Chapter 2
GRACE
Candace is definitely going to fire me now.
My hand clasps over my lips as embarrassment wells up inside me, coloring my cheeks red. Shame swirls through my stomach, and I think I might vomit.
“I’m so sorry—” I dab at his shirt with the small black napkin we serve drinks on, but it disintegrates, peppering him with lint.
“Stop.” His voice is commanding but calm, even as he places his hand over mine and pulls it from his shirt. The only sign of anger is the small tic in his jaw and his thinned lips. Otherwise, he looks eerily stoic about his whiskey-covered suit.
“I’m sorry,” I gush again. Tears burn at my lower lashes, threatening to spill over.
Crying has always been my first response to any onslaught of emotion.
He looks at me, studying my eyes, as if he’s waiting for the tears to come.
Something in him shifts, and I see the annoyance that was lingering fade away.
"Stop," he repeats, just as firmly, his tone even. "Breathe."
I suck in a breath, following his order, and somehow it begins to calm me.
"Again."
And again, I inhale deeply and blow it out, my heart rate slowing. When I look up, I find him staring at me, a curious expression lingering in his steel-colored eyes.
"Good girl," he says softly, his voice still thick with dominance.
Those two words wash over me, coating my skin with a layer of warmth.
Our eyes stay locked on each other, and I swear he's seeing something.
It gives me the urge to check my teeth or make sure my lipstick isn't smeared.
But before I can react, Candace arrives in a hurry, one of the hosts trailing behind her with a garment bag and a towel.
“Oh, Mr. Caine, my apologies.”
Caine.
The name rings an alarm bell in my head. There's a connection there. I know that name; I just can't place it.
Mr. Caine takes the towel but dismisses the garments with a wave of his hand, and the host scurries off.
“Grace.” The kindness Candace showed him disappears as she turns to me. “I’ll meet you in my office.”
I simply nod, refraining from opening my mouth out of fear of bursting into tears, and spin on my heel. I can hear Candace talking to Mr. Caine, apologizing once more.
It’s not long before she stomps into her office with a frown marking her ruby lips. Her hands slap her hips as she angles her flawless bone structure my way. “You’re fired.”
Even though I expected this, it doesn’t calm the anxiety that bubbles up in my chest. I can't lose this job.
“Please.” I’m not normally one for begging, but the word rushes from me so quickly. “Don’t fire me. It was an accident. Please, I’ll do better. Candace, I really ne—”
She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t care. You’re late, you’re rude, and now you spilled a drink on one of our most prestigious customers!” she shouts, her voice raising with each recap of why I’m the worst employee. “You’re done here.”
What the fuck am I going to do?
“Don’t cry,” Candace huffs. “Just pack your things and go. I’ll have one of the girls take your tables.”
I’m focusing on making it out of her office without bursting into tears instead of watching where I’m going. I’m not even two steps out when I smack into something solid, but instead of falling on my ass, someone wraps an arm around my waist and keeps me upright.
“Sorry,” I say like a reflex.
“You seem to say that a lot.”
The deep voice surprises me, and I look up to find Mr. Caine. I’m about to apologize again, but I snap my mouth closed and take a step back, freeing myself from his grip.
“So…” His eyebrow lifts. “Did she fire you?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Was he waiting here just to witness me at my lowest moment?
“Yes.” I avert my eyes, too embarrassed to see whatever amusement crosses his features. Rich people enjoy watching peasants like me suffer.
“That’s a shame,” he says, sounding genuine.
“What?” I look back up, brow pinched, studying his face to see if he’s fucking with me.
He steps closer, too close. I can smell him: cedar and sea salt. It invades my senses, making me dizzy. When I take a step back, there’s nowhere to go, my back pressing against the wall. His hand brackets the wall beside my hip as he takes another step and leans in close.
My body should be screaming alarm bells—men crowding my space always makes me feel that way now, ever since he destroyed everything. But my pulse races for different reasons. The humiliation of Candace's words still burns hotter than any panic.
“I said, that’s a shame. But”—he smiles the tiniest bit, his lips lifting slightly at the corners—“I think my shirt proves as evidence that waitressing isn't your calling.” He drops his chin to gesture down at his stained shirt.
Heat rises to my cheeks, my skin feeling like it’s on fire. I’m sure I’m bright red under his scrutiny. He’s watching me intently, waiting for me to say something else.
“I guess not,” I mutter.
“Sit with me.” He backs up a step, gesturing toward the table where his jacket and a fresh drink sit.
My head spins with questions.
“W-Why?” I’m sure my mouth is hanging open like a confused fool. Why in the world would he want me to sit with him?
“Sit with me,” he repeats. It’s not a question, more like a demand.
For whatever reason, my feet listen, and my body obeys. It’s not until we’ve reached the table, and he’s pulling out a chair for me that I stop. “I can’t,” I whisper.
“Do you have somewhere better to be?”
“No, but I—”
“Just got fired.”
“Yeah,” is all that leaves my lips, pouting and defeated.
“So you can’t sit with me because you’re no longer employed here?” One thick eyebrow quirks.
“I… Well, I don’t think… Uhm. I—" I stumble over my words as my heart beats faster. I don’t even know why I’m refusing his offer. Probably because I’m ashamed and emotional and overwhelmed by the reality of what it means to be officially jobless. “I have to get my things.”
“And after you get your things?”
My lips press together in a thin line. He’s relentless.
“Fine, at least tell me this. What’s your name?” he asks.
I'm running out of time before I collapse into a full-on breakdown, and I’d really like to be in my bedroom when that happens. But something is pulling me to this handsome stranger in the whiskey-covered suit.
“Grace,” I breathe out hesitantly.
“Grace…?”
He wants my last name too? I think better of it, but his intense gaze stares me down, wordlessly demanding an answer.
Maybe it's the good girl inside me—the one who always obeys, who makes sure she does nothing wrong so that no one has to worry about her—that feels the need to be compliant.
Or maybe it's the tone of his voice, the way he commands me.
“Morgan,” I finally say.
“Well, Miss Morgan, I might have an idea. If you’re interested, of course.”
An idea? “About?” I ask, even more tentative than I was a minute ago.
“A job,” he states coolly. His hand reaches into his pocket, plucking out a white business card that he places into my hand. “Come to my office the day after tomorrow, 11:30. I’ll fill you in on my proposal.”
Bewilderment swirls through my already messy brain. What could he possibly have to propose to me?
“I’ll see you then.” He speaks with the utmost confidence that I’ll absolutely be there. With one last glance he steps back, putting space between the two of us.
I watch as he walks away, abandoning his table and the fresh drink that was waiting for him. Instead, he grabs his coat and stalks out of the club.
Once he’s gone, I look down at the business card he placed in my palm.
Asher Caine.
My stomach flips. I should throw it away.
But I don't.