Beautifully Cruel

Chapter 1

JENNIE

"Your big bad wolf is back again."

I look up from the coffee machine as my co-worker slash bestfriend Rosé pauses beside me, nudging me with her elbow and speaking under her breath. I don't need to turn and follow her gaze across the diner to know who she's talking about. The nickname and the sudden spike in my pulse are proof enough.

It's been seven weeks since the man in black last came in. Seven weeks since I've seen that thick dark hair, those big rough hands, those expensive Armani suits that do nothing to gentrify him.

You can try to dress up a lion all you want, but it'll still be obvious that he's king of the jungle.

"He's not mine," I say in the same low tone, watching coffee drip slowly into the glass carafe and feeling my heartbeat in every part of my body.

Rosé scoffs. "He's been sitting at the same table in your section for a year, Jen."

Eleven months. But who's counting?

"Go away, crazy person. I'm trying to work here."

I grab a mug from the shelf over the coffee machine and head toward the wolf's table.

He's waiting.

Watching me.
This is always how he looks at me: in hunger and silence. 

I say shyly, "Hi. It's nice to see you again."

He murmurs, "It's nice to be seen."

Oh, that Irish brogue. I'd almost forgotten how delicious it is. Rich and throaty, with a rumble to it like a purr.

Deciding today will be the day we'll finally have a conversation, I gather my courage and take another steadying breath. "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?"

The wolf gazes at me in inscrutable silence. The smallest furrow appears between his dark brows. Yet, he doesn't reply.

"Well," I say brightly. "I'll leave you to your coffee. Cheerio!"

Cheeks burning, I hurry back into the kitchen. Unfortunately, it's an open style format, so patrons can see straight through past the front counter to the grill and meal prep area beyond. I have to round the corner to the back where the big walk-in cooler is so I can cry in private.

Jungkook, the short order cook, sends me a questioning look as I sail past.

Nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I hurry back to the counter and return the coffee carafe to the machine, then start wiping things down and tidying up. It's late, and there are only two customers—one of whom isn't eating—so there's not much for me to do except busy work as I wonder what the wolf's real name is, if he's married, and if this is the last time I'll ever see him.

He's probably on his phone right now trying to find a new place for coffee that employs mentally functioning waitresses.

After a moment, a deep voice from behind me says, "I was shot by a half-blind, half-drunk hillbilly once."

Startled, I jump and whirl around.

"Except he wasn't a hillbilly. Or half-drunk." He pauses meaningfully. "Or half-blind, either."

His dark eyes transmit a warning I receive loud and clear: I'm dangerous. Stay away.

His gaze drops to my nametag. "Jen," he reads. "Is that short for something?"

I hesitate, but decide to go ahead and tell him the story. "It's short for Jennie. I was named after Jennie Garth, my mom's favorite actress."

 "I come from a big family and when I say big I mean 'big'. I wish my parents had a religious excuse. I'm pretty sure they were just too poor to afford birth control."

The wolf stares at me like I'm an alien. I'm sure I've said something wrong, until he says, "And that's number four."

Number four? What does that mean?" Um..."

"I come from a poor family. So do you. That's the fourth thing we have in common."

He seems disturbed by that fact. I don't blame him. Time to make a joke.

"If you tell me next that your favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio, we're probably destined to be together forever."

Dear God, those words actually just came out of my mouth.

As the devastatingly gorgeous man I just spoke that horrifying sentence to stares at me silently, I will the floor to open up and swallow me.

Heat suffuses my cheeks.

A muscle flexes in his jaw.

For a moment, he looks like he's trying to decide about something, his brow furrowed and his expression pensive. Then he exhales a slow breath.

"Are you working tomorrow night?"

I don't dare open my mouth again, so I simply nod.

The wolf nods, too. For some strange reason, it feels like we've made a date. When he turns and starts to walk away, I nearly slide to the floor in relief.

But then he turns around and pins me in one of his signature hungry stares.

In a low, husky voice, he says, "By the way, lass...my favorite ice cream flavor is pistachio."

He holds my gaze just long enough for me to have a heart attack, then he turns around and walks out, disappearing into the rainy night as if it swallowed him.