Page 4 of Instant Bond

“Wait!” She suddenly realized. “You’re working the section by the bar, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Oh, great. I would have to wait on some self-important asshole. Why was he even eating here anyway?

“Youhaveto tell me absolutely everything he says.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s just going to order a drink and some food like everyone else,” I said. Her hype around this guy was starting to make me a little nervous.

“Okay, sure, but if he says anything else,” she asserted. “Promise me.”

“Yeah, okay.” I agreed to her terms only because there was no way this random rich guy was going to be sharing any deep, dark secrets with me so what did it matter, anyway? “I promise.”

As we made our way out and I made my way over to my section, I had to remind myself that this was the same old place I’d been working for over a year, with laminated menus and framed photos from local events and newspaper articles on the walls. There was nothing scary about taking orders from some snobby business executive, no matter how important Hana seemed to think he was.

But when I got over there, I changed my mind and half-decided waiting tables was maybe one of the stupidest decisions I’d ever made in my life.

The alpha from the café, apparently also known as Karter Morrison, stared up at me. He looked blindsided, like I felt, for maybe half a second before what I could only describe as a delighted smirk carved itself across his ridiculously handsome face. His eyes flickered down to my name tag before moving back up to my face, where his stare once again rendered me pretty much useless.

Hi, I’m Cam. I’ll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?

It wasn’t exactly rocket science, and taking orders was something I felt I could do in my sleep now. But as heat spread all over me, starting in my cheeks and bleeding down the rest of my body, I could barely get the words out.

There was a woman sitting across from him, with a tape recorder and a little notepad she was scribbling into. Was she interviewing him? My pathetic, stuttering attempt at asking for their drink orders alerted her, and she looked up, giving me a strange expression. Karter, however, acted like he didn’t notice.

“Is there anything you recommend,Cameron?” I’d introduced myself as Cam, but my name tag said Cameron. Still, pretty much no one called me that.

The sound of my name in his voice went into my ears and straight down to my crotch. It was like he was giving me an order, something meant only for me to hear and obey. This guy definitely missed the memo about biological warfare being considered barbaric or whatever, because my biology was pretty much demanding that I submit to him. Even if we were in a crowded restaurant that also happened to be my job.

“I, um…” What was the question again? “I would probably get an iced tea or a lemonade, since it’s so hot out,” I finally said. It was laughable to reference the heat outside, when I was sure the inner core of my body had to be above any temperature ever recorded in human history.

“Tea sounds great,” he said. “I’m parched.”

“I’ll take an iced tea, too,” the lady across from him said.

“I’ll just go put these in for you and come right back,” I sped out, rushing back into the kitchen. I zoomed past the drink station, and into the employee restroom to splash cold water on my face.

What was wrong with me? I saw handsome alphas on pretty much a daily basis. Some of them even flirted with me. Itneveraffected me like this. What was it aboutthisalpha that had my brain shutting off and my stomach pitching and… Oh, god. That very distinct sensation that only omegas could know. Slick.

Mortified, and feeling like the protagonist in some cliché porno, I ducked into a stall to clean myself up as quickly as I could, praying no one would come in and suspect anything. How could I be so turned on? Until now, I’d been pretty sure this kind of longing wasn’t encoded into my DNA. I’d seen it in movies and heard stories, but I’d never experienced it for myself. And honestly, I wasn’t really a big fan. This was torture.

After scrubbing my hands with soap and water in the sink and taking several deep breaths, I emerged to pour the drinks and arrange a few lemon wedges on a little saucer before bringing them out.

When they declined any food, I left them to it, only coming back to refill their cups when I noticed they were low. I considered it a personal victory when I was able to mostly avoid eye contact with him, but the feeling of his eyes burrowing into me was unavoidable. I hoped my other tables couldn’t tell how nervous and distracted I was as I interacted with them.

When the interviewer woman at the table finally asked for a check, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was finally over. The second I was finished running her card and returning it to her, I told them to have a great day and booked it out of there.

“Sharee, I’m taking a break!” I called out towards the back of the kitchen, the general area I knew she’d be hovering, but I also knew she wouldn’t mind. She was a fair boss, even though she could be a bit harsh with her words at times. Slipping through the door in the back out to an alleyway with dumpsters, I sank down onto a concrete step, covering my eyes with my palms. Could this day get any weirder?

KARTER

I HADN’T CAREDmuch about the interview in the first place. The woman worked for a popular monthly magazine, and was desperate to interview me for their annual business-themed issue. My mother would have killed me for turning down a free opportunity for publicity, even though our profits were trending upward and showed no signs of slowing down.

We’d scheduled to meet in the city today, without me knowing there was a widespread, raucous summer festival going on with food vendors and music and booths and games, not to mention a parade. I didn’t mind it, though I wouldn’t have voluntarily gone anywhere near it if not for the current business at hand.

Admittedly, early on in my career, I’d found interviews to be exciting and even a bit nerve-inducing. But I’d been asked every business-related question in the book now, so it was all a little repetitive. Still, it wasn’t her fault so I tried to give her as interesting answers as I could, or at least put a new spin on answers I’d already given.

I’d cared about the interview much, much less after the adorable waiter at the little hole-in-the-wall pub, the only place we’d been able to find a table at, made his appearance. That sketch artist idea I hadn’t quite been able to let go of wouldn’t be needed after all.

When the interviewer was all done with her questions and ready to wrap it up, I let her pay for my tea. I hung around a bit after she left, waiting for my opportunity to talk to the omegaI hadn’t been able to get out of my mind since the day before. When he didn’t show his face for a few minutes, I flagged down a cute waitress.

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