The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

23 - a death

MUSE had tucked her phone into the back pocket of her pants, but Adrien's text still lingered in her mind. Are you free to meet me at the hospital after your shift? My chauffeur will pick you up. 

    Muse had agreed. Of course she'd agreed. She'd hoped Adrien would clarify afterwards, though―maybe she had sprained her wrist or torn her ACL or something, anything, because if Muse had to guess why else Adrien was at the hospital . . . only one thing seemed logical.

    She hoped she was wrong. She hoped it had nothing to do with Julien Vitale, and his terminal diagnosis. 

    Because if it did―

    "Sorry, can I have more sugar, please?" The voice, assertive and feminine, spiked Muse from her contemplation. 

    She was glad. Because if she thought any more on why she hoped her fake fiancee's father wasn't in the hospital, the conclusion wouldn't be pretty. She didn't want the contract to end. She didn't want to stop seeing Adrien. And she didn't want to ask herself why.

    "Yes, more sugar, of course―" said Muse, glancing once at the woman.

    And then again, as the familiarity ignited.

    The woman's doe-brown eyes seemed to grow larger, more seductive. "I was hoping you would recognize me, Muse."

    The name was on the tip of Muse's tongue. "Yes, I remember you saying you liked your coffee with a lot of milk and sugar . . . and you spoke seven languages . . ." It had been one of Muse's first night shifts. And she only remembered because Adrien had appeared while she had been talking to this woman; they had given each other cold looks, and then Muse had interrogated Adrien in the Moth Cafe's closet space.

    How could Muse forget that night? Straddling Adrien, lips so close she could just taste the peppermint, heat rippling in the air between them . . .

    "Leila," said the woman, with a faint, secret smile. Like, I forgive you for not remembering my name. "And I can speak eight languages, not just seven."

   Everything about her screamed power, beauty, sex. From the way elegant way she crossed her legs to the pale pastel silk of her dress, contrasting against her glowing brown skin. She knows what she's doing. Her chin-length curls were slicked back from her face, revealing the sharpness of her jaw. 

    "Leila," repeated Muse.

    They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Muse thought of Adrien's hostile reaction to this woman. Had they fucked? Should Muse check the list? Would that only make her jealous? Then she remembered the sugar.

    "Um, I'll be right back."

    "No," said Leila, wrapping her fingers delicately around Muse's wrist. "I'd rather have your company than the sugar. You're probably sweeter anyway."

    Muse looked down at Leila's hand. Slowly, she lifted her eyes. Leila's stare captured hers. Every social cue became evident with a single oh in Muse's mind. This was flirting.

    "I'm engaged to Adrien," she blurted out.

    Leila's smile deepened. "I know. But she doesn't have to."

    "Oh," was all Muse could think to say.

     Yes, Leila was attractive. That stare, simultaneously doe-eyed and yet sensual. Long legs and smooth brown skin. She'd probably fight Muse for dominance in bed. In another lifetime―hell, before Adrien―Muse would have let her.