Page 15 of The Sun & Her Burn (Impossible Universe Trilogy #2)

LINNEA

A ffaire was one of the hottest restaurants in Los Angeles, but tonight was still absolute chaos compared to the norm.

An up-and-coming rapper was celebrating his birthday in one of the private rooms in the back, and the daughter of a top Hollywood director was hosting a sweet sixteen in the wine cellar.

The main floor, an opulent, French-themed landscape of red velvet seats and chandeliers, was packed with A-list celebrities and quiet money.

I had been gobsmacked when I got the job given that the hotel was part of the world class Faire Developments Group and the head chef was Etienne Devereaux, a three-star Michelin chef from New York City.

The tips on the first day alone had honestly made me weep, and even though the hustle was absolute insanity each shift, I loved everyone I worked with.

Serving celebrities was never going to be glamorous, but most of them treated me with polite indifference or cool disdain, and I’d only had to deal with the odd tantrum.

Besides, it was where I had met Rozhin.

“If Bob Henry doesn’t stop staring at my breasts, my hand is going to have a word with his face,” she told me as she swooped into the server’s station with glittering dark eyes. “The uniform is hardly revealing.”

This was true. We were required to wear black dress shirts and tailored black pants with heels, but Rozhin was blessed with a body like an hourglass, so she could make any outfit look indecent.

“Bob isn’t a day under eighty-four,” I said as I printed a bill and slotted it into a leather folio. “Give the guy a break. He’s trying to live a little before he dies.”

Rozhin laughed like I’d intended her to, bumping her hip into mine. “Why do I even love you?”

“Because I’m fabulous?” I teased with a winning smile, flipping my hair over my shoulder as I started to walk out of the hub.

“Because you make me pretty dresses,” she corrected. “I’m with you for your clever fingers, Nea. Don’t forget that!”

I was giggling, staring down at my billfold, when I crashed into someone on the other side of the wall.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I gushed immediately, raising my hands to press against a decidedly male chest so I could catch myself from falling into it completely. “I apologize, sir.”

I looked up just in time to see vivid green eyes darken, a sharp muscle ticking in a square clenched jaw dusted with golden stubble.

My breath left me on a long whoosh.

Adam Meyers stood before me—against me, really—staring down at me with an almost murderous expression on his unfairly handsome face.

God, how unjust was it that men just got so much better looking with age?

The last time I’d seen Adam in person was a decade ago, on one of the last nights of his marriage to Savannah when she had called in my mom to soothe her, and Miranda hadn’t had time to dump me at home before heading over.

I’d seen Adam in the kitchen at the back wall of windows looking out over the moonlight turning the pool water silver and limning the guesthouse in shadows. He had looked so sad then, I’d almost gone to him.

But who was I to comfort him?

A sixteen-year-old nobody who had only spent one beautiful afternoon with him.

The years had added handsome crow’s feet to the corners of those vibrant eyes, a hint of silver above the temples in his golden hair. This close, I could find no fault with his beauty. He was perfectly symmetrical, his mouth wide and firm, his chin strong and slightly dimpled.

The desire to bite it was sudden and fiercely shocking.

“Linnea,” he said in that posh British accent that made my name sound like a poem. “I was hoping to run into you.”

I lifted my hands between us limply and offered a crooked smile. “Tada!”

His somber expression didn’t even twitch.

I swallowed thickly.

“I would like to speak with you.”

“Um, well, I’m working right now and we’re slammed, so I don’t think—

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Adam assured me. “I’m seated in your section.”

I blinked at him.

“Perhaps you could see me to my seat,” he suggested in a way that made it seem more like an order.

I was surprised by the way it affected me because I was a fiercely independent woman raised by a father and three uncles who let me run wild most of my childhood. Male authority figures did not feature heavily in my life, and normally, I would have snapped at someone for ordering me around.

But there was something about Adam’s cool-toned arrogance, a highborn haughtiness that made my pulse race with something other than indignation.

Of course, I couldn’t let him know that.

“Usually the host does that,” I said mildly before shaking my hand holding the billfold. “And I have to drop this bill at a table before I go to the kitchen and deliver dishes for a few other tables. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“You know, for someone so eager to be my paramour, I expected you to have a better attitude,” he had the absolute audacity to say to me before turning on his expensive leather shoe and walking away from me.

