Page 16 of Easter Daddy

LILY

Ifeel excited. And nervous.

It’s my first day at work, and Jackson told me Liam eats here frequently. I’m not surprised. Up High is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. The only reason why I even got the job is because I have experience being a waitress. I worked at a Chinese restaurant called Lynn’s Garden during the summers when I was 16 and 17.

This time, no one helped me get this job. I did it on my own, which I am proud of, but honestly, I probably wouldn’t have chosen this restaurant if I had known definitively that Liam frequents it. I should have expected it, though.

But what are the odds that I’ll see him on my very first day? And it’s a Monday. I’m sure he’s busy. He probably doesn’t even have any time to eat. I know that some days, my mother comes home from her job as a clinical psychologist starving because she didn’t get the chance to eat in between patients. But every night, Jackson forces her to eat before she goes to bed. I wonder if Liam has someone who makes him eat.

I wonder if he has a girlfriend.

How had that not occurred to me before? The man could be in a whole relationship and I would have no idea. I’m probably here falling for someone’s partner, which would be more pitiful than anything else.

Sighing, I pull out my little notepad as I walk into the dining area. Not that I need it, I can remember large orders in my head, but I write them anyway just for the sake of thoroughness. That and one mistake in a place like this, especially on my first day, would probably send me through the door.

I go straight to table 8. I was told that a lone man was sitting there. I stop dead in my tracks when I see it’s Liam.

It’s midday. It’s midday and he’s not at work.

He’s sitting in front of me, waiting to be served. And I’d love to serve him, in more ways than one. He’s dressed in a suit, and the sight alone is enough to make dirty thoughts slam into my head.

The pants and jacket are the same shade of navy blue, while his shirt is white and his tie is black. He’s sexy. So damn sexy. And handsome. And perfect. And I’m staring at him instead of taking his order.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” I greet him. As soon as those words leave my lips, his eyebrows shoot up. I don’t know what I should call him. Mr. Lewis? I can’t just call him Liam, can I? Not here. Formality is mandatory in my job even if I know the customer. I cannot call them by their first name unless they tell me to.

“Don’t be a stranger. It’s Liam. And I already know what I want to order.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

I try to focus on my notepad, but my hand is shaking. The way he looks at me… it’s as if I’m something on the menu. It’s unsettling but so damn hot. At that moment, I’m sure he feels something for me, that I’m not delusional after all.

He might not be falling in love with me, but he feels something. But I must keep my composure, no matter how aroused I am right now. This job pays well and from what I’ve heard, the tips pay even better. The tips were pretty good for the two summers that I worked at Lynn’s Garden, but the clientele here is a far cry from the people who frequented Lynn’s.

“I would like the chicken alfredo, please.”

“Any food allergies or lactose intolerance?” I ask him.

My question makes him smirk.

“No, no, I can eat the cream.”

My knees buckle slightly. I look at him sharply, and he gives me a broad grin. He knows the effect his words have on me. I’m getting wet for him. Again.

Now, I’m sure he’s fucking with me. I’m certain of it. And I want to fuck with him back, but I can’t. I have to be professional. He doesn’t.

“Alright,” is all I say to him.

He smooths his expression into a neutral one, one I can no longer read, perhaps because I refuse to rise to his bait. I close my notepad, give his orders to the chef, and head to the bathroom.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “Oh, fuck.”

Quickly, I wash my face, trying to wash away my filthy thoughts. It doesn’t work. A million and one ways of him fucking me. Coming into the bathroom and locking me in a stall with him before having his way with me, fuck me silly.

It is silly, these stupid fantasies that I keep having of him. But I can’t help it. Even when I clear my mind of all the smutty thoughts, they come creeping back in and I hate it.

“He’s your stepbrother,” I whisper to myself. “You can’t.”

I look up at myself in the mirror. I look as though I’m in tatters, and I feel it too. I can only hope that when I go to check on him later, he doesn’t fuck with me again.

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