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“Is it that obvious? I really need this job to go well.”
I bite my tongue before confessing how unlikely anyone will notice the way I have because no one else is glued to her every move. “You're doing fine. Though you do resemble a scared rabbit.”
Instead of becoming indignant, she giggles. I’d talk forever if it meant hearing that joyful, giddy sound. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
I drop into the nearest chair with no regard for whether this is my table. Who cares? As if I'd sit anywhere but where she'll be, where I have the excuse to gaze upon her, the possibility of brushing against her as she places a plate in front of me. This is beneath her, all of it. She ought to be here at my side rather than serving food.
If anyone has a problem with me taking their seat, they're smart enough not to show it. I make no attempt to join in with the conversation at the table, all of which is meaningless, anyway. Winter is my entire focus, my purpose. I need a minute alone with her. I need to find her after this. She'll never serve anyone again—unless I'm in the mood for that, and it's just the two of us. That's another story, one which sets my dick to thickening while discreetly covered by the tablecloth.
She returns to the kitchen after clearing the salad plates, and once she disappears behind the swinging door, I allow my gaze to travel beyond there to the tables surrounding mine. Josh Crawley sits two tables over. The sight of him eyeing the kitchen door as I was only seconds ago sets off alarm bells in my head.
Everything in the world melts away, the entirety of my focus drilling down until Josh Crawley is firmly in my crosshairs. No fucking way. He will not. I’d slit his fucking throat.
“Hey there. You might want to watch yourself with that knife.” Only when the man sitting to my left nudges me do I realize there’s a steak knife clutched in my right hand.
I drop the knife when Crawley gets up from his chair, headed through the ballroom doors. I'm out of my chair, intent on following him. It's about time someone set him straight on his true place in the world and how no one sets their sights on what's already mine.
“Warren!” A woman I vaguely recognize as the charity's chairwoman places herself between me and Crawley's retreating figure. “We were hoping you would announce the final figure we raised this year.”
“Give me a minute, please.” I brush past her as politely as possible, given the circumstances. Where is he, the bastard?
The restrooms are directly across the hall from the ballroom, but that's not where Crawley was headed. No, he’s beside the door leading into the kitchen, his back to me, one palm against the wall as he leans in. “There was nothing wrong with my food. I only said that to get your attention.”
There's no seeing what's between him and the wall. But I don't need to see. I hear her. “I'm sorry, sir, but I need to get back into the kitchen.” She tries to slide past him, but he angles himself to stop her. “I have to go, sir.”
“If you tell anybody Mr. Crawley wanted to have a word with you, they'll understand.”
Everything around me goes red while the war drums begin pounding in my head. “Crawley!” My shoes slap against the floor in time with my pounding heart. “I think the young lady told you she has a job to do.”
He's sneering when he turns my way, squinting as if trying to place the face. “Oh, it's you. The guy who thinks he's going to steal my company out from under me. What, you think I don't hear things?”
As if that matters now, with Winter trembling. The urge to hold her is almost too much to fight. “This young woman has a job to do, and you’re being an ass.”
“Why don't you mind your own business? I'll deal with you another time.”
That's when he makes his mistake. That's when he reaches out and chucks her on the chin. “I was just telling her how much I appreciate the fine job she's doing tonight.”
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I snarl, slapping his hand away from her face, making her yelp like a wounded animal.
The kitchen door swings open, and a man in a suit and a name tag joins us.Manager. “What is this?” He glares at Winter. “We're plating the next course. What are you doing out here?”
“I... I mean...”
He turns away from her, looking at Josh and myself. “My apologies. Some of these kids use events like this to get friendly with our guests.”
“What can I say?” Josh asks with a grin and a shrug, the picture of affable respectability now. “I’m a sucker for a pretty face. Though you might want to be more careful about who you hire for these events.”
“Wait a minute.” I take him by the shoulder, turning him around. “You know damn well—”
“Please, gentlemen, allow me to handle this.” The manager looks Winter up and down. “Get your things and go.”
Her mouth falls open.
“This is unnecessary.” That's nowhere near what I want or need to say.
Winter bursts into tears before disappearing through the swinging door. The manager mumbles further apologies before following her. Dammit. If I didn't know it would end up across the front page of every newspaper by morning, I would set things right here and now. Preferably by snapping Crawley’s neck, then pissing on his dead body.
I'll find her. I'll set things right then.
