by Kira Ward
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About This Book
He Wants It, He Gets It
He Wants It, He Takes It
He Wants It, He Earns It
End
He Wants It, He Gets It
(He Wants It, Book 1)
By Kira Ward
Copyright © 2015 Kira Ward
All rights reserved.
[email protected]
http://www.amazon.com/author/kiraward
Warning: This book contains mature themes and detailed depictions of sexual encounters.
All characters involved in sexual encounters are at least 18 years of age and not blood related. All persons and events are fictional, and any similarities to real places and events are purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Emma rushed through the back door of the diner, her bag getting caught between the door and the jamb as she tried to slide through. She paused, yanked it out, and nearly ran smack into Todd, one of the cooks.
“Running late again, huh?”
She just smiled, too breathless to do anything else.
She darted around Todd and ran into the store room, dropping her bag on one of the shelves, stowing her jacket beside it. Then she grabbed an apron and headed for the door.
“Thank God,” Leslie, another of the waitresses—and the only other one working the morning shift that morning—said when she spotted Emma.
“Sorry.”
She grabbed a pad and headed to a table where a couple was staring a little too aggressively in her direction.
Her eyes saw him come in ten minutes later, as she carried a plate weighed down with Todd’s fluffy pancakes to another table. He stood out because he clearly did not belong on that side of town. Tall and good looking, he was wearing a suit that probably cost more than Emma would make that year and next combined. His companion was also dressed in business clothing, but hers was clearly less expensive than his. She was pretty though, blond and svelte, like a model out of one of the fashion magazines Emma’s sister, Sophie, was always perusing.
“What can I get you?” she asked as she slid up to their table.
The man didn’t bother to look up from his smartphone, but the woman offered a soft smile.
“Do you have lattes?”
“I’m afraid not. Just plain coffee.”
The woman nodded as though she understood. “Two, please.”
Emma paused at several tables, taking an order here, checking on the need for refills at another, before she made her way behind the counter to grab a couple of coffee mugs. By the time she made it back to their table, the man in the fancy suit was staring at her.
“Did you have to make it from scratch?”
“No, sir.” She carefully set the coffee on the table, sliding a cup in front of each. “Can I get you anything else? Our pancakes are pretty—“
“If we wanted pancakes, we probably would have asked for them.”
Emma bit her lip as she glanced at Leslie. Another asshole.
Leslie touched the underside of her chin with two fingers, the universal gesture for “keep your chin up”.
“There’s cream there on the table. If you need anything else. I’m Emma.”
The man glared at her. She had no idea why.
She was only a few steps away when she heard him curse under his breath. “This has got to be the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted!”
Emma spun on her heel even though a man at another table—Bob, one of her regulars—was gesturing for her. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Can I get you another?”
“Why would I want another if you couldn’t get the first one right?”
Again, Emma bit her lip. “Can I get you something else?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.” He studied her face for a minute, his green eyes almost sinister in his handsome face. “Maybe a cup of tea would be safe. After all, all you have to do is boil some water.”
If Emma bit down on her lip any harder, it would probably split in half. But she only nodded, her anger softened slightly by the apologetic look on his companions face. Emma almost felt sorry for his female companion. It couldn’t be pleasant spending any length of time with a guy like him.
“We have chamomile, Earl Grey, and mint.”
“Do you have chai?”
Rude. And deaf.
“We have chamomile, Earl Grey, and mint.”
He picked up his smartphone again and began scrolling through screens, obviously feeling as though he had dismissed her like some sort of servant. Emma looked at his companion and she shrugged slightly.
Emma walked off, pausing to see what Bob wanted before going behind the counter to fill his order.
“You should spit in the water,” Leslie whispered as she rushed past her to pick up an order waiting in the window.
Emma smiled. She thought about it, but decided she wouldn’t lower herself to his level. She still had her dignity.
She filled a mug with boiling water and set it on a saucer with one packet of each of the teas they sold. She was making a list in her head as she walked: another couple had come in and settled in a booth in her section, they’d need menus; Bob was done and wanted to pay his bill; the other table needed refills on their coffee. She paused at business suit’s table, set the tea carefully in front of him and reached for the cup of coffee he’d rejected only to realize that it was nearly empty. He’d been drinking it anyway.
She turned to walk away when he grabbed her wrist.
“I asked for honey.”
“You didn’t. But I will get you some.”
“Excuse me? Are you calling me a liar?”
Lord, help me! Emma pulled her arm from his grip. “I will get you some honey.”
“First, answer my question.”
Emma stared at him. She had never met anyone who was as argumentative and unpleasant in all her life. It was taking everything she had not to tell him what she thought of him.
