The Bet An Enemies-To-Lovers Billionaire Romance - Sienna Blake Page 0,4

from digging into a half-eaten chocolate mousse cake a girl brought back from the dining room. My stomach grumbled in disappointment.

“Delaney, are you listening to me?” Bridget asked.

I focused my eyes on hers and nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m listening.”

Bridget nodded. “Okay,” she said and sighed. “This is what you’re going to do.”

I loved Bridget to death. She was the reason I even got this job here at The White Room; hell, she was the reason I wasn’t homeless and wandering the streets at night (at least so far). But the thing was, I really didn’t do too well with being told what to do. Never had. Never would.

“You’re going to go back out to that table and calmly and quietly and respectfully express how grateful you are to have had him and his guest at The White Room this evening.”

My eyes drifted toward a passing plate of sea scallops practically drowning in butter.

“Delaney!” Bridget snapped.

“I heard you,” I assured her. “Express gratitude and shit.”

Bridget gave me a look.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Express gratitude and stuff.”

Bridget squeezed my hands. “Alright, then you’re going to ask if there is anything else you can get them and—”

“They already have the check.”

“And offer them a complimentary dessert.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A complimentary dessert? What, as a reward for shafting me with not so much as a trace of lube?”

Bridget nodded. “Trust me,” she insisted patiently. “You bring them a slice of lemon cake, two espressos, say you hope to serve them again some time very soon and I guarantee you’ll leave tonight with your wallet a little fuller.”

I huffed irritably. “Is this the part where I bend over and hold my ass cheeks open? Or does that come later in the night?”

“Delaney, just try it, please,” Bridget basically begged.

I sighed. Bridget’s eyes searched mine.

She hesitated as she watched me again before saying, “Do you need me to go over it again?”

I waved her off. “No, no, I’ve got it.”

Bridget adjusted my black vest and popped open one more button on my blouse. She grinned sheepishly as she shrugged. “Hey, it doesn’t hurt. Besides, you’ve got a nice rack.”

I snapped my fingers. “Goddammit, that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night, B.”

Bridget rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. She laid her hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to go talk to him?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, tugging my hair into a quick pony. “Yay…”

“Go get ’em, tiger,” Bridget said as I started to push open the door into the dining room.

I nearly yelped in surprise when she slapped my ass. I looked over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow. She shrugged, leaning against the cinder block wall.

“What? You’ve got a nice tush, too.”

I blew her a kiss and stepped back into the hushed tones and dim light of The White Room. I tried to relax my fingers, but they instantly curled into tense fists at the sight of the dude. Gratitude. Lemon cake. Money. Gratitude. Lemon cake. Money. I could do this. I could do this.

I mean, how hard could it be?

Gratitude. Lemon cake. Money. I could do this.

I got to the table. The dude turned in his chair to look up at me. I saw his face. I smiled charmingly. I spoke the first thing that popped into my mind, just like I always had. Just like I always would.

“Hey, asshole.”

Ronan

“Even her?”

As I turned there was a commotion of clattering silver ware and screeching chairs. I watched as a man stood to confront a waitress I’d never seen in the club before. He towered over her, but she jutted her chin up at him defiantly. I was reminded of a scorpion: long dark hair shiny as armour, a plump mouth that curled up at the sides like the tip of a deadly stinger, hypnotic dark eyes of a predator. I was paralysed by her and she hadn’t even touched me. Yet.

“What the hell did you just say to me?” the man demanded, cigar hanging lewdly from his narrow lips. “What the hell did you just say to me?”

The girl smiled darkly as she leaned back and crossed her arms. If she hadn’t been so angry her face would have been sweet. But one thing was clear: she was angry.

“You heard me,” the girl snapped. “But I’ve got no problem saying it again. So how goes it, asshole?”

The man blustered, taking his cigar from his mouth, putting it back, taking it back out, putting it back in. I grinned in unabashed amusement. She was