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“You mean Mr. Black? Well, I’m not sure if he hates me and/or wants to eat me alive, and not in the good way.”

Her eyebrow creeps up. “You don’t know his name?”

“Why would I know his name?”

Pity flashes across her face. “It’s Harlan, honey. Harlan Vance. He’s one of Daddy Damian’s brothers.” My stomach tightens as her voice lowers. “The Vance family owns this whole building.” She adds ominously, “And everything in it.”

Of course, I know who the Vances are. They employ me.

What I did not know is thatheis one ofthem.

I’ve only met Damian Vance. Until now.

I did not know that I just served a drink to one of my new bosses—and judging by his response to me, made a terrible first impression.

“So… why don’t you want to serve him?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s grouchy as hell, ice-cold, and unbelievably arrogant,” she says breathlessly, like she’s majorlyturned on. “He probably wouldn’t touch me to save his life. I’m hopeless. Just keep me away from him.”

“You can take table twelve, in my section,” I offer. She really does seem stressed out. “Looks like they just sat down.”

“Thank you. And if you’re smart,” she warns, “you’ll stay away from him, too.”

“You told me to serve him!”

She shrugs, like,Sorry!, and heads for table twelve before I can change my mind. I sigh.

Drama.Cakes don’t give drama. I miss my cakes.

If only they paid better.

I swing through my section, stopping to chat with a group of men at one of my tables.

When I approach the owner’s table again, Mr. Black—Harlan Vance—is watching me. His eyes look unholy black. That hateful smolder of his could burn a city down.

“My glass has been empty for five minutes,” he tells me.

I scoop up the glass guiltily. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another.”

“You didn’t ask me if I want another.”

We stare at each other as my heart tries to hammer its way right through my ribcage. “Would you like another?”

“What I’d like is for you to notice that I’m sitting here.”

I blink, astonished. “I did notice.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Of course I did.”

His expression is unforgiving. His eyes roam down, linger on my little shorts, then climb all the way back up my curves. I’m steaming by the time they drag over my cleavage. It’s like his fingers are all over me. His hot coal eyes snag on my throat, then my mouth, before meeting mine again.

“Bring me another drink, Quinn.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’m sure I feel his eyes burning into me as I beeline straight to the bar and collect his drink. I never call peoplesir. Even in here.