A sound of frustration worked itself up my throat without my permission.

Who even said words like “paramour” anyway?

“Was that Adam Meyers ?” Rozhin asked from behind me on a hiss. “Fuck, he’s hotter than sin, isn’t he?”

“I didn’t notice,” I said through my teeth. “You can take his table if you want it?”

When I turned to face her, Ro’s mouth was agape. “Are you kidding me? I mean, hell yeah, I will.”

I nodded curtly. “Great, have fun.”

“I’m sure I will,” she practically purred as I walked away from her to get back to work.

After dropping off the bill, I went to the kitchen to grab the entrées for a party of four famous housewives and then took the order for an elderly gay couple who came in to dine with us every Thursday.

It was only when I was coming back from punching in their order that I realized most of my section had miraculously disappeared.

The housewives were gone, leaving only the lingering scent of heavy designer perfume in their wake. The newly set table of six was vanished, and three twosomes packed up, with only dirty dishes left to mark their time here.

What the hell?

Only my elderly couple remained, sipping on the champagne I’d popped for them.

And Adam Meyers.

He sat at the most discreet table in the restaurant, partially obscured from the entrance in a little alcove where the walls were studded with cubbies filled with candles. I could see him perfectly from my vantage point, and he was staring at me.

Looking extremely displeased with me.

I pursed my lips and stomped back to the server hub to wait for Ro, who swanned into the space a moment later, murmuring under her breath about fussy diners.

“What the hell, Ro? Haven’t you been to see Adam Meyers yet?” I asked.

She pouted. “Oh, I went, but he had absolutely no interest in me. He said the only reason he was in tonight was to see you . Do you have something you want to tell me, Linnea?”

Goddamn .

“No,” I said on a long exhale that blew a tendril of my long hair out of my face. “At least, not right now. Apparently, I have a bossy celebrity to see to.”

Rozhin frowned at me, but I didn’t have time to fill her in on the absurd events in my life during the past few days. Not when I had a feeling Adam Meyers would somehow find a way to punish me if I kept him waiting any longer.

He watched me cross the floor to him the way a big game hunter waited for his prey to trip a booby trap, as if he had always known it was only a matter of time before I was his.

That look set my teeth on edge and made something deep in the base of my gut ignite.

I ignored the fission of desire and set my face to granite.

“Did you empty my section on purpose, or was it the dark cloud over your head that made everyone scatter?” I asked, propping my fist on one hip as I stared at him.

“Perhaps you aren’t as good a server as you think you are,” he suggested mildly. “I’ve been here ten minutes without any interaction from you.”

I wasn’t an angry person, not really. When your mother takes up all the oxygen in the room, there is no fuel left to ignite your temper. But I found myself furious, then, staring into Adam Meyer’s annoyingly handsome face, knowing that he had the upper hand because he was rich and famous.

“No wonder you need a fake girlfriend if this is how you treat people,” I snapped.

“Keep your bloody voice down,” Adam growled. “Take a seat before you cause a scene.”

“I think you accomplished that when you sent my section away,” I hissed, even as I reluctantly took the seat opposite him. “Everyone else in the restaurant is staring at us.”

Adam snorted. “They were staring at me before you sat down, at least now they have something interesting to speak about. I paid for everyone’s dinner and asked the general manager to pack up whatever had yet to be delivered. No one was unhappy with the arrangement.”

A bubble of laughter lodged in my throat despite myself, a giddy giggle because of the surreal nature of the moment.

I was arguing with one of the most famous film stars in the world because he was a grump with no manners who wanted to date me to save his reputation.

And somehow, I was actually considering it.

“Sebastian told me that you were on board with this idea, but you don’t exactly seem happy to be having this conversation with me even though you rudely interrupted my shift to speak to me,” I noted.

Adam’s mouth thinned as he adjusted a silver and gold watch on his wrist. Even though he was dressed casually in a thin black cashmere sweater and dark wash jeans, there was no escaping his aura of wealth and prestige. Though, even dressed in rags, he would have been breathtaking.

“It’s a good idea,” he said reluctantly. “It’s the ‘you’ of it that concerns me.”

I raised my brows, propping my chin on my hand. “Of course, it is. Go ahead, then, list the ways I’m unsuitable to date the great Adam Meyers.”