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“Table?” I glance back at Chelsea, who frowns.

“This company? You’ve heard their slogan, right? ‘Table it for later!’ They’re like Klarna, only better.”

Great. Another buy-now-pay-later immoral financial trap.

“I overheard one of the suits say they just had a unicorn IPO, whatever that means.”

“It means the company went public.” I answer, feeling a little ill. “That they’re worth billions.”

“No shit? So you’re running away from a billionaire.” She sounds less than impressed.

I want to tell her there must be some mistake. That I know billionaires. Or I used to. But as a shadow falls over me, it’s too late to say anything. I look up, and my heart does a painful two-step. I’m somehow shocked by the hardness in his eyes. I see the moment he forces it away. Watch as he opens his mouth, and—oh no—remember how his voice should come with a warning label.

Caution: May Cause Panties to Spontaneously Drop.

“Well, if it isn’t Clara Fairfax Forbes.”

Chapter 2

Troy

“. . . Clara Fairfax Forbes.” I draw out her name and probably overdo it by adding a little wide-eyed wonder along with the slow shake of my head. My eyes drop to her name badge. Sunny. Surely Firework or IED would have been more suitable. Something unpredictable and dangerous. “I’ll be damned. I thought it was you.”

“How are you, Troy?” The tremble in her voice catches me off guard. I mean, I saw her hustle, but I’d hustle from me, too, given our past. Given what she did.

“I’m all the better for seeing you,” I answer smoothly, despite the problem in front of me. Not that I always thought of her as a problem. If I had, I might’ve been more prepared.

“I doubt that,” she murmurs as her gaze skates away.

Remorse? More likely she couldn’t get away quick enough. Guilt never was her strong suit. Glasses that I doubt are real, the name badge, and the server’s uniform. Whatever she’s doing here, whatever her motives are, it looks like poverty is her costume of choice.

The fucking irony.

“I’d better . . .” The blonde to her left, an actual server, takes a step back as though she’d like to slip away.

“Wait!” Clara grabs for her wrist, which makes things about as awkward as fuck. “I need you to help me with that thing, remember?”

The blonde’s attention moves my way, but I keep my expression open. “I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Don’t tell me you’ve got to rush off, now.”

Clara flinches despite the fuck ton of congeniality I force into my tone. But Jesus, I thought I was seeing things. It threw me off for a minute. For several minutes, judging by Hannah’s comment at the bar: “If you don’t relax, people are going to start asking who fucked your gift horse in the mouth.”

It didn’t stop me storming after Clara like the kind of shithead who harasses waitstaff. Though I managed to get a hold of myself and slowed my roll. Found my equilibrium. Greeted people and made small talk on the way. But never took my eyes off Clara or her tray.

See, most people think charm is innate. That it’s a manner you’re born with, a kind of softness that rounds out a character. Not in my case. Charm is a learned behavior and a useful weapon to wield, which is something I learned back when others’ homes were safer places than my own.

To me, charm is a tool for influence. It’s persuasion. Appeal. A double-edged sword that seduces and deceives. Dominates, even. Things I’d do to this woman in a heartbeat, I’m reminded as I look into her elfin face.

Christ. I thought I learned my lesson all those years ago.

Seeing Clara Forbes again should feel anything but nostalgic.

But she looks good. Really good. Paler. Maybe a little thinner. Her hair no longer cascades down her back, instead cut blunt at the chin. I always used to think she looked like she stepped from the pages of an X-rated fairy tale. The observation still stands. She’s just less Rapunzel now. Maybe more like a sexy sprite.

The kind that fucks up your shit just because she can.

Which is probably why my shoulders feel tight and my heart is beating like a drum. All the times I pictured seeing Clara again, this was not how I saw it go down.

“How long has it been?” I give a tiny shake of my head as though I can’t believe my luck. Right.