Twenty-one and ready to take on the world, orphan Lizzie Gold didn't expect her chance encounter with a stranger to lead to a damnable task - to take down a rising business tycoon.
Ryan Pierce - her viciously handsome target and her new boss - might...
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L I Z Z I E 10 | date
Mr. Pierce's choice of place to have dinner has me gaping when he forces me to come with him after office hours are over. The man had the audacity to blackmail me by saying that he would make me work on weekends too if I didn't.
He drives himself, stopping the car near a small diner I have never been to before. I stare at the flimsy board it has overhead where it is written in neon, bold letters 'Fill Belly'.
Mr. Pierce is pushing his blazer off his shoulder the moment we pull in the parking lot.
He sees me staring at him and gives a wink knowing that I am checking him out. God help me, I can't stop myself whenever I see the flexing of his muscles. His white shirt is made of cotton, the fitting so perfect that it traces the shape of his body.
"Don't you dare tell anyone that we came here. This place has delicious food but should remain between us."
"Why is that?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest. "What makes a billionaire like you come to have dinner in a small diner across the street?"
As he places his blazer in the backseat, a look of strange reminiscence crosses his eyes. It is only for a split second but doesn't go unnoticed by me.
"I used to come here with my Dad," he says, seeming to find it difficult to mention the person. "This used to be our Saturday hangout."
"Oh..."
I have little knowledge of his father. Of all the information I have been given about his family, his father wasn't mentioned much except for the fact that he had died ten years ago in a car accident.
Mr. Pierce gets out of his Audi with all the opulent body language of a billionaire as he stands to his tall height. I open the door of my side, stepping down from the car in my high heels.
I see him busy folding his sleeves up to his elbows as I walk around the car to come to stand by him. His corded veins become visible, the platinum watch on his wrist shining as the neon light of the diner board catches it.
"Let's go in."
He gives me his arm and I touch it gently, letting him guide me towards the entrance of the diner.
Inside, we step into a quiet place with a few customers. The soft, yellow lights are fixed to the ceiling and the diner itself is small, with only a few round tables in every corner and a larger one at the center. The counter is on the opposite side where a man who looks about the age of fifty is checking in the orders.
His face is all hard lines covered by a trimmed white beard. The man is stout but tall. From afar, he looks tough, like someone who wouldn't speak to you except with direct words.
"Working overtime, Paul?" Mr. Pierce asks the man who instantly lifts his head from whatever he was focused on doing.
His grumpy expression breaks, replaced by an amicable smile when he spots Mr. Pierce and me.
