Playing with Fire

Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Gena Showalter

The Vampire’s Bride “Thanks to Showalter’s great writing and imagination, this story, reminiscent of a reality show with all-powerful gods pulling everyone’s strings, will really appeal.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

The Darkest Pleasure “Showalter’s darkly dangerous LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD trilogy, with its tortured characters, comes to a very satisfactory conclusion.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Of all the books in this series, this is the most moving

and compelling. The concluding chapters will simply

stun you with the drama of them.”

—Mists and Stars

The Darkest Kiss “Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.” —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

“If there is one book you must read this year, pick

up The Darkest Kiss … a Gena Showalter book is the best of the best.” —Romance Junkies

The Darkest Night “A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

Catch a Mate “The versatile Showalter … once again shows that she can blend humour and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.” —Booklist

The Nymph King “A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!” —New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward

Playing with Fire “Another sizzling page-turner from one of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!” —New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole

Animal Instincts “Bold and witty, sexy and provocative, Gena Showalter’s star is rising fast!” —New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

Jewel of Atlantis “Rich in imagery and evocative detail, this book is a sterling example of what makes romance novels so worthwhile.” —A Romance Review, 5 stars

Heart of the Dragon “Lots of danger and sexy passion give lucky readers a spicy taste of adventure and romance.” —RT Book Reviews

The Pleasure Slave “This couple is dynamite and Tristan’s intense sensuality will have you sweating.” —The Romance Studio

The Stone Prince “Sexy, funny and downright magical!” —New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister

Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you how excited I am that Playing with Fire is back in stores with a brand-new cover. Belle, Rome and the gang are some of my favourite characters. When they showed up inside my head, talking constantly, demanding I pay them some attention—I’m not crazy, Mom, I promise!—I couldn’t resist. And I’m glad! They made me laugh, they made me cry, they made me want to tear my hair out because they were so determined to tell their own stories, rather than let me lead the way. But that’s part of why I love them. They’re so real to me.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t let them go when I wrote “The End” of Playing with Fire. I wanted to know what would happen to them after the happily ever after. Would they remain happy forever? Would another Scrim come along and make trouble for them? Would Belle maintain control of her powers? So I sat down and wrote book two of my Tales of an Extraordinary Girl series, Twice As Hot, which promises twice the danger, twice the excitement and twice the passion as Belle navigates her new job at PSI while trying to plan her wedding to Rome. Let’s just say sparks fly—literally. I hope you’ll join Belle on this all-new adventure, in stores soon!

Wishing you all the best,

Gena Showalter

Ordinary—adj [ME ordinaire, fr. L ordinarius, fr. ordin-, ordo order] 1: of a kind to be expected in the normal order of events: ROUTINE, USUAL. 2a: of common quality, rank, or ability. 2b: deficient in quality: POOR, INFERIOR. 2c: lacking in refinement. 3: Belle Jamison.

Résumé of Belle Jamison (First Draft)

OBJECTIVE:

To find an exciting, exhilarating career with the opportunity for advancement and a low rate of employee dismissals

EXPERIENCE:

• Five years Remmie’s Steak House—waitress

• Four and a half years Holiday Escape—maid

• May 18^th—May 29^th Harrison and Co. Books—dust patrol

• June 2^nd—June 20^th Kimberly Dolls—assembly line (heads)

• June 25^th—July 3^rd Rizzo’sGrocery—cleanup,aisle 5 •July 19^th—August 1^st Hot House Flowers—funeral arrangement specialist

• August 11^th—August 13^th Professional clown (independent contractor)

• September 5^th—September 30^th Cutter’s Gym—towel girl

• October 18^th—October 31^st Wisteria Elementary School—bus driver

• November 3^rd—November 9^th Donte Aeronautics—nuts and bolts finder

• November 10^th—November 12^th Jumpin’ Jive Pre-owned Cars—odometer tweaker

• November 22^nd—December 1^st Beauty and Beyond Salon—hair sweeper

• December 14^th—February 5^th Cybernet Telemarketing —hang-up preventer

• Two month sabbatical Professional loafer

• April 6^th—present Utopia Café—coffee wench

EDUCATION:

• Graduate of Wisteria High School

• Head cheerleader for the Fighting Trojans (Go team!)

