Chapter One

Three years later.

"The city is in an uproar. Drew McBride, heir to the McBride Foods, finally appears." Britt Shelby, Anchor 24 Tv news reporter, nearly bounced on her chair. Her eyes shone with glee. "After three years of silence and absence."

Maddie rolled her eyes. Oh the life of the rich. To have the whole world practically living on the things you did and didn't do. Who cared about a twenty-two year old young lady, who was waitressing to make needs met for herself and a sixty year old lazy scumbag, who was unfortunately her father? No one. But when an entitled, pompous, profligate millionaire walks into the city? Hold up everyone! The rapture was near.

"Rumor has it that not even his uncle and cousin knew where he disappeared to after burying both parents." Kris, Britt's co-anchor, chipped in.

"The question is why now?" To say the hot Blondie reporter was excited was an understatement.

Bored, she turned off the TV and gulped down her soggy cereals. She shouted a goodbye to her father, who was probably too hungover to register her greeting, and hurried out. 

Catching the shuttle, she plugged in her ears, and started her daily ritual of ignoring the bored, sad and tired gazes that usually characterize the faces of the shuttle's regular passengers.

She allowed the song to wash over her. Here was where she gathered the mental strength to face the craziness of each day at the cafe. Because to wait tables at Lobster's Cafe, a gal needed all the reinforcements she could get. It wasn't all that bad, though. There was the bantering and harmless flirtation, whenever Bruce was not harping at her to not fraternize with the customers, that is. And there was the fact that it brought her money.

That golden paycheck made it all, including Burce's surliness, worth it.

The shuttle rocked to a stop and she jumped out.

"You're late." Bruce's angry voice greeted her as she entered the kitchen through the back door.

Maddie rolled her eyes, tying the strings of the faded blue apron that all waitress wore around her waist. "By a minute, Bruce. That doesn't count. Look for something else to gripe about. Besides, it isn't like anyone is here…"

"Yet."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. The cafe was practically falling on its ears. It was a wonder they even had any customer. The food was good, though. So she guessed that was reason enough for their loyal customers. She walked out to the front door and flipped the sign to open.

Plugging her ears back, she swiped the counter. Her feet tapped and her waist swayed. She threw her hands above her head, and swayed her hips harder. "You one of dem gals that ain't trying to meet nobody. You just here for the party. If I'm wrong hen stop me. You one of dem gals that's here trying to make us want ya. You tryin' to make us want ya." She crooned along with Lee Brice. "You're one of them girls. And I'm one of them boys, who'll trade his whole world. For one of them girls." She wiped the counter with added flourish, then she turned to the kitchen to get the pot of coffee. Bruce gave her the stink eye but she ignored him. Just kept singing under her breath.

She stepped back into the cafe, and found a man leaning on the wall beside the door. She jumped. The coffee pot slipped and crashed, black liquid pooling at her feet.

"Taylor!" Bruce shouted from the kitchen.

She crouched down and began to hurriedly pick the shattered glasses. Knowing Bruce, he was going to remove the money for another coffee pot and the wasted coffee from her pay. The removal was going to set her plans aback, but she had no choice. How long has the dratted man been standing there? How had she not heard him come in? They had a bell hanging up by the door, for God sake.

A shard slipped. She tried to catch it and got her finger sliced. "Owww!"

He was there immediately, the dratted man. Crouching beside her and taking her injured hand on his. "Let me see."

His voice was like honey, flowing over her in the most pleasant sensation.

Snap out of it, gal.

He shrugged out of his jacket and pressed it to the cut.

 She blinked at the softeness. Narrowing her eyes, she looked closely at the jacket. There was no doubt about. That jacket he was pressing to her cut was way, way what she could ever afford.

"The jacket probably worth more than my blood." She muttered.

He laughed.

She looked up. And had her breath sucked out of her lungs. A square jaw sporting a cleft in its chin — God, she had always been a sucker for clefts. Lips in the shape of cupid bows. A nose that archer perfectly. Sunglasses his his eyes but she would get her last dollar that they were smoky hot. Probably blue. A pair of baby blues to go with that beautiful blond hair.

She opened her mouth to thank him but found herself asking, "who wears sunglasses this early in the morning?" She should be mortified, but one has to admit that it was quite weird.

His thick brows shot up and his lips twitched with surpressed laughter.

Tilting her head, she leaned in and considered him closely. Expensive running suits. Sneakers that looks like it cost more than the mortgage on her parents' house. And he was wearing sunglasses. They could only mean one thing. The dratted man tending to her cut was famous.

Just then, he began to gather the broken shards.

"No." She reached out to stop him. "You shouldn't. I made the mess, I clean it."

He smiled — and her heart became a wild mustang in her chest. "Why don't you go wash your hand? I'll be done before you return."

She paused.

He nodded towards the kitchen. "I mean it. Go on."

She nodded her thanks and went into the kitchen. She turned on the spigot and placed her hand underneath the running water.

"You broke the coffee pot, didn't you?" Bruce snarled.

"You can take it from my pay."

"Oh, you bet I am."

She turned the water off and lifted the finger close to her face. The blood was still oozing out, but it was much slower. She wrapped it back in the jacket. Using her uninjured hand, she put another pot of coffee on the gas. 

Then she tied the jacket around her waist for easy access and returned to the handsome customer.

"How's the cut?" He asked immediately she stopped by his table.

"I'll live." She smiled. "Thanks."

He flashed her a mischievous grin. "It's the least I could do. Not after entertaining me."

He didn't mean… She scowled. "How long were you standing by the door?"

"Long enough to know you should feature in So You Think You Can Dance."

And to think she had been thinking he was a wonderful person. She dug into her apron and brought out her small notebook. "What would you like to order?"

"Are you sure you can use that hand?"

She chose to ignore him. "What can I get you?'

His smile turned suave. He dropped his arm on the table and leaned towards her. "Your name." He said, his voice low.

Ah, a smooth one. "That's not on the menu. Sorry." She made sure she sounded unapologetic.

"But you can offer it to me." His voice was like velvet and her heart tripped in response. "It's the least you can do, you know. A compensation for tending your wound."

"Ah, but my entertainment already covered that."

His smile widened into a full blown grin.

"Are you out there yapping or taking orders, girl?" Bruce shouted from the kitchen.

If Bruce didn't calm down, he would shout himself into an heart attack. And that would leave her jobless.

She turned back to Mr. Billionaire Stranger. "You heard the boss, hotshot. What would it be?"

One brow cocked upward. "Hotshot?"

She looked pointedly at his sweatpants and sneakers. "Well, it's not exactly like your wardrobe isn't shouting it."

That seemed to amuse him the more.

She clicked her pen.

"One hamburger, regular. Well done. Some tortilla chips and your hottest sauce." He looked into her eyes. "I like 'em hot."

She laughed. "Try harder, hotshot." She cast a saucy look over her shoulders.