Chapter 1
One
Cressida
Twenty-Three Years Old
“Order up,” Harland Wilts, the only cook at the twenty-four-hour greasy-spoon diner I’d unfortunately been working at for the past month called out.
There were two truckers, a table of firemen who had just gotten off the night shift, and Burt—the homeless man I had given ten dollars to so he could come in and eat since the temperature had dropped this week.
I worked from four in the morning until four in the afternoon.
The hours were long and exhausting, but if I ever wanted to save enough money to get a better place to live, then I needed to work the twelve-hour shifts.
Truth was, I wasn’t far from being as homeless as Burt.
Seeing him buried under old blankets on my walk to work reminded me how close I was to being in that situation.
It was still better than the alternative.
Running had been my only option. No one was going to find me here.
Even if my father tried, which I doubted he would, he wouldn’t look for me at a place like the diner.
“You gonna let him sit there all day? I can smell him from here,” Harland grumbled, looking toward Burt with disgust.
Harland was balding, with a large gut from beer and a poor diet. He was also as greasy as the food he fried. I didn’t like him, but I had to work with him every day.
“You can’t smell anything over the scent of fried meat,” I replied, snatching up the early bird special that the trucker at table six had ordered.
What the special should be named was a heart attack waiting to happen.
Four fried eggs, hash browns covered in cheese and bacon, two biscuits with sausage gravy, and cheese grits.
If Maybelle and Tipper Elp—the couple who owned this place—decided to put calories on the menu, then they would likely go out of business.
This one meal had to have at least five thousand calories in it.
“Sun’s come up. He’s got blankets. He needs to go,” Harland told me.
If I replied the way I wanted to, then he’d be difficult to work with the rest of the day.
I bit my tongue and walked away to deliver the plates of unhealthy food to the trucker instead.
The high today was only going to be thirty-one.
That was rare in Mississippi, even two days before December.
I was not letting Burt stay out in that.
He was almost seventy years old. Harland could go sit out in it though.
On Thanksgiving, we’d been packed with the usual clientele and some single dads with their kids.
The cold snap had hit that day, but there were no available tables for Burt.
I took him out a meal and a large box I’d saved from a recent delivery.
It wasn’t heat, but it had been something to help keep him out of the wind.
“Here you go,” I said brightly as I set the plate down in front of the trucker. “I’ll freshen up that cup of coffee,” I assured him. “Can I get you anything else?”
I tried not to cringe at the leering smile he gave me. It came with the job. Most of the time, the customers didn’t harass me.
“Could use a little hot sauce,” he replied.
“I’ll be right back.” Not waiting around for him to say anything more and wanting to get away from him as he let his eyes wander down my body, I turned to go grab the coffeepot.
The sound of the bell from the door being opened caused me to pause.
This was a seat-yourself establishment, but I needed to see where they’d be sitting and how many so I could grab them menus.
What I expected to see was another trucker or perhaps one of the night-shift employees from the hospital less than a mile away.
It wasn’t either. It was a woman and she was out of place.
The lady had to be lost. Maybe she was passing through town.
It wasn’t dangerous around here, but she wouldn’t know that.
I doubted she’d ever stepped foot in a place like this.
I knew her purse was a Louis Vuitton, her heels were Louboutin, and I’d bet my next three tips that the Burberry scarf around her neck was one hundred percent authentic.
I decided to go see if I could help her before getting table six’s coffee and hot sauce.
The scent of her perfume greeted me as I reached her, and it smelled as expensive as she looked.
She had to be from out of town. Sure, there was money in Madison, but they wouldn’t be coming in this place for a meal.
“Good morning,” I said as she watched me approach. “Can I help you?” I didn’t add, Because we both know you’re not here for the food.
She began tugging off her elbow-length butter-colored leather gloves and glanced around.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I’d like a cup of coffee.
” Then she turned her gaze back to mine.
“I’ll take that booth if that’s okay.” She nodded toward one that sat farthest away from the rest of the customers.
“Uh, yes, um, all right.”
I battled between just letting her sit down and getting her what she’d asked for or telling her how bad the coffee actually was.
Harland made it so strong that it could make hair grow on your arms. Not to mention, it was some cheap brand that came in bulk.
From the looks of this woman, I imagined she drank something more bougie.
Like French-pressed from freshly ground beans.
The woman headed to the booth, and I watched her, wincing at the thought of her sitting down even though I’d wiped it clean an hour ago. She was most likely wearing Chanel under that coat. Or some other designer that cost more than what the owners of this place made in a year.