• Voted best dressed

• One week at Groomers ‘R’ Us

• Four weeks at LaVonda’s Divine School of Cosmetology

INTERESTS:

Long walks on the beach, sunsets, romance novels, cold winter nights, paychecks, fine dining, shopping, naps, playing the lottery, men in kilts/uniforms/calendars, and massages.

REFERENCES:

“If you do not enforce strict ‘attendance’ policies, Miss Jamison is the perfect candidate for your company.”

—Mr. Ron Peaty, Manager of Utopia Café

“Please give my friend a job. Please.”

—Miss Sherridan Smith, best friend

Résumé of Belle Jamison, aka “Wonder Girl” (Final Draft)

OBJECTIVE:

To kick major scrim ass; save the world from parasters; mentor my smart-mouthed sidekick, Tanner; track down the elusive Dr. Roberts; and, um, learn to control the flying dirt balls that keep mysteriously hitting any woman who checks out Rome.

EXPERIENCE:

• Many hours of (hot and heavy) practice with Rome, aka “Cat Man”

• Totally successful elimination of the evil scrim Pretty Boy

• Roasting marshmallows with my bare hands (and eyes) •Watering the flowers at my dad’s assisted living center (without a hose)

• Orchestrating a snowball fight in the middle of summer (Tanner so got his ass kicked!)

EDUCATION:

• The School of Rome

• Awarded straight A’s and aced all “extra credit” assignments

INTERESTS:

Long walks on the beach (with Rome), sunsets (watching them with Rome), romance novels (acting out the love scenes with Rome), cold winter nights (snuggling with Rome), Rome in kilts/uniforms/calendars (or nothing at all), and massages (given by Rome).

REFERENCES:

“If you’re looking for trouble, Belle is the girl for you. PS.—Hurt her and I’ll kill you.”

—Mr. Rome Masters, aka “Cat Man”

“Need a gal who can fry the bad guys but still give your hair the perfect blowout? Wonder Girl’s the one for you!”

—Miss Sherridan Smith, best friend

“You’ll never find a sweeter, harder-working gal than my baby Belle.”

—David Jamison, father

“Once you get to know her, she’s not a stranger.”

—Sunny Masters, friend and one day, perhaps, stepdaughter

“I predict she’ll do great things. Just don’t leave home without a raincoat, a fire extinguisher and moist towelettes.”

—Lexis Masters, aka “Know It All”

“I’ve never met a nicer, more wonderful woman—with such great cleavage!”

—Tanner Bradshaw, aka “Mr. Sensitivity”

In 2011, Belle Jamison returns in a brand-new adventure. Don’t miss twice the romance, twice the danger and twice the fun in TWICE AS HOT, coming soon from Gena Showalter! Turn the page for your sneak peek …

OKAY. HERE’S THE LOWDOWN. My name is Belle Jamison, I’m twenty-five and smart, depending on who—whom?—you’re asking. (Sadly, my teddy bear of a dad is the only one who would pipe up with an affirmative “She’s brilliant!”) I’m a former coffee wench (plus former bus driver, used car salesman, factory worker, maid and a thousand other menial jobs), now employed by the mysterious and shadowy PSI: Paranormal Studies and Investigations.

Oh, and I happen to control the four elements with my emotions. (If you ask my ultra-hot fiancé, Rome, he’ll tell you that control is relative.) Anyway.

Used to be, I was an everyday, average, normal girl. Normal and wishing for bigger and better. I should have known better. Sometimes you actually get what you wish for, and the results are not what you expected. I’d wanted excitement. And yeah, I’d gotten it. But that excitement came with a death warrant.

See, a few months ago, a crazy scientist secretly dropped a chemical into my grande mocha latte and that chemical … changed me. Belle Jamison, average no longer. Suddenly I could shoot fireballs from my eyes, freeze an entire room with a brush of my fingertips against a wall, cause a tempestuous rainstorm with my tears and start a level five tornado with only a thought.

At first, I was upset. I mean, really. Being able to destroy the entire world and everyone in it is a huge burden to carry. But that burden also brought the sexy and insatiable Rome Masters into my life, so I don’t begrudge it too much. Anymore. Plus, once I had a little influence over my abilities, people who pissed me off “accidentally” got their eyebrows singed, and that was pretty damn fun.

Sure, Rome once tried to kill me. Or, as he’d say, to “neutralize” the oncoming disaster and threat I’d become, as I’d had no control over my new abilities. Sure, I later accidentally-on-purpose Tasered the hell out of him. But now we can’t live without each other.

