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I pray that they don’t remember my middle name. Or my mother’s maiden name. “Sky Milano,” I answer him casually.
They both keep their expressions neutral. Except I see when Rory draws in a silent breath and his jaw ticks.
Not good. Not good.
“You new around here?” Sebastian shoots another question while coolly sipping on his drink.
I know what they are doing because some things never change. One asks the questions. The other gauges the responses and reactions. It’s like good cop, bad cop. Except they aren’t good and they damn sure are not cops.
“Sky,” I hear Tristan, the manager, call from behind me. “I need you in section four. Half the Raptors football team just walked in.”
Relief floods through me at the unintended rescue, and I quickly leave the two of them. I don’t have to turn around to know Rory has left the curtain area. I can feel his eyes burning into me as I walk away.
I make a mental note to double my efforts to find another job because one thing is for certain. I cannot work here.
Rory
I watched as the new waitress walked off. My spine still tingled and the hair on my neck still stood on end. I only ever reacted this way to one person. One girl. The girl I let get away. The girl who still possessed my every thought.
The waitress didn’t look entirely like her. She had on enough makeup that it would make a Vegas drag queen proud. It was obvious it was to change her features. Her eyes were wrong too. Brown instead of that sea glass green, but contacts could do that.
Then there was that god-awful wig because, of course, it was a wig. It was too sleek. Too perfectly cut, and that scarlet color was obviously not natural.
Her body was different too. Her long legs were much more tone. They gave way to wider hips and a full tight ass. Probably from walking in those boots all the time. And damn those tits that were bigger and much fuller.
There was no physical indication that it was the same girl from years ago.
Except.
That voice. That sexy, raspy voice with the slight southern drawl. Sweet and seductive. The face may be off, but that was the same voice that has haunted my dreams for the last ten years.
“Rory,” Bastian grunts with a hand on my shoulder, “sit down. You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“Sky Milano? You recognize that name?” I ask him. Because I recognize it.
“Just part of it,” he replies looking at me with a worried expression.
I finally take a seat back at the table but angle myself and the curtain so I can keep watching her. “Sky,” I say thoughtfully. “She seem familiar to you?”
He keeps an eye on me while taking a sip of his drink. “You know she did.”
I move to get up, but he places a hand on my arm. “Don’t, Rory,” he demands.
I glare at him, silently demanding an explanation. He just gives me an arrogant smirk. I intimidate a lot of people. Bastian isn’t one of them.
“Leave her alone, Rory. If it is her then she doesn’t want anyone to recognize her.”
“You mean she doesn’t want me to recognize her,” I riposte. “I want to know if it’s her.”
“Why?” he demands with a shake of his head. “You told her to leave, Rory. Ten years ago. It’s not her. Even if it is, look at the trouble she’s gone through to look different. It’s better this way. Do you remember why you told her to leave?”
My eyes close at the memory. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about, but he was right. I tell him as much then change the subject. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Distributors on the South side have been running into issues with Rossi’s guys.”
“Not surprising,” I nod. “After the hotels, he’s pissed.”
“If we go through them, we could lose a lot of guys.”
