Page 23 of Billionaire's Secret Baby

“I guess. I just hate to waste it. Look, they’ve had enough to drink already.”

I glanced over surreptitiously at the table. Through the crowded restaurant, I could see the booth where Luca and his friends were sat. Their faces were red and they were laughing loudly. Luca was telling one of his crass, dirty stories about something that happened in Vegas, while they sipped oysters and looked at the menu.

I couldn’t stand watching people throw money around like that. My twenties had been nothing if not a struggle to make ends meet: first as a musician, and then caring for Macy. And even if my salary at theOrchidwas good, it wasn’t exactly like a single mother waitressing in New York was ever going to bethatwealthy. I looked up at the ice bucket sitting on the side, the bottle with its gold label gleaming in the low light.

“That bottle is like half my week’s salary,” I muttered.

I watched the champagne get carted over to Luca’s table, where Carrie, one of the waitresses, opened it. Luca yanked the bottle out of her hands, and topped up their glasses.

“Animals,” muttered Andy, and went back downstairs.

I put it out of my mind, and tried to think happy thoughts. It wasn’t hard. I was working tomorrow, but then I had three days off, a rarity in the New York restaurant business, and Macy and I would be able to play together over the weekend.

We got through the service, ignoring Luca and his friends increasingly irritating behavior. Twice, they got up and knocked something over. At one point, while telling another gross story, Luca knocked over a glass and it shattered on the floor. But eventually, service was over, and Luca’s friends departed before they’d even sent the bill. None of them were going to pay: Luca would just tell us to comp it. And we’d comp it.

By the time we were cleaned up, Luca was still there, texting on his phone. Eventually, I came over to clean the table.

“Hey, beautiful,” he purred, and I felt a visceral sensation of disgust. Luca was notorious for flirting with the women in front-of-house, and I tried to ignore him.

“Hey,” I said cheerily, and cleaned up the last of the plates and the bottle. The restaurant was being vacuumed.

“What’s your name, hot stuff?” said Luca, and I rolled my eyes.

“Lola,” I said stiffly.

“Lola, be a dear and ask the chef if he can make me up a tiramisú.”

“I think the chefs are cleaning right now.”

“Well, would you justask?” said Luca, rudely. “Not too much, is it? Gee, I’m really gonna have to talk to Alex about the service here these days.”

I said nothing, but turned and went into the kitchen. Around me, the cooks were scrubbing the ovens and the surfaces, mopping the floor, neatly labeling and putting things away in their fridges for the next day. When Gabriel, the head chef saw me, he sighed.

“What does he wantnow?” he said.

“Tiramisú,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Right. Hey, Giuliano! Guess what!”

From the back of the kitchen, the pastry chef swore.

I went out of the kitchen, shaking my head. But when I got there, Luca wasn’t at his table.

He was standing in front of the cash register behind the bar, with his back to me.

I stepped forward, and looked over the bar. My eyes widened.

Luca was pocketing money from the till.

“What are you doing?” I gasped. Cashing up that night was my responsibility, since Andy had gone downstairs to check up on the cellar, and it was Zeke’s night off.

He turned around, and grinned. “What does it look like, babygirl?”

“Don’t youbabygirlme!” I hissed. “That’s our take! What’s Alex gonna say?”

Luca turned around and stepped towards me. His eyes gleamed under the lamps above, and he squared his shoulders. I took a step back. He was scaring me.

“Alex ain’t gonna say nothing,” he said. “Because you,” he explained, “ain’t gonna say nothing either.”