Some people hold hands to show their love; we draw blood. Or we would, if Rome was anywhere to be found.

“I swear, he has five seconds to call me or I’m going to torch his entire gun collection and use the melted metal to make a few necklaces. Maybe some earrings.”

My best friend Sherridan looked up from the romance novel propped against her upraised legs. She lounged on the couch, a vision of curly blond hair, big blue eyes more often than not filled with sadness nowadays and curves that went on for miles. I wasn’t jealous. Really. “He’s called you like four times in the past week. And seriously, you should be embarrassed. I’ve never met anyone who has as much phone sex as you two have.”

My eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know about the phone sex?”

“Duh. I pick up the phone and listen.”

I gasped, felt a spark of something hot inside my chest.

Sherridan laughed. “Kidding, I was only kidding. You’re, like, freakishly loud. Seriously, ear plugs don’t help. Cranking up my iPod to full blast doesn’t work. Despite myself, I’ve been really impressed with your skills.”

Color flooded my cheeks. This was the problem with roommates. “Rome was supposed to call me again last night. He didn’t. He hasn’t. That’s not like him. Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Stop worrying, “ she said with a wave of dismissal. “That he-man can morph into a jaguar, for God’s sake. He’s fine. He’s probably planning a surprise homecoming or something.”

My hand fluttered over the pulse hammering in my throat. “Really? You think?” Was that neediness mine?

“Of course.”

She sounded confident. But then, she hadn’t battled people more monster than human. People who could walk through walls, shift into creatures of the night and leap at you with fangs and claws bared—or simply speak with a voice that forced you to obey.

I had. Rome had. And I had no idea what he was up against this time …

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER has been praised for her “sizzling pageturners” and “utterly spellbinding stories”. She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalterblogspot.com.

Other Books By

Other sexy, steamy reads from Gena Showalter and MIRA Books

Atlantis HEART OF THE DRAGON JEWEL OF ATLANTIS THE NYMPH KING THE VAMPIRE’S BRIDE

Lords of the Underworld THE DARKEST NIGHT THE DARKEST KISS THE DARKEST PLEASURE THE DARKEST PASSION THE DARKEST LIE

Tales of an Extraordinary Girl PLAYING WITH FIRE TWICE AS HOT

More stunning tales from Gena Showalter

are out now …

INTERTWINED

UNRAVELLED

PLAYING with FIRE

Tales of an extra ordinary girl

GENA
SHOWALTER

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Margo Lipschultz—who helped make this book

better than I ever could have dreamed.

To Diana Peterfreund (aka Brainstorm) and the

League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen (Dedicata,

Secret Narration Girl, Themia, Chaptera, Agentextra-

dinara (Deidre Knight), Blog Girl—who wields the

Sword of Buzzsteria—and Comedia). This mighty

team braves the wilds of Procrast Nation, constantly

fighting against the evil Blank Page, Fickle Muse

and Lord Lexicon, who taunts us with wrong word

choices. To all of you: Novelique salutes you.

And to my own super heroines: Jill Monroe, Kresley

Cole, P. C. Cast, Shonna Hurt and Michelle Quine.

CHAPTER ONE

ISN’T IT AMAZING HOW ONE seemingly innocent decision can change your entire life? For me, that decision came in the form of a grande mocha latte.

Allow me to explain.

The day began normally enough. Translation: I rolled out of bed thirty minutes late, rushed through a shower and hurriedly dressed in the standard black slacks and white button-up top every Utopia Café employee is required to wear. Unlike the other employees, I left the top three buttons of my shirt undone, revealing hints of the white lace (push-up) bra I wore underneath. Don’t judge. Some people are mammarily challenged and need a little boost. Anyway, if I showed a little cleavage my pervert boss wouldn’t care that I was late. Again.

He might even thank me for coming in at all.

Was it wrong of me to rely on the girls to get me out of trouble? Probably. Did I give a shit? Hell, no. In fact, I unabashedly adjusted them for ample display. I was single, twenty-four and determined to keep this job. Anyone who objected could blow me.

See, my dad suffers from massive heart problems and I’m the “responsible party” in charge of his bills, not to mention the one who finances his stay at Village on the Park, a nearby assisted living center. I would have loved for him to live with me (not that there’s enough space in my one-bedroom efficiency), but it’s best that he stays there. They have twenty-four-hour monitoring and make sure he takes his medications, which he “forgets” to do when left to his own devices.

