He reached over her shoulder to take the setting from her hand. “The ends have to be tucked tightly or else the silverware will slide out. See?”
Arianna could feel his breath on the back of her bare neck. In Corinthia, it was considered disrespectful to stand so close to a member of the royal family. A deferential distance had to be maintained at all times. Max’s arms were nearly wrapped around her. She could feel the edge of his jacket brushing her spine as he leaned forward, the feathery touch causing goose bumps.
“Now you try.”
She tried to repeat the steps she’d done dozens of times throughout the night, but her fingers had grown clumsy. Instead of stacking the silverware, she fumbled and knocked them over. “It would be easier if you weren’t breathing down my neck,” she told him.
“Sorry.” The space behind her cooled as he took a spot at the bar next to her chair. Better, but not by much. Arianna could still feel his slate-colored eyes watching her every move. Taking a deep breath, she rolled the napkin into the tightest cylinder humanly possible.
“Good,” Max said. “Although next time, you might want to include a spoon.”
Her shoulders sagged. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Darius slide a drink across the bar. Max wrapped his hand around it without looking, and settled back against the bar rail to survey the restaurant. Unable to help herself, Arianna stole a look.
The man had the most effortless grace about him. You could see it in the way the glass dangled from his long fingertips and in the way he moved. Yet for all his smoothness, he wasn’t overly soft. Just like how the scar on the bridge of his nose kept his face from movie-star perfection, there was strength beneath the elegance. A toughness that said he wasn’t a man to be trifled with. In a way he reminded her of the ancestral portraits lining the halls of Corinthia Castle, with their impenetrable gazes that followed her every step.
They always left her feeling very exposed, those paintings. Max’s stare did as well.
“I hear you’re having trouble catching on to hostessing,” he said, his gaze thankfully still on the dining room.
Trouble catching on had to be an American euphemism for making a lot of mistakes. “It was not all my fault,” she said, defensiveness kicking in. “No one told me the woman was deluded.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The woman in the green dress. How was I to know she wanted a seat for her husband’s remains?”
“Ah, Mrs. Riderman.” Understanding crested over his features. “You’re right, Javier should have warned you. She and her ‘husband’ come in every Friday.”
“Every week?” With her dead husband? “Does that not violate some kind of health code?”
“Probably,” he said with a shrug, “but seeing how she owns most of the buildings on this street, we’re willing to risk the infraction.”
“Oh.” Whatever vindication she felt faded away. “I did not realize she was so important.”
“All our customers are important,” Max corrected. “Without them, we wouldn’t exist.” He took a sip of his drink. “Did he tell you that every time you move a party or seat them at the wrong table, that he needs to redo the seating chart?”
More times than she could count. “Yes,” she said.
“Did he also tell you that having to start over causes even longer delays?”
“No, that he did not mention.”
Arianna fiddled with the napkin roll she’d just completed, twirling the black cloth back and forth between her fingers. Whereas being upbraided by the likes of Javier set her teeth on edge, Max’s criticisms made her feel foolish and inept. She couldn’t imagine him ever making as many mistakes as she had these past few days.
“I had some trouble memorizing the seating chart,” she said meekly. “My brain, it...”
She shook her head. Max didn’t need to hear how her brain had become fuzzy and sluggish, or how it took all her energy to keep her ever-present morning sickness at bay.
“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “I’ll pay closer attention in the future.”
“Afraid it’s too late for that. Javier’s refusing to let you back up front.”
“He is?” That was not fair. She did not make that many mistakes. “What am I supposed to do then?” Surely they had enough tableware.
Max didn’t reply, beyond staring into his drink. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “You can’t hostess for Javier anymore. And I can’t put you back out there as a waitress. Not after what happened with Deputy Mayor Esperanza. The man you dumped a salad on last night,” he added when she gave him a blank look.
That man was the deputy mayor? While Corinthia didn’t have the position, she knew enough about the title to assume that in a city the size of New York, the title was an important one. “No wonder he asked if I knew who he was.”
She must have said something amusing because the hint of a smile played on Max’s mouth. “Yes, well, Deputy Mayor Esperanza is a legend in his own mind, that is for sure.”
“Was he very angry?” If the way the man turned a deep shade of crimson was any indication, he had been. She’d done her best to apologize, but the horrid little man simply slapped her words aside and told her to leave him alone.
“Nothing a couple bottles of super Tuscan didn’t cure,” Max replied.
“Good.” She would have felt terrible if her mistake caused real damage to Max’s restaurant. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too. Although between you and me, the guy could use an arugula shower now and then. To keep him humble.”
Setting his drink on the counter, he shifted his posture, leaning his weight on the elbow closest to the bar so he once again faced her. The smile he’d been fighting had found its way to his eyes, the shine bringing out flecks of blue in them Arianna hadn’t noticed before. Her lips curled upward in response and for a moment, they silently shared the idea.
“So,” Max said, reaching for his drink again. “You’ve never waited tables before, have you?”
