Chapter 2— The spill that wouldn’t die❤️
1040 Words
Elena hoped—prayed—that Adrian Vale had already forgotten her.
But the universe, being what it was, decided instead to personally bully her.
“Guess who’s back,” Kara whispered as she breezed by with a tray of cocktails.
Elena didn’t bother guessing. “If you say the health inspector, I’ll cry.”
Kara smirked. “Worse.”
Elena groaned. “The guy who asked if I ‘knew what quinoa was’?”
“Nope.”
“The woman who tried to pay me to ‘walk more quietly’?”
“Try higher.”
Elena froze. “No. No, no—”
Kara wiggled her eyebrows. “Champagne Sleeve.”
Elena nearly choked on her own tongue. “He came BACK?”
“Yep. Requested a corner table.” Kara leaned closer. “And asked if you’re working tonight.”
Elena’s soul left her body.
“That’s not funny, Kara.”
“I’m not joking.”
“That’s even worse!”
Kara laughed and darted away, leaving Elena with a tray of appetizers and a rising sense of doom.
⸻
The Inevitable Approach
Elena did her best to avoid table eight—the corner table, the very expensive corner table—but fate and poor timing had other plans.
She turned the aisle.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
Great. Just great. The universe wasn’t bullying her—it was drop-kicking her.
Adrian Vale sat alone, relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair like he owned not just the restaurant but gravity as well. The champagne stain from yesterday was nowhere in sight.
But the smirk?
Oh, that was very much still there.
He lifted a hand in a small wave.
A wave.
From a billionaire CEO-to-be.
Elena considered turning around and sprinting for the fire exit.
Instead, she walked over because she needed this job and Kara had the reflexes of a hawk when it came to employees trying to flee.
“Good evening, Mr. Va—” She stopped when he tilted his head, eyebrows raised in challenge. “Adrian.”
“Much better,” he said, smile widening. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”
“I tried not to,” she muttered.
His laugh was low and warm. “Tell me, Elena… do you greet all your customers with that level of enthusiasm?”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “It’s part of my charm.”
“I find you very charming.”
She blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain blue-screened.
Nope. Not dealing with that.
“What can I get you?” she said, strictly professional.
“Whatever you recommend.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to make me pick your dinner so you can blame me if you hate it?”
“Absolutely.” His tone was smooth as glass. “Sabotage via entrées.”
Her lips twitched before she could stop them. “Fine. Order the ceviche.”
“Perfect. And if I die from food poisoning, I’ll know who to haunt.”
“You can’t haunt someone who already lives in fear,” she replied, deadpan.
He laughed again—too easily, too genuinely for someone of his social status. Most power players in the Towers had the emotional range of granite.
Adrian, however…
He watched her like she was something interesting.
Dangerous.
Unpredictable.
Alive.
She didn’t like that.
Okay, she liked it a little. Which was worse.
⸻
The Interruption
Before she could escape the table, a sharp voice cut through the room.
“Elena!”
She turned to see a tall, sleek woman in a charcoal power suit—Adrian’s assistant, maybe? Or his PR handler? She had that icy “I can ruin you with one email” vibe.
The woman whispered something to Adrian. His expression tightened—still polite, but colder. Elena recognized that look. It was the shift wealthy men made when someone “important” showed up.
She stepped back automatically.
See? This was reality.
But before she could turn, Adrian’s voice stopped her.
“Elena.”
She looked over her shoulder.
He had softened again—just a fraction.
“I’ll try the ceviche,” he said quietly, “but only if you bring it.”
Her heart did a weird skip. Traitor.
She nodded, then forced her legs to move.
⸻
The Problem
Back in the kitchen, she pressed her hands to her face.
“What is happening?” she groaned.
Milo, the pastry chef, popped up beside her like a gremlin. “What’s happening is that the hottest man in the building is making googly eyes at you and you’re pretending it’s not happening. Coward.”
“I am not pretending—”
“You’re absolutely pretending.”
Kara zipped by with another tray. “Elena, whatever you’re doing, stop. You’re turning pink.”
“I’m not—”
“You’re pink,” both of them said.
Perfect. Great. Wonderful.
She took a deep breath and grabbed Adrian’s plate.
This was her job.
Just her job.
She could do this.
She could absolutely, 100% do this.
Probably.
⸻
Return to the Table
When she returned, Adrian was alone again. The tension from before had faded—mostly.
“Everything okay?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked up at her, eyes warm again. “It is now.”
She nearly dropped the ceviche.
He chuckled softly. “Relax. I’m not trying to get you fired.”
“You’re trying to get me flustered.”
“Is it working?”
Elena glared at him.
Then, reluctantly, she laughed. “Unfortunately.”
He leaned back, pleased. “Good. I like honesty.”
“Well,” she said, setting down the plate, “honestly? You’re trouble.”
“And you’re interesting.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t flirting for sport.
He wasn’t laughing at her.
He wasn’t mocking her job, her background, her place in this world.
No—Adrian Vale, billionaire heir of the Glass Towers, looked at her like she was a challenge he desperately wanted to understand.
It was terrifying.
It was stupid.
It was dangerous.
And it was the most exciting thing that had happened in her entire life.
- Writer
