Alisha's POV
I dragged my half zombie body across the floor of Delizia , the upscale restaurant that pretends it's not overcharging for pancakes, with a tray of coffee cups that feel like small boulders on my wrist.
"Alisha" my manager Claire barked from the counter. She was a beautiful woman with curves in the right proportions compared to me who was..... Let's not go there. But yeah, I know I have good genes too.
" Table Seven, now, VIP. And put on a damn smile"
I nodded
VIP? Great. Just what i need . Another uptight, overpriced suit who'll ask for 'room temperature' sparkling water and raise an eyebrow if I breathe too loud.
Thanks to the movies I watch,I know this part well
With a sigh that might have contained my soul escaping my body, I shuffled over to table seven. And then I saw him.
God must've had a Pinterest board called Tall, Dark, and Intimidating when he made this man. Jet-black hair slicked back, cheekbones so sharp they could cut steel, and icy gray eyes that looked like they'd seen all the sins of the world and decided to commit a few of their own.
Dominic Wayne. CEO of Wayne Companies. Billionaire.
Not that I knew all that in the moment. All I knew was that I was tired, overwhelmed, and this man had the audacity to be born that good-looking while I had mismatched socks.
I blinked.
He blinked.
I tripped.
And coffee. Went. Everywhere.
Hot. Scalding. Splashing onto his pristine white dress shirt like a horror movie in slow motion. My mouth formed a silent scream as I stared at the carnage I'd created.
"Oh, holy plot twist," I whispered.
He stood up slowly, his six-foot-something frame towering over me. The coffee dripped from his shirt like accusations.
His voice was low. Dangerous. "What the hell do you call this?"
"A caffeinated baptism?" I squeaked.
Inhaling and exhaling, I expected yelling. A tantrum. Maybe a lawsuit.
Instead, he stared at me with those glacier eyes that drew me in, lips curling into something between a sneer and a smirk.
"You're fired." He said the words I feared to hear.
"I'm already dead inside," I muttered.
"What was that?"
"I said, do you want napkins, sir?"
Third Person POV --Dominic Wayne
Dominic Wayne hated mornings. He hated interruptions. And he hated unnecessary human interaction.
Yet there he stood, soaked in lukewarm coffee, staring at the most chaotic woman he'd encountered in a long time.
He should have been furious. Instead, his interest was piqued. Why the hell was hus interest piqued.
She wasn't like the simpering heiresses or icy socialites that floated through his world. No. This girl had fire. Panic, yes, but fire underneath. She'd blushed, but she hadn't begged. She hadn't flirted either. She just looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
Dominic's assistant approached with a towel and a new shirt. He always carried backups, because the universe was full of idiots.
"Clumsy," Dominic said almost to himself, glaring at the girl's back as she left.
He's gaze lingered on the waitress as she scurried away, mumbling curses and probably rethinking every life choice that led her to this moment.
He didn't smile.
But something inside him stirred.
---
Alisha's POV
I hid in the kitchen. Like, literally behind the fridge. The chefs were too busy to care, and I was too humiliated to exist.
I just poured coffee on the walking Greek god of capitalism. He probably had assistants whose job it was to sue people like me.
And of course, Claire fired me. Not even a slap on the wrist or a "you can work the night shift where no one important sees your face." Just a sharp "You're done," and a motion toward the door.
So now I was unemployed, exhausted, and still horny from last night's romance novel.
This novel caused me my first job. I cried and laughed as I remembered where my fault too lied.
Last night,while humans slept I was busy giggling and being all excited as I had just finished the thirds series of "My fault" novel. I only just have one word for it "Mind-blowing"
There's this feeling I get after each dark romance novel I read . These novels helps my days to be lighter than they are .Trust me, I've had rough days, very rough days. They are the best possessions I possess.
My name is Alisha Bradford. I hate my last name like I hate love.
They say love makes the world go round
Well, in my case, love crashed the world , sets it on fire and did a little tap dance on the ashes.
I don't believe in love.I believe in books. Especially ones with red flags, brooding billionaires,and heroines who moan alot but still somehow own a business empire by chapter five.
But reality?. Reality looks like my aching feet and the godforsaken time that says 3 a.m. Wait, what?!!! I binked once ,then twice and it doesn't change.
"Shit" I had cursed with my eyes wide open.
If only I had slept early. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have been bleary-eyed and tired this morning, on my first day in a good paying job and worst I wouldn't have made the mistake of pouring coffee on Mr Tall-Dark-and-Broody.
Awesome.
By the time I got home to my depressing apartment - a shoebox with delusions of grandeur. I collapsed on my lumpy mattress and laughed until I cried. Or cried until I laughed. It's hard to tell when everything's blurry and your life feels like a tragic rom-com.
The worst part? I still had to go home this weekend. Back to the Brandon Mansion of Misery, where Maggie, Lauren, and Judith competed for the gold medal in Passive-Aggressive Torture, and dear old Dad treated me like I personally handed him a death certificate the day I was born.
My only peace? Grandma Melissa. The only one who remembered I existed for more than inheritance purposes.
And she loved Dominic Wayne.
If only she knew I baptized him in coffee today.
If only I knew that it was the beginning of everything.