Taming Mr Knox

“Two more minutes…” I mumbled into my pillow, dragging the covers over my head. “For God’s sake, somebody please turn off the f*****g alarm!” I groaned louder this time, annoyed at the shrill beeping that drilled into my skull. I finally sat up, hair sticking in every possible direction, ready to hurl the cursed object of auditory torture across the room. That’s when my bleary eyes landed on the glowing numbers. 7:30 PM. Oh. s**t. SHIT. I’M GONNA GET FIRED. In a blur, I launched myself out of bed. My socked foot skidded on the bathroom tiles and I barely avoided face-planting. Toothbrush, half-assed shower, deodorant,who has time for luxury when your job (and possibly your dignity) is on the line? “I swear,” I muttered, yanking a shirt over my damp skin, “I’m never binge-watching Game of Thrones the same day I get back from lectures again.” Total lie. I’ve seen that show three times already. And honestly, you can’t blame me. Every time Emilia Clarke says: ‘I am Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar,’ Chills. Literal chills. She’s my Roman Empire, and I don’t care what anyone says. But Daenerys wasn’t going to save my paycheck tonight. I bolted out the door and sprinted down the block. Thank God my job was just around the corner. Heart hammering, I slipped through the back entrance and into the kitchen, tying my apron on in record time. “If it isn’t the great and late former employee,” my manager’s voice cut through the kitchen noise like a knife. I pasted on my brightest smile. “Well, you got the great part right.” The stern look he gave me instantly wiped the grin off my face. “Gerald, I’m so sorry, I,” “Save it, Florentia. This is the third time this week. And it’s only Thursday. I’m beginning to think you don’t want this job.” “I do! I really do. I promise it won’t happen again.” “That’s what you said last time.” “I know.” “And the time before last.” “I know.” “And the time,” Ding! Ding!! Ding!!! Saved by the bell. Literally. “I swear, last time,” I blurted, already rushing toward the dining room. Professional mask on. Smile plastered. Voice level. “Good evening, sir. May I take your order?” The man lowered his menu and looked up at me. And my lungs promptly forgot how to work. … Holy mother of Khal Drogo. Never,and I mean never,have I seen anyone look like that in real life. Stormy gray eyes, framed by dark brows sharp enough to cut glass. His hair was thick, glossy, and so unfairly touchable I had to curl my hands into fists. Broad shoulders filled out a black tailored suit that looked like sin stitched in silk. This wasn’t a man. This was a walking hazard. My brain short-circuited. The last time I’d felt this level of… heat was when I accidentally downloaded an e*****a eBook at three a.m. Not even my exes,pathetic as they were,had ever made me feel this hot and bothered just by existing. And his lips. Oh God. Full, sculpted, sinful lips that looked like they were made to ruin me. They were moving,he was saying something,but I wasn’t hearing a damn thing. “Can I order now,” his voice rolled over me like velvet thunder, “or do you intend on gawking at me all night?” My soul left my body. That voice. Who the hell gave a mortal the right to sound like that? “Huh?” He smirked, a dimple flashing. “I said… can I order now?” Heat flushed my cheeks. “Y-Yes. Yes, of course. Sorry.” “Don’t apologize,” he drawled lazily. “I’ll have a whiskey sour. That’s all for now.” I scribbled the order so fast the pen nearly tore through the paper and bolted for the bar, desperately avoiding his gaze. Sam, our resident bartender and chronic flirt, looked up with a knowing smirk. “What’ll it be, chica?” “One whiskey sour, please.” “Coming right up.” He winked. Sam isn’t Mexican,he’s a basic white boy who thinks calling me chica is charming. But to be fair, he’s a sweetheart. When I first started, I broke glasses like it was my side hustle. He never snapped, just smiled and picked up the pieces. Literally. I leaned across the counter. “So… who’s the new catch?” He blinked. “What do you mean?” “Oh, we’re playing oblivious, huh?” I arched a brow. “Cute. Won’t save you.” He laughed, swiping a towel at me. “Wipe that s**t-eating grin off your face.” “Not until you spill. Come onnn. I have no drama in my life. Let me live vicariously through you.” I unleashed the puppy-dog eyes. “b***h, you’ve got a customer waiting,” he teased, sliding the glass toward me. “Shoo.” “Debbie Downer,” I grumbled, snatching the drink and heading back. I set the glass in front of Gray Eyes, and for the first time he looked up from his phone. His stare locked on me, sharp, unrelenting. Oh no. Not again. My knees nearly buckled. “Anything else, sir?” I asked, trying,and failing,to sound unaffected. “Yeah.” His voice dipped lower. “I want you.” My heart stuttered. His gaze roamed lazily over me, unapologetic, like he owned the room. Owned me. And God help me,I stared back. That suit hugged him like it had been custom-made for every muscle. His hands flexed against the table, veins prominent, the image of strength and sin. I dragged my gaze back up, swallowing hard. “I beg the f**k not,” I shot back, words sharper than my trembling insides. He chuckled. “Not like that. Relax. I just want to talk to you. If you don’t mind.” “Well, I’m working right now. So,no.” I spun on my heel, storming away before my body betrayed me completely. Who the f**k does he think he is? My blood boiled. Attractive or not, I needed this job, not a lawsuit. “You good?” Sam’s voice snapped me out of my rage spiral. His brow was furrowed, concern written all over his face. “I’m fine,” I said tightly. “Just another day in paradise.” “You sure? Want me to go talk to him?” “No, Sam. Don’t worry.” I forced a smile. “But you can tell me about your new guy.” He stiffened, looked away. “Aha! I knew it.” I crossed my arms. “You’ve got that post-date glow. Spill.” “You’re annoyingly perceptive for someone who gets zero action,” he muttered. “Hey! I get action!” “Rose doesn’t count.” “Whatever.” I swatted his arm. “Now talk.” He sighed, finally relenting. “Met him at my cousin’s party. We hit it off… but I’m scared, Flor. I don’t want to put my heart out there carelessly again.” My chest squeezed. Lucas. The bastard who broke Sam’s heart and revealed he had a wife and kid. I’d never forget the night Sam crumbled. “Listen,” I said, grabbing his hand. “You deserve happiness. If this guy brings it, let yourself try. And if he hurts you,I’ll egg his house.” He laughed, eyes glistening. “You’re a menace.” “Glad you noticed.” I pouted dramatically. Before he could reply, Gerald’s voice cut in. “Florentia. A word.” Oh s**t. My stomach dropped. I trudged over, nerves fraying. “Yes, boss?” “You’ll need to stop working your shift.” “What? No,please, Gerald, don’t fire me. I swear I’ll do better. My mom is sick, I need this job, I’ll prove myself,” “For f**k’s sake, Florentia, shut up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I wanted to fire you, I’d have done it ages ago.” I froze. “Oh. Then… why?” “The gentleman you served earlier has requested you serve only him. He’s already sorted it out. He’s moved to the VVIP section. So,off you go.” I blinked. My jaw hit the floor. “…Boss, are you pimping me out?” His stare could’ve curdled milk. “Serve. Him. Drinks. That’s all.” “Uh-huh.” “Don’t make it weird.” He stalked off. I stood rooted, apron strings twisting in my hands. Why the hell would Mr. Moon-Gray-Eyes specifically want me? He was beautiful,dangerously so,but people that beautiful were al ways the weirdest. Twisted little oddities, right? I sighed. “Great. Time to serve the beautiful demon.” And with shaky legs and a racing heart, I headed toward the VVIP lounge.