Besides, he claims he’s never been happier. The women there are “silver foxes, “ he says, and eager for masculine attention. Dare I mention those silver foxes cost more than high-priced hookers because my dad is always popping the Viagra he buys from his friends?

I’ll do anything to ensure my dad’s happiness, though, the way he unselfishly ensured my happiness throughout my entire childhood. So I desperately need to keep my current job and get the one I’m interviewing for after my shift.

Can’t be late, can’t be late, can’t be late, I mentally chanted as I searched for my coffee-stained tennis shoes. I’ve spilled more cappuccinos on them than I’ve served to high-class snobs. Needless to say, I’ve served a lot of high-class snobs.

“Aha! Found you, you dirty little bastards.” When had I put them in the refrigerator? I tugged them on, shivering as my toes grew numb from the cold.

Meanwhile, the clock ticked away more precious minutes.

I hastily applied blush, mascara and gloss. You’d think the need for money would inspire me to wake up bright and early every morning no matter the circumstances, but you’d be wrong. I was too tired to do bright and early today, even for a stack of greens. Last night I’d bartended a bachelorette party until 3:00 a.m. Me, a girl who knows nothing about alcohol. Sex on the Beach—sure, with the right man. Fuzzy Navel—uh, shower, anyone? Tom Collins—who the hell?

Of course, I’d pretended to be the expert I’d claimed to be in the interview, mixing anything and everything I could get my hands on. My drinks hadn’t been the tastiest, but they’d certainly created the desired results. By the end of the evening, all of the women drunkenly swore they loved me and my “wicked nasty” concoctions.

The clock chimed the hour: 6:00 a.m.

“Damn it.” I rubbed my tired, burning eyes—then froze when I realized the mascara hadn’t dried. Freaking great. I probably looked like a boxer who’d lost the big match. As I scrubbed my face with a wet washrag, I watered my dry, brittle plants, multitasking to save time. What would it take to make the little green monsters thrive?

Finally ready to leave, I dug my keys out of the fishbowl. How many drinks had I sucked down last night? I didn’t remember dropping my keys in the water. At least the bowl was presently devoid of fish. Martin, my betta, had kicked it a few days ago. Natural causes, I assure you.

“I hope you’re rotting in the sewers,” I said, looking down. No way he’d made it into heaven. The little snot had hated me, had always fanned his gills and hit the glass whenever I walked into a room. He’d been a present from my last boyfriend, aka the Prince of Darkness. Was it wrong of me to wish the ex had died with the fish?

No time to ponder the ethics of that dream now. I needed to go. Dressed? Check. Shoes? Check. Keys? Check. Résumé? Check. I’d stuffed it in my work pants last night in preparation for an interview today. Ugh. Yet another menial job. If only I could crawl back into bed, snuggle under the covers and continue my X-rated dream about Vin Diesel and an easy-squeeze tube of chocolate syrup. Double yum! Something about that bald head drove me wild.

Stop daydreaming, woman. I trudged to the front door just as the phone rang. Sighing, I raced into my bedroom. Probably my boss, Ron, but I wanted to double-check just in case. A quick peek at caller ID revealed it was actually my dad. Late as I was, I didn’t even think about letting the machine pick up. I grabbed the receiver and held it to my ear. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, doll. What’cha doing?”

“I’m headed off to work. Everything okay?”

“Fine, everything’s fine.” His deep, rumbling voice never failed to comfort me. “You work too hard.”

“Ah, but you know it’s what I live for, “ I said, and my voice held only truth. I’d never, never let this selfless man know I didn’t like my job(s). He’d go off and get one of his own, the old teddy bear. Anything to take care of me. No wonder I loved him so damn much. “I’m not happy unless I’m working.”

“Just like your mother, God rest her soul. Never did understand that mind-set, myself, “ he said. I pictured him shaking his head in wonderment. “I won’t keep you. I just got to looking through old photo albums of you as a baby. I know you visited the other day, but I still wanted to hear your voice.”

See? He’s a sweetie. “Now you’re trying to make me cry. But I’m glad you called. I missed you and your voice, too.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t we just a pair of mushy—”

“David!” I heard a woman call.

“Oh, hell,” he said to me. To the woman, he grumbled, “Not now, Mary. I’m on the phone with my best gal.”

“Did you or did you not kiss Janet in the gardens last night?” Mary demanded in the background.