“I apologize if it seemed that way,” she said instead. “I will get the honey.”
“Don’t bother. By the time you get back, it’ll be too cold to drink, anyway.”
“Okay.” Once again, Emma tried to walk away. Again, he found fault with her service.
“I asked for chai.”
“We don’t serve chai.”
“Then go to the corner store and get some.” He shook his head. “What kind of establishment doesn’t go the extra mile to make sure their customers are satisfied?”
A dozen retorts sprang to the tip of Emma’s tongue, but she bit them all back. “If you’re not satisfied, perhaps you should go to Starbucks. I understand they have a pretty good chai tea latte.”
He turned the full force of his glare on her at that. “That’s professional. Send customers to other establishments. I bet the owner of this place is so pleased with your performance.”
“She’s never complained.”
“That’s probably why this place will be out of business in less than a year.”
Emma shook her head, unable to hide her incredulity any longer. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?”
“Oh, that’s good. The uneducated, non-professional’s fallback position. Name calling.” He glanced at his companion who—much to her credit—looked horrified. “So typical.”
“It’s better to be an educated, professional asshole?”
He turned his attention back to Emma, his dark, olive skin flushed. “What did you say?”
“You’ve done nothing but co
mplain and be rude since the moment you walked in here. And you have the nerve to call me uneducated? I’d rather be uneducated than be anything like you.”
She started to turn away, but he jumped out of the booth and grabbed her arm before she could get more than a few steps. “Do you know who I am? Do you know that I could buy and sell you a million times over?”
“I’d have to be for sale.”
“Everyone and everything is for sale.”
“Not me.”
“Not only could I buy and sell you, I could turn your whole world upside down. I could buy this diner and have you out on the streets by close of business today. I could buy your house and turn it into a shopping mall by the end of next week. Anything I want, I can do because, unlike you, I’m somebody.”
“I’d rather be a nobody than be alone and miserable. And you…I wouldn’t want your life if it was so lonely that you have to take your anger out on a nobody waitress.”
His eyes narrowed and his breathing suddenly changed, growing shallow and desperate. She’d clearly hit a nerve.
He jerked her arm, pulled her hard against his chest. “Fucking bitch!” he hissed so close to her face that his breath, his spittle, washed over her.
Emma’s vision went red. The anger in his voice, his movements, the threat that it all promised pushed her to an edge she knew and didn’t want anything to do with. She did the only thing open to her: she grabbed a half empty cup of coffee from the table behind him and tossed it in his face.
The familiar—comforting—sounds of the diner suddenly ceased. Someone gasped.
Business suit jerked back, releasing her arm in favor of raising his hand to strike her across the face. His companion finally got involved, jumping up to place her body between him and Emma.
“I think it’s time to go, Dante.”
He glared at her for a long second, the wheels clearly turning inside his head. But then his glare shifted back to Emma. “You will regret this,” he said, jabbing a finger in her direction before he finally turned, grabbed a couple of napkins, and stormed from the diner as he scrubbed at the coffee clinging to his face and in his hair.
Leslie came up behind Emma and laid her hands on her shoulders. Emma jumped, jerking away as a small scream slipped from her lips.
“Sorry.”
Emma turned around, reality coming back into focus. “No, I’m sorry.” She dragged her fingers over her face, wiping away the memory of his words. Everyone was staring at her. It brought a flush of shame to her cheeks as she realized not only was she the center of attention for reasons she would rather not think about, but she had done something she had sworn she would never do again.
She had to get out of there.
Chapter 2
“I’m sorry,” Emma said for what had to be the millionth time.
“Don’t worry about it.” Martha handed her a bottle of water as she settled on the low wall that marked the line between the diner’s parking lot and the lot of the liquor store next door. “Leslie told me what happened. He was a real piece of work.”
“He was. But I never should have lost my temper.”
“We all lose our tempers from time to time, Em.” Martha gestured toward the diner. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to do exactly what you did.”
“But I should know better.”
Martha slid her arm around Emma’s shoulder. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for that? Your mom shoulders some of the responsibility, too, you know.”
Emma climbed off the wall. “I’ll quit if you want me to.”
“Naw. I’m too shorthanded most days to run this place without you. Besides, what would you and Sophie do without this job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a few more minutes, get your head in the right place, then get back to work. All the tables are full and Leslie’s struggling to keep up.”
“Thanks, Martha.”
Emma watched her go inside, more grateful than ever before that she was a part of her life.
Three years ago, Emma stumbled into this diner in the middle of the night with nothing but the shirt on her back to her name. Martha not only served her a free—and incredibly delicious—meal, but she offered her a job. If not for Martha, Emma was pretty sure her life would have taken a decidedly different turn that night.
