"A Nobody In The Billionaire's World"

"Waitress! You ruined everything!" The voice cracked through the ballroom like a whip, and every conversation died at once. Emma Cole stood frozen with an empty silver pot in her hands. Hot coffee was spreading across the front of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her entire year's rent. No. No, no, no. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry, sir." A hundred of New York's richest people stared at her. Someone near the champagne tower let out a small, cruel laugh. Someone else lifted a phone. Emma's cheeks burned. Twelve hours. She had been on her feet for twelve hours, after a morning shift at the diner, and she had only taken this gala job because the agency paid cash by midnight. Her black uniform was a size too big, borrowed from a coworker, and it still carried a stubborn coffee smell no matter how many times she washed it. Now it smelled of disaster. She grabbed a napkin and reached toward his chest without thinking. A hand closed around her wrist. "Don't touch me." The man was tall, so tall she had to tilt her head back. His hair fell off a sharp, unforgiving face. His eyes were grey, like winter rain on glass. They didn't blame with anger. They were cold and still, and that was worse. She had seen his face on magazine covers in the diner. Alexander Knight, CEO of Knight Enterprises. New York's most eligible bachelor. The magazines had left out one detail: he looked at people as if they were problems to be solved. "Do you have any idea," he said quietly, "what this suit costs?" "No, sir." "Twenty thousand dollars." Emma's stomach dropped to somewhere near her worn-out shoes. Twenty thousand. She had forty-three dollars in her checking account. Her homeowner had slid a note under her door that morning in thick red marker: *RENT DUE TODAY. LAST WARNING.* Today. It was due today. And she had spent her last cash on the electric bill, because the lights mattered more than the lie that she'd figure something out. Her mother used to say that when life knocked you down, you stood back up and smiled, because crying never paid a single bill. Her mother had been gone for two years now. Emma still heard her voice in moments like this, and it never made standing up any easier. "Please," Emma said, hating how small her voice sounded. "I can pay it off. I'll work extra shifts. I'll—" "With what?" A woman's voice, sharp and amused, came from behind him. A tall, flawless brunette in a red gown leaned on Alexander's arm and looked Emma up and down like something stuck to her heel. "Tips?" More laughter rippled through the crowd. Emma lowered her eyes. She focused on the pattern of the marble floor, the way she always did when the world got too loud. *Breathe. It's one night. You'll get through it.* "Security," the woman called lightly. "Someone remove her." "No." The word was soft, but it silenced everyone again. Emma looked up in confusion. Alexander Knight hadn't moved. He was still holding her wrist, but his grip had changed. It was no longer a restraint, just a hand that hadn't been told to let go yet. His grey eyes were studying her face with a strange, intent focus, as though he had never really looked at a waitress before and was surprised she had a face at all. She didn't know what he saw. A girl with tired eyes and a bitten lip, coffee on her sleeves, trying not to cry in front of strangers. Whatever it was, it made something flicker in that cold gaze. It was gone so quickly she might have imagined it. "Alexander," the brunette said, her smile thinning. "Darling, you can't just—" "Victoria." He didn't look at her. "Not now." The brunette's mouth snapped shut. Emma's pulse hammered in her ears. She tugged gently, and he let her go at last. She stumbled back a step and clutched the silver pot to her chest as if it could protect her. "What's your name?" he asked. "E-Emma. Emma Cole." "Emma Cole," he said slowly, as if testing the weight of it. "Who do you work for?" "The catering agency. Just for tonight. Please don't blame them; it was my fault. I'll accept any consequences, just don't—" Her voice wobbled. "Please don't have them fire everyone because of me." Something strange crossed his face then. Surprise, maybe. She had just asked him to spare strangers while her own job hung by a thread. Across the room, the string quartet had stopped playing. A waiter hurried over with a towel, but Alexander lifted one hand, and the man froze mid-step. "Leave it." He kept his eyes on Emma. The ballroom had turned into a held breath: the crystal chandeliers, the glittering gowns, the phones recording, all waiting for the billionaire to finish destroying the clumsy girl who had dared to stain him. Emma squared her shoulders. If she was going down, she would do it standing up. Alexander stepped closer. The scent of expensive cologne and coffee hung between them. When he spoke again, his voice dropped so low that only she could hear. "You owe me twenty thousand dollars, Miss Cole." Her heart sank. "I know." "You can't pay it." "No." Her voice broke on the word. "I can't." A pause stretched between them, long and strange. Then one corner of his mouth moved. It wasn't quite a smile, more like a decision. "Then you're going to pay for this," he said, "or you're going to work for me."