Ch11 - That’s her

Halfway through her shift, the manager tapped Violet on the shoulder. “Do me a favor and run some drinks upstairs—we’re short on staff.”

Violet untied her apron and followed the directions to the upstairs bar. There were plenty of private rooms up here, plus a big central hall packed with tables, laughter, and loud, thumping music. The dim lights gave the place a hazy, almost decadent vibe.

She had just dropped off a tray of cocktails when someone whistled at her. “Hey, gorgeous, can I get your number?”

Violet kept her polite smile in place. But the guy was tipsy, his eyes crawling from her face down to her waist, lingering there with obvious hunger.

“C’mon, just a number?”

“No.” Violet shut him down, then added, “I’m married.”

He just snorted. “Ha, is he hotter than me? Clearly useless too, if you still gotta work. If I had a wife that fine, I’d die before I let her lift a finger.”

His buddies howled with laughter. “BULLSHIT. That’s a new excuse, huh?”

Violet sighed inwardly. Growing up in her aunt’s house had taught her to survive on patience and submission, so she just shook her head and walked off. Thankfully, they didn’t push further.

She gathered her tray and headed to her last delivery of the night. After this drop, she could finally clock out.

She pushed a cart loaded with bottles and ice toward the largest suite.

Before she even reached the door, she spotted Tiffany and her friends again. Unlike earlier, Tiffany now wore a micro mini skirt, tossing her hair with that thick cloud of perfume Violet instantly recognized. She wrinkled her nose.

Tiffany didn’t notice the server was Violet and slipped inside the suite.

Violet let out a breath. Just go in, set the drinks down, and leave. Don’t react, don’t let anyone get to you.

She kept her head low as she walked in. Dim spotlights hit the crown of her head, the air reeking of smoke, liquor, and sickly-sweet perfume.

She didn’t even need to look—just hearing was enough. Couples laughing, whispering, kissing. The room oozed with sleazy intimacy.

One side was a small dance floor, the other filled with sofas. Violet rolled her cart to the table by the dance area, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

“Hey, you—come here.”

She froze for a beat, then forced herself to walk over.

The couches were crammed, a dozen people at least. The voice had come from the guy slouched in the middle. She crouched down slightly, still keeping her head lowered. “What can I get you?”

“Pour me… a glass of water. Cold.” His voice was hoarse, blurred with drink.

The room erupted in laughter. “Water? Are you nuts?”

Violet frowned. Not because of the weird request, but… because the voice sounded familiar.

“You’re the one who never gets drunk, right? Stop faking.”

“Yeah, finish your drink, Julian!”

Julian?

Violet’s pupils tightened. She lifted her head—and crashed right into those hazy blue eyes flecked with brown.

Her heart skipped. Holy shit. That was her “husband” Julian.

What are the odds?

Julian squinted, his face flushed like he’d had too much, though Violet couldn’t tell if he was actually drunk. What she did catch was that sharp glint in his eyes.

She was so stunned she just froze, staring at him.

With her face tilted up, her features were clear under the dim lights. One of the guys in the crowd suddenly pointed at her in excitement. “That’s her! That’s the girl I ran into outside—the knockout I told you about.”

In an instant, every eye in the room was on her. Some were curious, others jealous. The plain uniform she wore couldn’t hide the fact that the server in front of them looked almost otherworldly, like the spotlight had chosen her alone.

Violet panicked and tugged her hat lower.

One guy swaggered up with his drink. “Didn’t think we’d meet again. Talk about fate. No way you’re turning me down this time, right?”

Someone shoved his shoulder, laughing. “Back off, Matt. She already shot you down. Give the rest of us a chance.”

Matt’s face burned. Getting called out like that in front of everyone stung. But he convinced himself all girls were the same—throw a rich guy in the mix and they’d cave. This waitress would be no exception.

He sneered. “If she won’t give me a shot, none of you are getting one either. Let’s see if Julian can seal the deal.”

The room lit up with cheers. “Yeah, if it’s Julian, bet she hands over her number in a heartbeat!”

The hype built quick. Everyone wanted to see if anyone could resist Julian—the guy with a flawless track record.

Julian arched a brow, then extended a hand toward Violet. “How about a drink with me?”

His voice was smooth, tempting. But when Violet looked up, his eyes were ice cold. She knew she had no choice. No matter the setting, no matter the role she was playing, her answer to him had to be yes.

She didn’t say a word—just placed her hand in his. The moment their palms touched, his grip tightened. Her heart jolted as he yanked her into his arms.

The room erupted in claps and whistles.

Matt sank back, sour as hell. He muttered under his breath, “Figures. All that ‘I’m married’ crap was just bullshit. Look at her now, glued to him like she’s loving every second…”

Still, he felt a wave of relief. Marcus had asked him to bring more girls to celebrate Julian’s “first day at work.” If Julian hooked up with one of them, Matt’s cut would go up. And even though Julian hadn’t shown interest in anyone else, at least he’d taken the bait with this server.

Across the room, Tiffany’s face turned stormy. She’d worked her way in here for a shot at Julian—the most eligible one of them all, with money, looks, and status. And now Violet, of all people, had swooped in.

Why was it always Violet taking what she wanted?

Julian was everything Tiffany thought she deserved: rich, generous, hot, and infamous in all the right ways. Compared to that wooden doll Violet, she had the body and the face to make any man look twice. If not for Violet barging in, Julian would’ve noticed her already.

But Harper, watching from the sidelines, noticed something the others didn’t. The way Julian looked at Violet, the way she reacted to him—it didn’t feel like two strangers meeting tonight. There was something else between them.