Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Leilani's POV

​A week of me ignoring him should’ve been enough to make Timothy Beckett go away.

​Usually, in a place like Apex, if you blow a guy off long enough, he just moves on to the next girl in a tight dress. But Timothy wasn't moving. He was like a stain I couldn't scrub out of the carpet.

​It was Tuesday—a dead night—but I felt him the second I walked onto the floor. It’s like the air in the room got heavier whenever he was around.

​"He’s back at table four," Raffy whispered, passing me with a stack of dirty glasses. "Third night this week, Lei. He hasn't ordered a single drink. Just water and a steak he barely touches."

​I tightened my apron, my jaw aching from clenching it. "I don't care, Raffy. Put Sarah on that section."

​"I tried," Raffy sighed. "He gave her a hundred bucks just to go away. He said he’d wait for 'his' server. Look, Lei, he’s not causing trouble. He’s just... sitting there. Looking at you."

​That was the worst part. He didn't have to say anything. He just sat there with his chin in his hand, watching me like I was some kind of interesting problem he was trying to solve. Every time I turned around, I’d catch his eyes. He wasn't even hiding it.

​Finally, I snapped. I grabbed a fresh bottle of water and marched over to his table.

​He didn't move. He was wearing a dark navy sweater tonight, looking way more casual than he had any right to be. He looked younger, but his eyes were still just as sharp.

​"You’re wasting a lot of money on a table you aren't using," I said, thumping the glass down in front of him.

​"I’m paying for the view," Timothy said. His voice was low and smooth, not nearly as arrogant as that first night.

​"The view sucks, Timothy. Go home."

​"I’ll go home when you tell me why you’re so scared to talk to me for five minutes."

​I felt my face get hot. "I’m not scared. I’m busy. I have a real job, unlike you."

​Timothy leaned back, his eyes searching my face. "I have plenty of work to do, Leilani. I have a massive deal closing tomorrow and my phone won't stop buzzing. But I’m sitting here. Because I don't like how we left things."

​"We didn't 'leave' anything," I said, pouring his water and trying not to let my hand shake. "I served a drink, you acted like an ass, I hit you. That’s it. That’s the whole story."

​"That was just the start," he said, and for a second, he actually smiled. Not a smug one, but something almost... nice. "I want to know what happens next."

​I looked away, my heart doing a weird little jump I didn't ask for. "Nothing happens next. I’m a waitress. You’re a billionaire. We live in different worlds, Timothy."

​"Then let's find a middle ground," he said. He reached out and just barely brushed my arm—it was only for a second, but it felt like a shock of electricity. "One dinner. Away from this place. No club music, no friends, no bullshit. Just us."

​I pulled my arm back like I’d been burned. "I don't date customers."

​"I’m not a customer right now. I’m just a guy asking a girl for her time."

​"A guy who thinks money can get him anything," I reminded him.

​"I’m starting to realize that’s not true," he admitted, looking down at the table for a second. "You’ve been proving me wrong every night I sit here waiting for you."

​For a minute, I forgot where we were. The smell of cheap booze and smoke seemed to fade, and all I could smell was him—something like wood and rain. I saw something in his eyes that didn't look like a game.

​But then I thought about the bills. I thought about my mom in that hospital bed. I thought about the debt I was drowning in. I couldn't be a girl who went to dinner with rich guys. It was too dangerous to start liking him.

​"I can't," I whispered.

​Timothy didn't get mad. He just looked... disappointed. He stood up and laid a bunch of cash on the table—way too much for just a bottle of water.

​"I’m not giving up, Leilani Parker," he said, stepping closer until I had to look up at him. "I’ve spent my life taking what I want. I think I’d like to see what happens if I’m patient for once."

​He turned and walked out, his shoulders broad and his head held high.

​I stood there by the empty table, my hand cold from the water bottle. I should’ve been happy he was gone. I should’ve been relieved.

​Instead, I felt this weird, hollow feeling in my chest.

​"What did he want this time?" Raffy asked, coming up beside me.

​"Nothing," I lied, gripping my tray until my knuckles turned white. "He just wanted to have the last word."

​But as I watched him disappear through the curtains, I knew he was right. This wasn't over. And the scariest part? I didn't really want it to be.

"Just be ready tomorrow. Cynthia Beckett rented the whole club for her birthday. I don't know...but to me, it's a portending mess." Raffy left me int the middle of the noisy club.

Wow! That will not be just a mess, Raffy. That will surely be a disaster. I fell sick. I feel like not going for work tomorrow night.

