Page 1 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe (Revenge Brides #6)

CHAPTER ONE

Misha

“ M isha, you need to calm down. Go stand in the back and take a breather.” My co-worker whispers, looking stressed as she tries to push me towards the kitchen - wanting me to go and sit in the back passage where the smokers usually sneak out for a quick puff.

We are standing in view of a lot of customers and Libby is stressing.

My blood is boiling through, and I don’t give a fuck who can hear me. I’m furious. I have a right to be angry.

“I don’t want a fucking break, Libby. I am so sick of these rich assholes thinking they can treat us however they want. I’m a waitress, not his slave. I should take that steak knife and?—”

She grabs my arm and literally drags me through the swinging doors off the main floor of the restaurant.

She shoves me to the side of the kitchen and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “Take a breath. They are all assholes. They are all rich pompous douchebags. We know this. It’s just part of the job.”

My blood is pumping too fast, and my head is flooded with rage to the point where my vision is blurring. I get like this sometimes. Usually just before I do something stupid.

“I can’t do this anymore.” I snarl. “I have to get out of here.”

“Misha, the tips here are really good. Don’t mess this up. You know you need the money. Just ignore that asshole.” She looks worried. She should be.

My boss, the manager of this over-the-top establishment, the guy who drives the latest Mercedes and has never given two fucks about how his staff gets treated - he walks into the kitchen in a rage.

“Misha. That client is threatening to go to the media. What the fuck did you do?” He growls at me, grabbing my arm and shaking me.

Libby takes one look at this scene and makes a run for it, going back out to tend to her customers.

“I didn’t do anything except tell him he isn’t allowed to grab my ass when I walk past the table.” I snarl back at my boss.

The kitchen door swings open as another waiter comes in carrying plates he’s cleared away.

“Everyone can fucking hear your fucking tantrum, and the entire restaurant of customers say you embarrassing that customer.” My boss says.

“So, fucking what? He grabbed my ass . That’s assault.

He can’t get away with that. Besides - I bet you didn’t go around asking every single customer their opinion.

” I am exasperated by his complete lack of effort to even try to make me feel ok.

He doesn’t give a shit. Literally, zero shits have been given here.

My manager lifts his lip in an angry sneer. “You’re fired.” He hisses.

“I’m fired?” I pack up laughing. “Me? I’m fired?” I can’t stop laughing now.

He pushes me away from him, and I stumble, knocking into the drying rack of freshly washed plates. A few of them crash to the floor, loudly. He screams about how I am going to pay for that and for the customer's meal and any business he loses because I wouldn’t let some asshole fondle my ass.

In a blind rage, I grab the pot of hot oil off the stove and throw it at my boss. The chef yelps, moving in slow motion as he staggers backward.

Thick golden liquid splashes from the stainless-steel pot onto my boss’s face and chest and he just starts screaming. I can’t believe how much he’s screaming.

For a moment I’m so fascinated I can’t move. I’m just staring as his skin turns red and starts blistering.

Then I realize I should probably leave before the cops get here, so I skid right out of the kitchen, briefly stopping in the locker room to grab my backpack and then bolting out of the restaurant.

Everyone is staring at me. Some look terrified, some look confused.

I don’t care. He got what he deserved.

Men are fucking sick assholes, weak and pathetic, and they all deserve to die an agonizing death.

I’m taking the stairs two at a time to get out of the building as fast as possible, but I can already hear the sirens in the distance.

I bolt from the entrance doors on the ground floor and now I can see the flashing lights. Shit.

This is bad.

A dark limo with heavily tinted windows comes to a stop in front of me and I’m about to run from it when the window slides open and the man in the back seat asks, “Would you like a ride?”

I have to admit. I’m kind of out of choices, so when he pushes the door open, I just leap inside.

The driver pulls away calmly while I stare nervously out of the window at the police vehicles as they surround the restaurant.

“Don’t worry. They won’t follow us.” The man says.

My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe.

I lean back in the seat, sitting opposite this stranger in his limo. I take a deep breath and finally begin to pay attention to him and my surroundings.

“Who are you?” I ask breathlessly, my eyes wandering over his perfectly tailored suit and his dark eyes. He’s older and refined, but he still has a very rugged edge to him, suggesting he is not a man you want to mess with.

To be honest, he’s freaking hot, and that takes me by surprise.

I shift in my seat, trying to figure out if I made a mistake getting into this car or not.

“My name is Vincent Vece. Yours?” He speaks with authority that rustles through me and causes a shiver to tickle down my spine.

“Misha Blake. Why did you help me? If you plan to kidnap me or do weird things to me, I’ll just warn you up front that I know how to take care of myself.”

He laughs. It’s darkly delicious. The sound rumbles through me and sets goosebumps over my skin.

“Sweetheart, I was in the restaurant. I saw what happened, and I saw what you did to your boss.”