“Of course I ha— How did you know?”
He arched his brow. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice your lack of experience?”
“No.” Certainly not with the way he was watching her. Still... Her cheeks growing hot, she looked down at her feet. “I had hoped I would catch on quickly.”
“How’s that plan working out?”
“Not so well.”
“You think?”
She’d prefer anger to sarcasm. “If you knew, why did you hire me?”
“Because I’m a sucker for a sob story, that’s why,” he replied.
Sob story? “I did not tell—”
“You didn’t have to,” he said, frowning into the last of his drink. “I guess I’d hoped you’d catch on quickly, too.”
But she hadn’t, and she felt like a fool for even trying. “I didn’t realize it would be so difficult.” All those people speaking so rapidly, barking orders at her. “Everything moves so much faster than I expected.”
“Problem is, this is our busiest season. I need a waitress who can be up-to-speed immediately. I don’t have the time to train someone.”
“I understand,” Arianna replied, though that didn’t take away the sting. Before, she’d been merely foolish. Now she was foolish and useless, too.
Seemed like all she’d done the past few weeks was let people down. Her lower lip started to quiver. How on earth was she going to be able to do what was right for a baby? She hadn’t so far.
“I’ll go get my coat.”
Sliding off the stool to her feet, she barely got a step before Max’s hand caught her arm. “Hold on,” he said. “You don’t have to go so fast.”
What was the point in staying? So she could fold more napkins?
“We’re on the last round of seating. Why don’t you
grab a good hot meal, and wait until closing. I’ll take you home, and we can talk about what you’re going to do. Okay?”
How could she say no when his eyes were filled with such concern? Seeing their warmth helped to soften her disappointment. If she had one good memory about her brief stay in New York, Max Brown looking at her right now, with soft, sexy, sympathetic eyes, would be it.
Plus, she would be foolish to turn down a five-star meal. Her stomach, with its usual unpredictability, leaped for joy when he made the offer. “All right,” she said. “I’ll wait.”
“Good.” He looked pleased. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she swore he had looked as disappointed about her imminent departure as she felt. “I’ll send Darlene over with a menu.
“And hey, chin up...” His fingers caught her jaw, tilting her face toward his. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
“Sure,” she whispered after he left. “We’ll see.”
* * *
Leaving Arianna at the bar, Max retreated to the sanctuary of his office. He had the sudden need to bury himself in paperwork and clear away thoughts of pale skin and black sateen dresses.
What was he going to do? His office chair squeaked as he collapsed into it. There was no way he could keep Arianna on staff; the woman was a disaster. Javier spent ten minutes ranting about her inabilities and swearing on his mother’s life that he would not work with “that woman” again. Over-the-top? Sure, but the man was also one of the finest maître d’s in the city. Max couldn’t risk ticking him off. Especially since he’d had a similar “discussion” with his chef the night before.
So what did he do? He choked. He’d walked out there to fire her, but right when he was about to say the words, they died on his tongue. Killed by a pair of soulful blue eyes.
His mother’s eyes had been brown. Brown and surrounded by mottled purple smudges she would try to cover with makeup. It never worked. Max always knew. No matter how much she applied, makeup couldn’t cover split lips.
Not for the first time, he wondered if Arianna was running away from the same nightmare as his mother. His gut said no. Well, his gut and the fact that her alabaster skin would bruise too easily for her to hide it.
Or maybe he was rationalizing to soothe his conscience.
His conscience was still nagging him a few hours later when Darius knocked on his office door. “Just wanted to let you know the last party is getting ready to leave,” he said.
“Thanks. I’ll be out to close out the till in a bit.”
“Okay.” Except instead of leaving, his friend wavered in the doorway. “Is it true?” he asked. “Did you really let your new puppy go?”
“Stop calling her that,” Max said, bristling. Arianna wasn’t some stray off the streets. “And who told you I let her go?”
“The pup—lady—herself. When Darlene brought over a steak, she told me it was her last meal at the Fox Club.”
“Oh.” Apparently, he’d made his point after all. Now his conscience really stung. “I suppose it is.”
“It’s for the best, you know.”
“I know.” Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though.
Stepping all the way inside the office, the bartender pushed aside the brass lamp and took its place on the edge of Max’s desk. “Look, man, no one appreciates what you were trying to do more than me, but things don’t always work out, you know? If you still want to help her, write the chick a check. Unless...”
His voice drifting off, Darius’s attention shifted to the desk’s surface and an invisible spot that he suddenly needed to scratch at with his fingernail.
Max narrowed his eyes. “Unless what?”
“Unless, it ain’t just about helping a girl out. You said yourself she was hot.”
“I didn’t say she was hot, I said she’d look good in the uniform...and I was right.” Over on the side of the desk, Darius let out a snort. One that said Max was splitting hairs, and they both knew it.