“Double hell, “ my dad whispered. Then, “Oh, crap. I think she’s wheeling her chair into my room.” He paused. “I guess I should have resisted Janet’s invitation for a stroll.”

“I guess you should have, “ I said with a laugh.

“I have to go now. Love you, doll, “ he said.

“David!” Mary called, closer now.

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

We disconnected, and I stared at the phone for a minute, a smile hovering on my lips. Shaking my head, I rushed out of my tiny apartment with only one wistful backward glance.

“Let’s get this day over with, “ I muttered.

Outside, the dim spring morning proved wonderfully fragrant with the scent of magnolia, but oppressively hot, the air sticky with humidity. Ah, crap. I’d forgotten to bring a little towel to pat away any sweat. In a few minutes, my clothes were going to be plastered to my body. Oh, well. Nothing I could do about that now.

Not wanting to arrive at work hungry (hungry = bitchy and bitchy = fired), I stopped for a caramel glazed doughnut on my way to the bus station—and missed my bus. MARTA, Atlanta’s premiere miss-it-and-you’re-screwed transportation system, being what it was, the delay set me back another twenty minutes.

By the time I raced into Utopia, lines were long and winding. Customers were pissed about the wait and quite vocal about it. I yawned. I mean, please. Cry me a river, Richie Richersons. Jeez. Anyone who could afford a daily six-dollar cup of joe didn’t need to be complaining about anything.

Ron, my boss, spotted me and gave me a you-are-so-dead scowl.

I squared my shoulders, thereby tightening the material of my shirt, and offered him a chocolate sundae smile, smothered in whipped cream and cherries. Hmm, whipped cream. That would fit nicely in my Vin Diesel fantasy.

Ron’s gaze connected with the girls. He paled, looked away and crooked his finger in my general direction. Without glancing to see if I noticed, he pivoted on his heel, a silent command for me to follow him. Great. Freaking great. This didn’t bode well.

Breathing deeply of the cinnamon-and-vanilla-scented air, I passed several men and women who were using the tables as mini work spaces, their computers, faxes and shredders surrounding them. I stepped into Ron’s small, cramped office.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Pretty?”

“It’s Peaty, and shut the door, “ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He plopped onto his chair, the cluttered desktop shielding his belly paunch. His black gaze remained lowered, not touching any part of me.

Shit.

Palms now sweating, I did as commanded. The smells of dust and cloying aftershave immediately assaulted me, wiping away any lingering hint of baked goods. Without waiting to be told, I claimed the only other seat in the room. A stiff, uncomfortable step stool I liked to call the Naughty Chair. File cabinets pressed close on both sides of me, making me feel pinned.

I studied Ron. He had thin lips, and right now those lips were pressed tightly together, barely visible slashes of pink in the contours of his rotund face. His sandy hair stood on end, as if he’d plowed his fingers through it one too many times. Lines of tension bracketed his eyes, and his brow was furrowed.

Ron had been pissed at me a lot these last few weeks, but he’d never radiated such disgruntled irritation. Such grim determination. I recognized the look, though. I’d gotten it from other bosses over the last year, right before they fired me.

I smothered a sigh. I hadn’t always been a bad employee. For nearly five years, I’d worked as a waitress during the day and a maid during the evening. I’d made enough to pay for my living expenses and support my dad, as well as build a nice savings account—a savings account I’d used up during my (forced) hiatus, aka the two months that it had taken me to land this job at the café.

Why couldn’t I hold back my restlessness anymore? Why couldn’t I quash my discontent, as I had for so many years, and stop sabotaging my only source of revenue?

Though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew the answer. I’d woken up one morning and realized life was passing me by, moving at high speed while I wallowed behind. Dissatisfaction had filled me—and had only grown since.

“I’m sorry for anything and everything I might have done, “ I said, when Ron opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re late, “ he growled. “Again.”

The fact that I didn’t utter, “Thanks for stating the obvious, “ should have earned me major good-girl points. “I know, and I really am sorry.” When his expression didn’t soften, when he still didn’t glance in my direction, my heart slammed against my ribs. “I worked another job late into the morning and had trouble waking up.”

He stared at the wall clock just behind my head and adjusted his chocolate-smeared tie. “While I like the image of you lingering in bed—”

Sick bastard. Gross. Just … gross. I might have thrown up in my mouth. And yes, I understand the irony here. You brought it on yourself, Jamison. What else did you expect, unleashing the girls like that? Suddenly hoping to hide them from view, I hunched my shoulders.