“Oh.” I sink into my seat, nervous. He’s probably going to take me right to the police. Fuck.

“I rather enjoyed the show. There aren’t very many people in the world willing to stand up for themselves like that.” Vincent says, amused.

Oh. I relax a little.

“So, you just figured you’d help me get away from the cops? You realize they saw your car and will probably come after you now, right?”

He laughs again. Even darker than before. “I own the police, sweetheart.” He says, and for some reason, I one hundred percent believe him.

“I see. Mafia? Criminal Under-lord? King of the city?” I say sarcastically. “Which one are you?”

“All of them.” He answers calmly.

I smirk, enjoying his honesty.

My mother warned me about men like him. She has an especially severe dislike for the mafia.

Actually, my mother has spent my entire life warning me about every single man on the planet. She made some unbelievably bad choices. Choices that I had to deal with because she was too - timid - to deal with it herself. But I’ll take care of her no matter what. Just like she has taken care of me.

“I see.” I grin at this dark, mysteriously gorgeous demon of a man. “So, you can just drop me on the sidewalk here.” I point in no particular direction at all without taking my eyes off him.

“I can. Or you can join me for a drink to celebrate your newfound freedom.” He smiles.

“I don’t think losing my job counts as freedom.” I roll my eyes, knowing my mother is going to be extremely disappointed in me. Again . We really need the money. Things are a struggle enough as it is.

“Every loss is an opportunity for something new. Have one drink with me. Then I will drop you wherever you want to go.” Vincent suggests.

I should say no because this guy is just head to toe trouble. But if I go home now, my mom will know I’ve lost my job. I’m not in the mood to manage her disappointment - and I could really do with a drink.

“Fine.” I accept.

“Excellent.” he replies, his eyes wandering over me suggestively.

It makes my heartbeat faster, the way he’s looking at me.

I’m not the kind of girl who falls for guys too easily.

Mostly, I see them as weak and lacking self-control.

But this one - he is fully in control, and he doesn’t give off any weak-vibes at all.

Either way - I know how to handle myself in difficult situations, so agreeing to a drink with him doesn’t scare me.

“Can we go somewhere private, though? I would prefer to stay out of sight for the rest of the evening.” I ask, because if I end up in a bar now, I’m sure someone will recognize me - let’s just say it’s not the first time I’ve had a run in with the law in this city.

He chuckles and nods. “My penthouse then. I have a stocked bar.”

I nod, settling into the seat as we drive through the city towards his place.

Of course, when we get there, I am blown away by the luxury of his home. Some people just have too much money. That’s my first thought. Whatever criminal shit this guy does - he does it well.

“You live here alone?” I ask, trying not to sound too impressed.

“Actually, this is my city apartment. I’m hardly here. I live in a house outside of the city. It’s just convenient to have this place for when I don’t want to drive back and forth too often.”

I snub my nose at him. “Oh. Goodness no. You wouldn’t want to drive back and forth too often.”

He laughs at my rudeness and that makes me smile.

In the brighter light of his apartment, standing beneath the massive skylight in his living room, I take a proper look at him.

He’s far better looking than I first thought he was in the dim light of the limo - and already back then I was perving his hotness.

His eyes are bright blue, almost shocking, and while he’s staring at me, it feels like he’s tearing me apart with his gaze.

He has a shadow of dark gray stubble across his square jaw.

And he clearly works out. I can quite literally see the muscles flexing beneath his crisp white shirt as he moves to shrug his jacket off. This man is trouble with a capital T.

Vincent walks away from me, tossing the jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“What would you like to drink, Misha?” he asks. His deep voice is like black coffee, rich and dark.

“Whisky. Or gin. I’m not fussy.” I shrug, still looking around. Tracing my fingers over the furniture as I walk towards the kitchen.

“I have a very good single malt. If you’re a girl who enjoys whisky, I recommend it.”

I nod and turn to watch him as he takes down two crystal tumblers and splashes whisky into them.

His back muscles move beneath his shirt and now that he’s rolled up his sleeves, I can see the tanned muscles and tendons of his forearms flexing and stretching.

Maybe I’ll hang around for more than a drink.

It’s been a while since I had some fun. I’m so fussy about men - it’s hard to find a guy who I think is more capable than I am.

I’m sure you know what I mean - a guy who would be the one wearing the pants in the relationship.

A guy who you would allow yourself to submit to.

If I don’t feel he is capable - then it’s an immediate turn off.

This Vincent guy looks like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it - and like he could change my tire if I asked.

Just saying, there aren’t that many guys who can change a car tire these days.

It’s shocking but true. Or maybe I’m not even talking about a tire at all, but something else entirely.

I laugh to myself, amused by my own thoughts.

Vincent turns to face me with a curious look on his face. He hands me a glass of whisky, neat, on the rocks. I take it from him, and his fingers brush over mine. The smile he throws me is suggestive. I grin right back at him, lowering my lashes and daring him to make a move.