Truth? Yeah, he was attracted to the woman. She was different from other women who had crossed his path, and not because her appearance screamed money—although that did make her stand out. It was her personality that truly set her apart. She had the oddest combination of haughtiness and innocence about her. One moment she was icy and entitled, the next she looked vulnerable and scared. Most women, he could read from the get-go. They were either women from his old life, looking to rise up from their lousy circumstances, or they were women from his current world looking to hook a successful businessman. In either case, their faces were open books.
Not Arianna’s, though. As much as he could read her, there was a layer he couldn’t get to. It intrigued him.
Excited him, too. The way she wore that uniform, like it was a real Dior. He’d have to be a dead man not to appreciate that fact, and even death wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t, seeing as how every swish of her skirt and sway of her hips sent awareness shooting below his belt.
A smile played on his lips. “Oh, brother,” Darius said. “Just admit you want her already, will you?”
Max refused to respond. Spinning in his chair, he turned and looked out his office window. The view wasn’t much, an alley and the emergency exit for the building on the next lot, but he’d certainly had worse. Behind him, the dining room was quiet except for the sounds of chairs being put on the tables. In between scrapes and rattles, he heard the soft notes of a piano over the din. Some song he’d never heard before. Reminded him of a Christmas carol, but not quite.
“When did you switch on the radio?” he asked. Normally, he wasn’t big on plain piano music, but this was nice.
“I didn’t,” Darius replied. “That’s the piano on stage.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Unless the speaker over your door is blown.”
Max frowned. “Shirley?” Last he heard, his former piano player was behind bars. “You think she got out?”
“Doubt it. Besides, she was never that good.”
Rising, Max made his way to the office door, with Darius not far behind. Together the two of them stepped into the main dining room. “Well, what do you know...?” Max said, giving a low whistle.
Arianna sat the piano, head bent over the keyboard, playing with the agility of a trained expert.
CHAPTER THREE
ONCE SHE FINISHED her dinner, Arianna didn’t know what to do with herself. Most of the patrons were gone, and the staff was busy getting ready to close. From the looks they gave her, it was clear they did not want her assistance.
She couldn’t sit there and do nothing. Her nerves wouldn’t let her. In a little while Max would emerge from his office to walk her home, ending her career at the Fox Club. She would be back to where she started three days ago: looking for a way to postpone her return home. Only this time, she doubted there would be another handsome white knight waiting to ride to the rescue.
Looking around, her attention stopped at the piano on the stage. She’d noticed it her first day here, but had yet to take a close look. Her spirits picked up a little. Surely no one would mind if she looked now. Reclaiming her heels, having kicked them off while eating, she slipped them on and headed over.
For as long as she could remember, the piano had been a close friend. When she was a little girl, she would sit on the bench next to her mother and accompany her by plunking out random notes. Later, the discipline of practice helped her survive the pain of losing her mama. And again when she mourned her sister-in-law’s death.
Of course her instructors would say those were the only times she appreciated discipline since she spent most of her childhood ditching formal practice in favor of playing lighter, more enjoyable pieces.
She hadn’t played much when she was dating Manolo; he’d been more interested in being seen than in listening to her play.
The club’s baby grand might not have as sophisticated a soundboard as the palace piano, but it was in excellent condition, and more importantly, she thought as she smiled and pressed middle C, it was in tune. Taking a seat on its bench felt a little bit like greeting a long lost friend.
Stretching her fingers, she played a scale, followed by an arpeggio. Because she was rusty, her fingers fumbled, and for a moment, it was like when she tried rolling tableware. Quickly, though, she loosened up, and the notes began to flow with ease. Confidence restored, she started playing one of the handful of songs she knew from memory: “In the Bleak Midwinter.” The quiet, melancholy song seemed fitting, given her circumstances.
When she finished, she realized everyone in the club was watching her. Including Max, who stood near the front of the stage.
“Bravo,” he said, clapping. “That was amazing.”
Arianna blushed as satisfaction swept her from head to toe. Her entire life, people had showered her with compliments regarding her playing, and she’d basked in them all, but none of the accolades had affected her as much as seeing the admiration on Max’s face was. Knowing she had his approval left a thrill that started at the base of her spine and spread outward, to the ends of her fingers.
He hopped onto the stage to join her. “You’ve been keeping secrets. Why didn’t you tell me you could play the piano?”
“I didn’t realize it was important,” she replied. After all, she’d applied for a job as a waitress. If she had known it was important, she would have touted her skills first thing.
“Play something else,” one of the waiters called out.
“Sounds like you’ve won at least one fan. How about it? You got any other songs tucked in that pretty head of yours?”
“A few.” Running through her mental library she decided upon a Corinthian folk song, a simple melody that had been a childhood favorite. She did her best to ignore the fact that Max was watching her. Hard to do with him propped against the curve of the piano, his long fingers curled around the rim.
“Pretty,” he said, after she’d been playing a moment. He was smiling, bringing the blue to his eyes again. “How long have you been playing?”
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