**

The night of Cynthia’s birthday, Apex felt like a different world. She’d rented the whole place out, so instead of the usual mix of suits and sketchy regulars, it was wall-to-wall people who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. The air was thick with the smell of five-hundred-dollar perfumes and the kind of loud, careless laughter that only comes when you don’t have to worry about the bill.

​I was already on edge. Handling a private party for people like this meant being a ghost—invisible unless they needed a refill, and silent when they looked right through you.

​"Lei, keep your head down," Raffy warned, sliding a tray of champagne flutes toward me. "The Beckett crew is at the center booth. Just do your job and keep moving."

​I nodded, my stomach doing a slow roll. I’d spent the last week avoiding Timothy’s eyes, but tonight, there was nowhere to hide.

​I was weaving through the crowd when a guy stepped into my path. He wasn't like the usual crowd. He had a relaxed, friendly energy, and he wasn’t looking at me like I was just part of the furniture.

​"Hey," he said, holding up a hand so I wouldn't collide with him. "I’m Elias Mendez. A friend of Cynthia's."

​I stopped, balancing the tray on one hand. "Leilani," I said, my voice cautious.

​"I’ve been watching you work," Elias said with a warm smile. He reached out his hand, not to grab me, but for a genuine handshake. "You’re the only person in this room actually doing anything productive. Just wanted to say you're doing a hell of a job."

​It was such a normal, human thing to do that it caught me off guard. For a second, I wasn't a waitress in a debt-trap; I was just a girl meeting a guy. I shifted the tray and took his hand. His grip was firm and respectful.

​"Thanks, Elias," I said, giving him a small, genuine smile. "Enjoy the party."

​As I pulled my hand away, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. That familiar, heavy feeling of being watched hit me like a physical weight.

​I looked over Elias’s shoulder.

​Timothy was sitting in the middle of the main booth, a glass of scotch held halfway to his mouth. He wasn't talking to the girl whispering in his ear, and he wasn't laughing with Jax. He was staring right at me. His face was like a mask of cold stone, but his eyes were dark with something that looked a lot like fury.

​I moved past Elias and headed for the center booth to drop off the champagne. The closer I got, the colder the air felt.

​I leaned over to set the glasses down, trying to keep my eyes on the tray. I could feel Timothy’s gaze burning into the side of my face.

​"So that’s how it is?" he said. His voice was a low, dangerous growl that barely carried over the music.

​I didn't look up. "I don't know what you mean."

​"The handshake," he hissed. I finally looked at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost made me step back. "I’ve been coming here for weeks, trying to get two words out of you, and I can't even touch your arm without you flinching. But Elias Mendez gets a smile and a handshake within two minutes?"

​"Elias is a gentleman," I snapped back, my voice low but sharp. "He was being nice, Timothy. You should try it sometime."

​Timothy’s jaw tightened so hard I thought it might crack. He stood up, stepping out of the booth and looming over me. He was so close I could smell the expensive woodsy scent of his cologne and the sharp tang of the scotch.

​"You’re pretty damn hard on me, Leilani," he said, leaning in until his breath hit my ear. "You slap me, you reject every dinner I offer, and you treat me like a criminal. But you go easy on other guys just because they give you a polite little greeting?"

​"Maybe it's because he doesn't treat me like a prize he's trying to win," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.

​"I’m not trying to win a prize," Timothy muttered, his hand coming up to grip the edge of the table behind me, pinning me in his space. "I’m trying to get the attention of the woman I want. And it’s driving me out of my mind that you give everyone else the version of you that I'm literally begging for."

​He was jealous. Not the "I own you" kind of jealous I expected, but something rawer. Something that actually looked like it hurt.

​"You don't get to choose who I'm nice to," I said, trying to find my voice.

​"I’m starting to realize I don't get to choose anything when it comes to you," Timothy said, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a split second before snapping back to mine. "But don't think I’m just going to sit back and watch you be 'easy' with guys like Mendez while I’m still standing in line."

​He stepped back then, the wall of heat leaving with him. He sat down and downed his drink in one go, staring straight ahead as if I wasn't even there anymore.

​I practically ran back to the bar, my hand still tingling from the handshake and my head spinning. He was being possessive and arrogant—everything I hated. But as I looked back at him from across the room, my stomach did a flutter that had nothing to do with fear.

​I hated that he was watching. But for the first time, I realized I’d be terrified if he ever stopped.