The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

10 - a bargain

MUSE managed to make it to work on time.

   Although, when Phoebe and Agnes cornered her in the green kitchen, she wished she hadn't come at all. Better yet, she wished she could've been hit by a car on the way here. Or a bus. Or a train. She wasn't picky.

   "About last night's proposal . . ." said Phoebe, wringing her hands anxiously over her emerald apron.

    I just spent my day in an interrogation room, after breaking a sculpture of a naked man, with my fake girlfriend. Please, not now. Muse said none of it; she only forced a smile.

    "I just have commitment issues," she ground out.

    "Well, the spark―the chemistry, it's all there," said Agnes. A Southern accent slipped into her drawl. "I hope you don't give up on the relationship. That kind of love only happens once in a lifetime."

    Agnes and Phoebe glanced at each other on cue, softening. Muse seethed inside. Stupid lesbians and their stupid happy marriage.

    And speaking of marriage . . . that proposal. The one that had merited a splashed Shirley Temple. Something about it was gnawing at Muse. The suddenness. Adrien's stress. The first day they'd met, when she had rushed into the bathroom, Adrien had been gripping the marbled counter. Tense. She'd been meeting with her father, so something he'd said must have worried her. Why?

    Muse excused herself from Phoebe and Agnes, rushing into the bathroom.

    A quick Google search of the Vitale name pulled up news of CEO partnerships, new deals, building expansions and . . . wait, a terminal cancer diagnosis?  Alarm bells went off in Muse's head. Julien Vitale only had a few months to live . . .

    Was it related to Adrien's nervousness? Did this factor into the marriage proposal? Probably not. That made no sense. They were two completely different things.

    Unless. Unless.

   Vitale heir, Muse typed into her phone. Holding her breath. Dozens of links appeared, but the top answer read: ADRIEN VITALE, DAUGHTER OF VITALE ENTERPRISES CEO, SET TO CLAIM BILLION-DOLLAR STAKE IN THE . . .

    Dead end. Because if Adrien was going to inherit the company anyway, she couldn't be doing this for her father. Still, an idea was forming in Muse's mind. And tonight, she'd get the chance to corner the pretend love of her life once and for all.

    After unlocking the door, and being fed a green macaron by Phoebe, Muse began her shift. She couldn't stop thinking about Adrien. At the memory of her leaning across the interrogation room desk, meeting the officer's stare with a dark, devilish smirk of her own. The casual way she'd shifted the lapels of her suit, and the power she held in every small gesture―from the flicker of her dimples to the tap of her fingers against the chair. There was an art in that. And Muse had to admit: Even though they had been arrested, even though they'd been facing charges of art heist and thievery and vandalism, all Muse could think of was what it would be like for Adrien to pin her on that table―handcuff still on―and kiss her. Ruthlessly, mercilessly. 

    "Sorry, I asked for sugar?"

    Muse inhaled sharply and focused on the woman in front of her. Dark brown skin and chin-length ringlets. Her doe-brown eyes fluttered, radiating innocence, but her smile said: I can fuck you better than your boyfriend. It was probably close to two in the morning now.

    "Pardon?" said Muse.

    The woman held up her mug of cream-laden coffee. "I asked for sugar, sorry. I physically can't drink coffee without a shit ton of milk and sugar. I hate the natural taste. I think you forgot the sugar . . ." She glanced at Muse's name tag. ". . . Muse."