Finally turning back toward the coffeepot, I noticed some of the other diners staring over at her curiously.
She seemed oblivious to the fact, or she just didn’t care.
I hurried to get the things for table six and then went to pour her what might be the worst coffee she had ever tasted.
She was texting on her phone when I returned, but she stopped and lifted her gaze to meet mine.
“This is bad,” I said under my breath so that Harland didn’t hear me. “I just thought you should be warned before taking a sip.”
Her lips quirked up in amusement. “I’ll proceed with caution,” she replied.
“I can get you real cream from the back if you like instead of the powder stuff they have for you to use on the table,” I told her, nodding toward the condiment basket.
She glanced at it, then swung her eyes back to mine. “That would be more preferable,” she replied. “Thank you.”
Relieved to be able to do something to make the coffee taste possibly drinkable, I started to turn and go back to the kitchen.
“Before you go,” she said, stopping me.
I looked back at her, hoping she wasn’t going to order food.
We had not one thing on our menu that she would want.
“Do you like working here?” she asked.
That caused me to pause. My hackles rose, and I took a step back.
She didn’t belong here. She was asking questions about me.
Had my father sent her? Or worse … had Arthur?
I swallowed nervously. I was an adult. I hadn’t thought they would find me here, but if so, they couldn’t force me to come back.
Besides, my stepmother had to be thrilled I’d left.
She wouldn’t want me to return. I would quit and find another job.
“Why are you asking me that?” The defensive edge in my tone was sharp, but she didn’t wince.
“Because you seem out of place here.”
I seemed out of place? Had she looked in a mirror?
A short laugh escaped me. “I was thinking the same about you.”
She smiled then, a full one, as amusement danced in her eyes.
“It’s a first for me. But it seems I might have found more than bad coffee.
You see, I’m in need of a sitter for my elderly aunt.
She needs help around the house and someone to drive her places.
” Her gaze flickered across the restaurant with disdain before coming back to me.
“I don’t need to know why you’re here, but I like your honesty and willingness to help.
Your concern over my coffee and desire to make it better when you didn’t have to try.
It says a lot about your character. The job would pay better, and, well”—she paused—“Aunt Glenda is delightful company. You’d have to live there though.
In one of the guest rooms. We don’t want her to be alone at night. ”
I blinked. Processed what I had heard and tried not to stand there, gaping at her. She didn’t know me, and she was offering me a job and to live for free with her elderly aunt?
I was sleeping on a blanket on the floor in a studio apartment in a very bad part of town.
It didn’t have hot water, and I’d been able to get it for two hundred fifty dollars a month versus three hundred seventy-five because of the no hot water thing.
However, once the new water heater was installed, my rent was going up to three hundred seventy-five dollars.
I also only had two more days before I was to show them my proof of renters insurance, which I did not have yet.
“If you’d like to take a day to think it over or perhaps meet my aunt first …” the woman continued when I stayed silent.
“No—yes—I mean, yes, I’d like the job,” I blurted out without even hearing what the pay was.
I’d just heard about the bedroom and agreed blindly.
She had said it would pay better though.
But honestly, even if it didn’t, without the cost of rent and insurance to worry about, it didn’t have to pay better.
I would also be safe at night and could possibly sleep.
Right now, I was too on edge to rest completely.
The woman smiled then, appearing to relax somewhat. Almost as if she’d been sent to find me, but that was silly. My father wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t care enough. And Arthur, well, he’d manipulate things until I had to return.
“Seems my flat tire has turned out not to be bad luck after all,” the woman said, then held out her hand to me. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Grissele Cash.”
Cash? That name sent a surge of emotions through me.
Even when used as a surname. Kash Savelle immediately rushed to the front of my thoughts triggering so many suppressed things.
Memories of a time when life had been safe, when I’d felt alive, when all it had taken was one look from him and all was right in the world.
Wait … I knew that surname. Was she one of those Cashes?
No, she wouldn’t be related. I knew from my past that one of their women would never be left to wait on someone to change her tire if she had a flat.
She’d have a driver slash bodyguard. And she would never have hired me to live with her aunt without a background check.
I wiped my hand on the apron I was wearing, afraid I’d get grease on her, then took hers to shake it. “Cressida Beck,” I told her, impressed by the firm grip she had. I’d not expected that.
“It’s nice to meet you, Cressida.”