If anyone understood the kindness of strangers, it was Emma. That’s why she was so outraged at herself for doing what she did to that business suit. No one deserved a cup of coffee in the face, not even an asshole like him.
Emma climbed off the wall and sort of shook herself off, wiping her hands on the front of her uniform. Time to get back to work.
***
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful.
Emma stopped to check the mail on her way into her apartment building, glancing through the pile of advertisements mixed with a few bills, as she made her way up the stairs. Three flights. She was told when they moved in that the elevator would be fixed within a week, but that was two years ago and the elevator was still plastered with caution signs on each of the four floors of the building.
Oh, well. It was good exercise.
“Sophie?” she called as she pushed her way into the apartment.
“Over here.”
Emma dumped the mail on the counter and fell onto the couch next to her sister, pushing her long, thin legs out of her way. Emma remembered being plump when she was sixteen, too short and too plain to draw the attention of the boys she admired at her high school. Sophie was the complete opposite. She was all legs, so slender she could wear clothes Emma still could only dream of, and she had a warm, healthy tan that Emma—with her appallingly pale skin—would kill for. If it weren’t for the unique electric blue tint of their eyes and the funny upturn of their noses, people would never know they were related.
“How was school?”
“It was school…all busywork and social repression.”
“It’s not supposed to be a party.”
“It should be. Then I might learn more.”
Emma ignored that comment—she’d heard it before—and tugged a small device out of her sister’s pocket. She scrolled through the screens, noting a few high numbers that shouldn’t have been there.
“Did Jill bring pasta in her lunch again?”
Sophie took the device from Emma and shoved it back into her pocket. “I just bolused later than I should have.”
“Why?”
“I was busy.”
“You have to be more careful, Sophie. We can’t afford for you to end up in the hospital again.”
“It wasn’t like that.” She climbed off the couch and headed for her bedroom. “You’re worse than the endo, you know. She wouldn’t even bat an eye at those numbers.”
Her door slammed, rattling the DVDs stuck on a shelf below the television.
Emma leaned forward and pressed her head between her knees. She’d read once that this position was supposed to be calming, that people often used it to head off a panic attack. It never seemed to help her.
Like her life wasn’t hard enough. Like dealing with her own school problems—classes that ran over and caused her to be late to work, professors who didn’t understand that she often did her homework at three o’clock in the morning, and that was why her handwriting wasn’t always legible—wasn’t bad enough. Like taking on the responsibility of her younger sister when her mother went to jail two years ago wasn’t hard enough.
No. They had to throw diabetes into the mix, too.
Sophie was diagnosed eighteen months ago. It was a nightmare that Emma preferred not to think about. She didn’t want to repeat even a much reduced version of it if it could be avoided.
Forgive her for caring.
She got up and went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for something decent to make for dinner. You’d think being around food all day would make her less inclined to cook, but it actually inspired her. She liked to cook. It calmed her
nerves and excited her creative side. In moments, she was lost as she sautéed onions and seasoned a thin flank steak that would make a perfect fajita stir fry.
She could actually feel the day slipping away, all the guilt and shame and exhaustion that had been riding on her shoulders going away. And the wonderful smells coaxed Sophie out of her room. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t object when Emma asked her to set the table.
As they settled down to eat, Emma found herself watching her sister. She wanted to reach over and push a clump of blond hair out of her face, but she knew Sophie wouldn’t like it. She was too old for that sort of gesture.
Their life wasn’t all that bad. They’d come a long way from where they started. Their lives were humble, but it was so much better than it had been. And it could only go up from there.
That was something to be grateful for.
Chapter 3
Emma rushed out of her biology class, already ten minutes late for work, and the diner was clear across town from the university. Just her luck, the professor decided that day, of all days, to go off on some tangent that had nothing to do with the day’s lecture. He couldn’t have done it on Monday, Emma’s day off.
The bus, of course, was also running late. She paced at the bus stop, making the poor toddler waiting with his mother nervous. By the time she got to the diner, she was nearly an hour late.
Emma rushed down the alley and grabbed the door with one hand, slinging her backpack off her shoulder so that she could easily drop it in the storage room as soon as she got inside. But the door didn’t open. She was so oblivious to the fact that she nearly smacked her head on it as her forward momentum refused to stop.
It was locked. This door was never locked.
She banged on the heavy steel, calling out to Todd. “Hey, let me in!”
But there was no response.
More worried than annoyed, she retraced her steps and walked around the side of the building. The parking lot was nearly empty, only a few cars taking up spaces that were normally filled by regular customers. Not only that, but strange men were boarding up the windows and someone had taped a sign to the front door that said: Closed Pending Remodel.
