Page 2 of A Prince for Christmas

Damn. He had a stunningly good smile. The kind of smile that would make a weaker woman’s heart flutter and bring a blush to her cheeks. Fortunately, I was a sensible girl, and I wasn’t one to be taken in by a gorgeous smile. If my cheeks were feeling hot, it was from windburn on my way here.

“Emily Miller,” I said as I shifted the books again to shake his hand. His big, warm hand wrapped around mine, his fingers long and strong, with those beautifully kept nails. I tried to imagine those hands in a sink full of hot, soapy water to keep from imagining them someplace on my body… And couldn’t quite get there. “So, what position will you be working?”

Did that sound sexy? Crap.

“That’s up to Mr. McGregor,” Nick replied, arching a brow.

Gah, why was he so handsome? My cheeks were going to be windburned all night at this rate.

“I want him to be able to fill in where he’s needed up here, just like you,” McGregor said. “Teach him everything about front of the house, starting from the bottom and working up. Tonight you can show him the dining room, since we’re short there.”

“Really? Who didn’t show?”

“Earl.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Earl? Again?”

“Damn kid, says he has the stomach flu.”

I stared at Nick, all six-foot-something of perfectly cut lines in a blazer that looked custom fit for his broad shoulders and slacks that looked like they were also made to hug him just right. Between that and his clean hands and refined manners and accent, he wouldn’t last a minute. Earl was the busboy. How was I supposed to make this tall hunk of privilege work as a busboy? I tried not to grimace.

“Who else is in the dining room?” I asked, hoping I could do a little shuffling and give Nick an easier start to the restaurant business. Somehow, I suspected this would be his first exposure to it.

“No one. Marcy has finals, and it’s Glenda’s turn to bartend.” We rotated the dining room, cocktail waitress and bartender jobs, because the bartender always made the most in tips. Mr. McGregor thought it was fairer than pooling tips because, according to him, pooling favored the laziest server.

We were two short tonight, with only a clueless new guy to fill in. Oh lordy me. Work was going to test my nerves tonight.

CHAPTER 2

I swallowed down a wave of dismay. I hoped it didn’t show. Nick Lancaster looked like he belonged in a stockbroker’s office, or maybe an expensive supper club, not a run-down college hang-out. There had to be a story there, but I quickly put that out of my mind.

I had enough problems staying on task as it was, without the distraction of a shamefully handsome trainee. Taking a deep breath, I turned to him and smiled, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I guess it’s just you and me tonight. Have you ever bussed tables?”

His blank stare told me more than I wanted to know. “Bussed tables?” he asked carefully, looking like I was speaking a foreign language.

Oh, good grief. He didn’t even know what I was talking about. I wondered briefly what I could do to get even with old McGregor for dumping this newbie in my lap.

“Cleared them,” I said, making an effort to not sound impatient. “A customer comes in, the hostess seats them, the waitress takes their order and serves them, then the busboy removes the dishes. Except we only have you and me for the entire dining room tonight.”

He blinked at me, realization seeming to dawn. “That leaves us in quite a pickle, doesn’t it?” he asked, his accent making it hard not to laugh when he used that expression.

I blew a wet strand of hair out of my face and tried to stay businesslike. “We don’t have a hostess, so I’ll be seating them. You’ll be clearing dishes. I’ll be taking their orders and serving food, and one of us will be serving drinks, whoever is less busy.”

“Sounds like we’ve got it covered, then.” He seemed agreeable, but I was pretty sure he had not a clue what I was talking about.

I took a deep breath. “Have you ever worked in a restaurant before?”

He gave a little shrug. “No.”

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do.” I found a place to set down my soggy books, then took his hand. Big mistake. It was warm and huge and disturbingly comforting, and instead of leading him through this stressful night, I pictured a stroll down a beach somewhere tropical…

I pulled my hand away as if I’d been burned. “Come with me. We’re going to work through this together, and you’ll be fine,” I lied.

Meanwhile, I was trying not to panic. We would not be fine for one single minute. A brief survey of the dining room told me that, at the moment, everyone had their food, but there were five tables needing to be cleared. I handed Nick an apron—bussing tables was hard on street clothes, and his looked like they cost a pretty penny—and directed him to get the dish cart and follow me. Table by table, we loaded the dirty dishes onto bins on the rolling cart. Nick seemed to take surprising pleasure in clearing the dishes. When at last we pushed the cart into the kitchen, where Eddy, whose face was so freckled it was hard to figure out which spots were acne and which were freckles, was washing dishes, Nick gave him the same blinding smile and formal handshake he’d given me.

“I’m quite properly amazed,” he said. “Who knew all this went on behind the scenes at a restaurant?”

Eddy gave him a funny look and started grabbing the plastic tubs of dishes.