The Billionaire’s Waitress

Chapter Five: Caught in The SpotLight

The Greenwich morning was crisp, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones as I hurried down Greenwich Avenue to The Gilded Spoon for my morning shift. It was three days since I'd ditched Justin's dinner at The Greenwich Hotel, four days since I saw him with Xiamond, her red dress and influencer smile branding my insecurities. His texts sat unanswered in my phone, each one a reminder of the gap between his world and mine. I'd told myself I was done, that a billionaire like Justin Drake belonged with someone like Xiamond, not a waitress like me. But my heart hadn't gotten the memo, and every step felt heavier than the last.

The Gilded Spoon was already alive when I arrived, its chandeliers casting warm light over mahogany tables, the air thick with the scent of fresh croissants and espresso. I tied my black apron over my jeans, my jet-black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, hoping work would drown out the noise in my head. Jake was behind the bar, his blond hair mussed, his grin too cheerful for 8 a.m. "You see the news, Kayla?" he said, sliding a coffee my way. "Your boy's making headlines again."

"My boy?" I scoffed, but my stomach twisted. I hadn't checked my phone since last night's news ticker about Justin and Xiamond. "What now?"

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen. "TMZ's at it again. And X's blowing up." He showed me the headline: Justin Drake's New Flame? Influencer Xiamond Sparks Romance Rumors After Cozy Lunch. The photo was from The Gilded Spoon—Xiamond leaning toward Justin, her hand on his arm, his polite smile now a tabloid scandal. Below it, X posts screamed: "Xiamond and Drake are ENDGAME!" and "Mystery woman out, influencer queen in!" My chest tightened. Mystery woman. That was me, reduced to a footnote in Justin's glittering life.

I handed Jake's phone back, my hands steady despite the storm inside. "Doesn't matter," I said, but my voice was thin. Xiamond's perfect updo, her million-follower confidence—it was everything I wasn't. The world saw her with Justin, not me. And why would they? I was scuffed sneakers and late bills; she was red-carpet glamour. The auction, his words on the balcony—"I felt something real"—felt like a dream I'd been foolish to believe.

I threw myself into work, taking orders with a practiced smile, but the restaurant's buzz felt like static. Customers whispered, their eyes flicking to their phones, no doubt scrolling the same headlines. Jake kept glancing at me, his usual banter subdued. "You okay?" he asked during a lull, leaning against the bar.

"Fine," I lied, wiping a table harder than necessary. But I wasn't. The scandal wasn't just gossip; it was a mirror, reflecting every doubt I'd carried since the auction. Justin had said Xiamond was a business contact, but the photos, the posts, the world's assumptions—they made me feel small, like I'd been naive to think I could matter to him.

Around noon, the door chimed, and my heart stopped. Justin. He stood in the entrance, his gray coat dusted with snow, his hazel eyes scanning the room until they locked on me. No Xiamond this time, just him, his dark hair curling slightly, his broad frame commanding the space. My tray wobbled, but I caught it, forcing my face into a neutral mask. You again. I wanted to run, to hide, but I had tables to serve.

"Kayla," he called, striding toward me, his voice cutting through the clatter of plates. Heads turned—customers, coworkers, all watching the billionaire who'd just stepped out of a tabloid. I froze, my fingers tightening on my tray.

"I'm working," I said, my tone clipped but polite. My heart pounded, Xiamond's image flashing in my mind. "What do you need?"

He stepped closer, his woodsy cologne hitting me like a memory of the auction. "You didn't show up. You didn't text back." His voice was low, urgent, his eyes searching mine. "I need to talk to you. About the headlines, Xiamond, all of it."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I saw the news. Everyone has." I nodded toward a table of whispering customers, their phones glowing with the TMZ article. "You and Xiamond look good together."

His jaw clenched, frustration flickering in his eyes. "It's not real, Kayla. It's media garbage. Xiamond's a tech ambassador for my company—nothing more. The lunch was a pitch, not a date. I don't want her. I want—" He stopped, glancing at the curious eyes around us. "Can we go somewhere private?"

I shook my head, my ponytail swaying. "I've got tables." But it wasn't just work. It was the fear, the certainty that I didn't belong in his world. The headlines had cemented it: Xiamond was his match, not me. I turned, moving to a table, but his voice followed.

"Kayla, please. One conversation. Tonight, anywhere you want." His tone was almost pleading, and it cracked something in me. I wanted to believe him, but the weight of the scandal, the X posts, the photos—it was too much.

"I'm busy," I said, not looking back. My hands trembled as I poured water for a customer, but I kept moving, hiding behind my apron and my smile. He lingered for a moment, then left, the door chiming behind him. The restaurant's noise swallowed his absence, but I felt it like a hole in my chest.

The rest of my shift was a blur. Jake tried to cheer me up, slipping me a cookie from the kitchen, but even his warmth couldn't touch the cold inside me. After closing, I walked home down Greenwich Avenue, the streetlights casting long shadows. My phone buzzed—another text from Justin: I'm not giving up. You're worth more than the headlines. Name a time, a place. I stared at it, my thumb hovering, but I couldn't reply. The scandal had painted a picture I couldn't unsee: Justin and Xiamond, the perfect pair, while I was the outsider, the "mystery woman" who didn't fit.

At my apartment, I sank onto my couch, the emerald gown from the auction still draped over a chair, a relic of a night that felt like another life. I scrolled X, the posts relentless: Xiamond's cryptic story—heart emoji with a tech logo. Is it official? My stomach churned. I wasn't jealous, not in the screaming, clawing way. I was just... less. Like I'd been foolish to think Justin's world had room for me. I set my phone face-down, the silence louder than the city outside.

Justin stood outside The Gilded Spoon, snow dusting his coat, his breath visible in the cold. Kayla's words—sharp, guarded—cut deeper than the winter air. The headlines, the X posts, Xiamond's name everywhere—it was a mess he hadn't seen coming. He'd signed her for a tech campaign, not a romance, but the media didn't care about truth. Kayla did, though, and she was slipping away, her brown eyes walled off by doubt. He'd meant what he said at the auction: she was real, a fire in his polished world. The scandal was noise, but her silence was deafening. He pulled out his phone, typing one more text, knowing she might not answer but refusing to stop trying.