his table.”

“Here goes nothing,” I grimace.

“Atta girl,” he grins widely. “And don’t forget to smile.

I square my shoulders and flash my five-thousand-dollar smile that three years of braces give me. When I get to the curtain, the voice behind the curtain sends chills down my spine. I know that voice. It’s one of the reasons I’m wearing a wig and six pounds of makeup.

I almost turn away, but I need this damn job. All I can do is pray my disguise is enough.

I peak around the heavy drapery and lay eyes on the black hair and hazel eyes of my past. He looks so much the same. The angles of his face are sharper. His shoulders are wider, but I would recognize him anywhere.

The boy who stole my heart then told me to leave.

Rory McCabe.

Layla

I suck in a breath, praying my voice stays steady. “What can I get for you tonight, sir?” I wince at the high pitch to my voice.

He ignores me for several seconds giving me a chance to admire how sexy he looks in a suit. His dark hair hangs around his ears when we were kids. Now it is very closely cut on the sides and back, fading upward to longer lengths on top. Also new is the light stubble on his face that was once only clean shaven.

Wait! No, no, no. I should not be checking him out.

He is the reason a reason I didn’t use my real name. He is one of the reasons I look like a Pretty Woman reject. He broke my heart. He absolutely cannot know who I am or that I am in the city.

I get my racing heart under control as well as my runaway thoughts.

“Patron.” I knew that. “Bring the bottle and two glasses.”

Why does he need two glasses? Does he have a girlfriend joining him? A late-night hookup.

It doesn’t matter, Layla.

“Can I get you anything else?” I’m relieved to find my voice is back to normal.

Except when he noticeably stiffens then snaps his head up at me, I realize that might not be such a good thing after all. His hazel eyes narrow taking in the red wig and then move to my eyes which are covered in brown contacts.

My breath almost catches when I see a flicker of regret and sadness cross his too handsome face. It’s gone in a flash. “That’ll be all for now.”

I nod in response, deciding it would do me better to speak as little as possible. I turn to go back through the curtain only to bump into a solid wall of muscle. “I’m sorry,” I say before snapping my lips shut when I look up to see Sebastian Delrie.

Because, with your luck who else could it possibly be you twit.

Like Rory, Bastian narrows his eyes trying to place recognition. Except he’s too close. Close enough to see the layers of makeup. Close enough to see the green of my eyes behind the contacts. Close enough to know exactly who I am.

I drop my gaze to the floor then quickly move around him. Once on the other side of the curtain, I blow out a hard breath. I practically sprint to the bar avoiding another collision with a customer. I cling to the hardwood top for several seconds willing myself to get it together. If either of them notices my nervousness, they will know something’s up.

I am a pro at hiding things and keeping secrets. Something I learned from Rory and perfected with Damien. Should be a piece of cake. Right?

Once I’ve gotten the Patron and glasses, I make sure to plaster on my biggest fake smile and lying eyes. I slide back through the curtain and set the bottle and glasses on the table. I quickly try to exit the area. Try being the optimal word because Bastian ain’t having it.

“What’s your name?” he asks me pouring his glass.

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

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