The VIP Room(146)

NYU is notorious for its crappy financial aid. No way they're offering a full ride. Which means there’s no way we can afford it. Not right now.

She sighs. She can see it written all over my face. And she knows it, too.

Lizzy crushes the letter into a tiny ball and tosses it in the trash. "A SUNY makes more sense. I still have my Stanford application. And USC."

And a bunch of other schools far, far away.

"We'll find a way to cover your tuition," I say.

"There isn't a way." Her voice cracks like all the hope is draining from it. "It's not the end of the world. The school in Albany is great and only a few hours on the train." She takes a step back to her room. "It's okay, Kat."

My heart sinks. The plan is supposed to be great school, great job, great life--not best school that offers a scholarship, okay job, okay life. Lizzy deserves this. She's been through so much.

"There must be a way," I say. I'll do whatever it takes.



* * *



Blake is sitting in my section. All smug and sure of himself like he specifically requested to sit there. Or maybe that isn't his smug look. I don't really know the guy. He has the same impenetrable expression he did last time I saw him.

Fine. I can still do my job.

I make my way to Blake's table and skip the usual formalities. "Hi."

He studies my expression. "Did you ice your ankle?"

"And I rested all yesterday." Not that it's any of his business. "Can I get you something?"

"Whiskey. Rocks."

"You'll get that faster at the bar."

"I prefer here."

"I'll have that right up." I step back with my best customer service smile. But the other day, he said he hated that. I drop the smile. Shit. I can't let some stranger dictate when or if I smile.

His eyes are on me the entire time I punch in the drink order. This time of day, middle of the afternoon, it's so dead there's nowhere else to look.

I pretend I'm busy, arranging the salt and pepper shakers so they're extra neat.

When the drink is ready, I drop it off without a word.

"Wait," he says.

"I have-"

"I'm the only person here." He pulls out the chair next to him. "Have a seat."

"My manager won't like that."

"I'll have a word with her then." He holds my gaze. "Very complimentary."

I swallow hard. Somehow, I believe that Blake could convince my manager that sitting with him is the pillar of customer service.

God knows I could use a minute to rest.

I side into the chair, doing my best to smooth my already dirty white shirt. "Well?"

"How does your ankle feel?"

"Fine." I press my palms against the chair. "You know, I really don't need your help."

Those piercing eyes find mine. "You don't know how I can help."

His voice is low and deep and impossible to read.

I'd ask who the hell he thinks he is, but he's a billionaire CEO. He knows exactly who he is.

"I'm not interested," I say. "You've done your good deed and checked on me. Let's leave it at that."

"That's a fair assessment."

I fold my arms over my chest. "Glad you agree."

"But we have something else to discuss."

His hand closes around my wrist and a gentle buzz spreads through my body. I feel warm everywhere. Hot even.

I want him touching me. It's shocking how much I want this stranger touching me. I want him ripping off this stupid blouse and these black jeans and touching me everywhere.

Deep breath. He's a hot guy. That's it. I won't let him drive me out of my mind.

"What is that?" I ask.

He leans back in the chair. "You were interviewing for a job the other day."

That grabs my attention. I shake my head to rid it of illicit thoughts and motion to him be quiet. Managers aren't too fond of their employees looking for better jobs.

He nods. "Is this a profession you enjoy--waiting tables?"

This guy must come from money. Only way he'd ask a question like that.

I take a deep breath to calm down. "We can't all be tech CEOs."

Blake has no reaction to that.

He leans a little closer, those piercing eyes on mine. "You're a very beautiful girl."

There's a flutter in my stomach. Then somewhere below it. "Thank you."

"I bet you clean up very well."

"Excuse me?" My work outfit isn't the paragon of sexy, but still. He seemed so well-mannered.

"I have a proposition for you. It's unorthodox."

I bite my tongue. Can't yell at customers. "I'm not a whore."

"I wouldn't be paying you for sex."

All intentions of whispering go out the window. I get loud. "What--you'd pay for the time and we'd happen to have sex? I know how this kind of thing goes. I wasn't born yesterday." I push my chair back and jump to my feet.

Blake takes a slow sip of his whiskey and motions for me to sit. "No. It's a job."

I dig my hands into my thighs and take a step away from the table. "Whatever you want, I'm not interested."