Wait, Ron’s mouth was moving. He hadn’t stopped talking.

“—that’s just not a good enough excuse. I mean, I can make an exception for it once, twice, but we’ve had this same conversation seven times now. And you’ve only worked here a few weeks.”

“I’ll be on time tomorrow, you have my word. I’ll go without sleep if necessary.” Did I sound as desperate to Ron as I did to myself? Probably. Damn it. I hated to let him see my desperation. Hated, hated, hated. The more desperate he knew I was, the more he could pull my strings and make me dance like a performing monkey.

He tapped a pen against his desktop. “That’s what you said last time. This is a small, independent operation, Belle, and we rely on our employees to provide superior service to keep us in business.”

“I do provide superior service, “ I gulped, adding, “when I’m here.”

Frowning, he dropped the pen and pushed a hand through his hair, causing more of the sandy locks to spike straight toward the ceiling. “You think you’re good with customers? Really?”

“Yes, really.” I knew what was happening here. He teetered on the brink of firing me and was simply trying to work up the courage to utter the words. And, I realized with shattering fear, I might not be able to talk him out of it this time. By this point in our previous talks, he was usually sending me on my way with a stern (but perverted) warning.

Had his irritation given him a supersonic determination no amount of sweet-talking persuasion could penetrate?

My eyes narrowed; my hands clenched into fists. I wouldn’t allow him to get rid of me easily. Somehow, some way, I was going to penetrate that wall of nefarious determination. I could not lose this job. Lately very few businesses were willing to take a chance on me, so I could only imagine how long it would take to land another.

“Stupid jobs, “ I muttered.

“What was that?” Ron asked, his gaze sharpening.

Had I said that aloud? “Oh, uh, nothing.” I straightened in the chair. “You were saying?”

He pushed out a sigh. “You have no people skills, Belle. Instead of smoothing ruffled feathers, you set them on fire.”

“I’m telling you, I’m a good employee, “ I said through clenched teeth. And that wasn’t a lie. Sure, I usually arrived late, always cussed, sometimes bitched and—and this is not an admission of guilt—(allegedly) borrowed from the stock room. But I worked weekends, holidays and overtime whenever possible. That counted for something, right?

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Ron flipped open a file and ran a blunt-tipped finger down the front page. “Complaint—server is rude and pushy. Complaint—server made tea instead of coffee. Complaint— server is rude. Complaint—server is rude. Complaint—server is rude. Shall I go on?”

“I don’t let the customers yell and scream at me.” Indignation gave me a sense of bravery, and I sat up even straighter, shoulders squared. Did people have nothing better to do with their lives than complain about a lowly server? “That doesn’t make me rude, it makes me human.”

“Jenni doesn’t yell at customers even when they yell at her.”

“Jenni is a brown-nosing moron.”

Another sigh. “Belle—” Finally, his gaze landed on me and out of habit slid straight to the girls. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a dinghy in a tidal wave. “Uh, what was I saying?”

I almost grinned, every muscle in my body relaxing. Penetration complete. And so much easier than I’d anticipated.

Being looked at was far different from hearing his sex-offender voice comment about me lingering in bed. This I could handle. “I believe you were about to tell me to get to work and never be late again. I planned to respond by telling you that you’re the best boss in the world and I’ll make you proud.”

“Yes, I wanted to tell you to get to—” Eyes widening, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant to say, “ he said, a stern edge creeping into his voice. But he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like brought down by a pair of pretty knockers. “I should fire you, you know. Hell, that’s why I brought you in here.”

“I know, “ I admitted softly. I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment to him. Honest. I just, well, I had always dreamed of being a— Wait. My eyebrows drew together. Even as a little girl, I hadn’t been able to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still didn’t know. But being a peon stuck in a cycle of debt and endless servitude hadn’t been, and still wasn’t, part of my life’s ambition.

Don’t get me wrong. For my dad, I’d sign my soul over to the devil. Permanent ink. No “out” clause. Dad had toiled and slaved for years in construction, even when his weak heart caused him more pain than one person should ever have to bear. He’d worked so hard because he loved me, because he’d wanted me to have pretty clothes and take fun trips with my friends. But mostly because he’d wanted to make up for the car accident that had killed my mom when I was a toddler.