Semua Bab The Billionaire Waitress : Bab 1 - Bab 10

Love doesn’t live in your head or your heart, no matter what the romantics swear by. I learned that the hard way four years ago, when I turned twenty-one and thought I’d found someone who’d set my world on fire. I was wrong—painfully so—but that night, sticky with daiquiris and caught in a stranger’s hazel eyes that promised sin, I hadn’t figured it out yet.Greenwich, Connecticut, wasn’t a town for dreamers like me. It was a haven for the ultra-rich, where grand estates lined Greenwich Avenue and the air carried the faint salt of Long Island Sound. The Gilded Spoon, where I waitressed, was its glittering gem—a ritzy restaurant with chandeliers dripping like diamonds over mahogany tables, serving hedge fund moguls and old-money dynasties. On my twenty-first birthday, the place was alive, buzzing with clinking glasses and whispers about the Greenwich Charity Auction two weeks away.The auction was the event of the season, pulling in Fairfield County’s elite to bid on rare art, yachts,

The morning after the Greenwich Charity Auction, I woke with a pounding headache and a heart tangled in knots that wouldn’t loosen. The emerald gown I’d worn was slung over a chair in my cramped apartment, its silk catching the faint sunlight slipping through my blinds, taunting me with last night’s fleeting glamour. Justin’s words on that balcony burned in my mind: “You’re a fucking inferno.” Sleep had been a lost cause, his hazel eyes and the heat of his hand haunting me, making my thighs clench in the dark. Love at first sight? I didn’t swallow that romantic crap, but his touch had sparked something raw—something I couldn’t shake. As I dragged myself out of bed, doubt crept in like a cold hand on my skin. I was just a waitress in Greenwich’s glitzy shitshow. What could a billionaire want with me, other than a quick, dirty fuck?I had a lunch shift at The Gilded Spoon, and tying my black apron around my hips grounded me, the fabric clinging to my curves like a lover I didn’t trust.

The Greenwich morning was sharp, the kind of cold that clawed into your bones as I hustled down Greenwich Avenue to The Gilded Spoon for my morning shift. Three days had passed since I’d bailed on Justin’s dinner at The Greenwich Hotel, four days since I saw him with Xiamond, her red dress and influencer smile burning into my brain like a brand on my skin. His texts sat unanswered in my phone, each one a fucking tease of the chasm between his world and mine. I’d told myself I was done, that a billionaire like Justin Drake belonged with someone like Xiamond, not a waitress with a body that didn’t fit in their glossy magazines. But my heart was a traitor, and every step felt heavier, my pussy still humming with the memory of his voice, his touch.The Gilded Spoon was already pulsing when I arrived, its chandeliers spilling golden light over mahogany tables, the air thick with fresh croissants and espresso that made my mouth water. I tied my black apron over my jeans, the fabric hugging

Late October’s chill clung to Greenwich Avenue, the budding trees glowing under streetlights that spilled golden pools on the damp pavement. The air carried the faint sweetness of cherry blossoms laced with the sharp tang of city exhaust. I trudged to The Gilded Spoon for my evening shift, my sneakers scuffing the sidewalk, my mind a fucking tangle of hope and hesitation. Two weeks had passed since my talk with Justin in the park, his words—You’re the one I see—burning in my head like a fever I couldn’t shake. They sparked a fragile hope I was too scared to trust, like gripping a glass so thin it might shatter. The TMZ reports about him and Xiamond at that Manhattan gala still haunted me, her gold gown plastered across X posts like a taunt, her arm looped through his like she fucking owned him. I’d texted him back that night, a shaky Okay, let’s try, my fingers trembling over the send button, my pussy throbbing at the thought of him. But doubt clung to me like wet clothes, heavy and c

Mid-November’s breeze carried salt and raw promise as I stood on the shore of Tod’s Point, Greenwich’s quiet beach stretching before Long Island Sound. It was a week since Justin’s penthouse dinner, since we’d said I love you under the stars, his kiss branding a truth I was still learning to trust, my pussy throbbing with the memory of his hands on me. My jet-black hair whipped in the wind, my navy sundress clinging to my plus-sized curves, the fabric teasing my thighs as I stood barefoot, toes curling into the cool, damp sand. Justin had suggested a late-night walk here, away from Greenwich Avenue’s prying eyes, and my heart pounded like a fucking drum at the thought of him—his hazel eyes, his touch that set me on fire, our love now real but fragile under the world’s greedy gaze.He appeared from the path, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a sliver of tanned chest that made my mouth water. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, looking like he’d just rolled out of