Eat Your Heart Out (Dark Princes of Northridge #3)

Chapter 1 Roxy

Crap. He saw me.

I’d been staring at him a little too long, wondering, Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that my husband Liam Murphy?

And fuck me, it was.

Too bad for me, he noticed me staring at the exact moment I recognized him. I turned away and shuffled towards the kitchen, ducking my burning face over my tray of empty cocktail glasses.

What was he doing here? I’d picked this job for a reason, waitressing in an upscale steakhouse in Old Town, trying to stay far away from Liam and his family’s territory.

Feeling mortified, I dropped the tray off in the kitchen and pushed myself through the swinging door. Liam was waiting for me, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

He hitched himself off the wall when I came back out and walked right up to me, his green eyes blazing like firelit emeralds, intense with concern. And something else. Something sad.

“Hey. When we’re you planning to let me know you were in town?” he said.

I shrank back towards the wall. I’d forgotten how tall he was, especially when he towered over me like that. “Sorry. I was just trying to find the right time. Are you here alone? With friends?”

“Friends,” Liam said, fixing me with a perplexed stare.

I stared right back, chin raised defiantly.

I hadn’t been able to look at myself in the mirror for a few hours, but I had a good idea of how I looked.

My uniform, a black V-neck top with a black velvet skirt, was designed to flatten me out and make me blend into the background.

Approaching the end of an eight-hour shift, my hair was loosening from my bun, the roots grimy with sweat and smoke.

Meanwhile, Liam looked good. He was dressed in a sharp, navy blue blazer over a black tee, fitted black jeans, and some luxurious-looking boots. I tried not to look very impressed as I scanned him up and down. Meanwhile, he shook his head at me.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment.

I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose, reminding myself to stay calm. “Don’t do this, Liam.”

“You don’t have to work like this. Just come home,” Liam continued.

“I can’t do this right now, okay? I have four tables and the chefs are pissed that the day crew did absolutely no prep-“ I held my hand up, forcing myself to pause. “We’ll talk after my shift, okay?”

“What time?” Liam demanded, fixing me with an unblinking stare. God, I forgot how it felt to be the subject of that gaze. It was like standing in the sun after a lifetime spent in caves, addicting to a toxic degree.

I had to give myself a shake, knock some sense back into my head. “Nine-thirty. Okay? At nine-thirty, meet me at the diner across the street.”

“I’ll be there,” Liam said firmly, in that unwavering tone that communicated his thoughts so clearly. He said it without really saying it: And you better be too.