No, Vicious was only here on business, I decided.

Good. I hated him so much it hurt to breathe when I looked at him.

“Drinks are ready,” Kyle said behind my shoulder.

I spun around. Placing the glasses on a tray, I took a deep breath and started back to his table. My knees shook when I thought about what I looked like in this skimpy little outfit. A cheap-looking cropped top and shoes two sizes too small.

Shame inspired me to straighten my spine and plaster a big smile on my face. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t remember who I was. I didn’t need him to know how I ended up being a broke waitress who lived off cereal and mac and cheese.

“Black Russian, Bourbon.” I placed red napkins on the round black tabletop and set their drinks on top, my eyes darting to Vicious’s left hand, searching for a golden wedding band. There wasn’t one.

“Anything else?” I hugged my tray to my lower stomach, summoning my work smile.

“No, thanks.” Sharp Suit sighed, impatient, and Vicious didn’t even bother to acknowledge me. Their heads lowered back to the quiet conversation they were having.

I moved on, throwing glances at him behind my shoulder and feeling my pulse everywhere, down to my neck and eyelids. Our encounter was anticlimactic, but that was for the best. We weren’t old friends or even acquaintances.

In fact, I’d meant so little to him that, at this point, we weren’t even enemies.

I focused on the rest of my tables. I laughed at my clients’ unfunny jokes, and I drank the two shots Kyle slipped across the bar when my customers weren’t looking. My treacherous eyes kept drifting to Vicious’s table, though. His jaw was clenched as he spoke to his companion. Vicious wasn’t happy.

I leaned my elbows on the bar and watched them closely.

Baron “Vicious” Spencer. Always providing the best show in town.

I watched as he slid a thick stack of papers across the table, pointed at the first page with his index finger, sat back, and stared at the man, his eyes announcing victory. Sharp Suit reddened and slammed his fist against the table, snatching the papers and choking them in his hand as he waved them around, spitting as he spoke. The papers crumpled. Vicious’s cool didn’t.

No. He remained calm and unruffled as he leaned forward, saying something I couldn’t decipher, and the more the blond man got excited and heated, the more Vicious looked uninterested and amused.

At some point, Sharp Suit threw his hands in the air and said something animated, his face as dark as a pickled beet. That’s when Vicious’s face brightened, and he propped one elbow on the table as he dragged his finger along what must have been a specific spot in the verbiage on the first page of the document. His lips were thin when he said something to the man in front of him, but Sharp Suit looked about ready to faint.

My heart pounded too fast and my mouth dried. Jesus Christ. He was threatening him and, to no surprise to me, he wasn’t being shy about it.

“Millie, take five.” Dee slapped my ass from behind just then. I jumped, surprised. She was back from her cigarette break, and it was my turn.

I didn’t smoke, but I usually used the time to talk to Rosie on my cell. I wouldn’t be doing that tonight, but I was glad Dee had apparently put my tardiness behind her.

“Thanks,” I said, making a beeline to the toilets. I needed to wash my face and remind myself that the day was almost over. I slipped past the sinks and disappeared inside one of the individual stalls where I leaned against the door and took long, steady breaths.

I didn’t even know what would make me feel better. Getting my PA job back? No. I’d never liked it much. The accountant I worked for at the advertising agency was a walking, talking sexual-harassment suit just waiting to happen. Having Vicious recognize me? It would only make me more flustered and embarrassed. Having him leave? I was too intrigued by him to want him gone.

I left the bathroom and was just about to splash some water on my face at the sink when the door opened, and he walked in.

He. Walked. In.

I wasn’t scared. Even after everything that’d happened, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Not physically, anyway. But I was intimidated, and I hated that I looked like a Hooters reject while he…he had an aura about him. When he walked into the room, no matter how dingy and small, you could feel the wealth. The status. The power.

His eyes landed on the cherry blossom mural behind me before they leveled on my face, and my mind raced. His gaze told me he knew exactly who I was and that I was the one who’d painted the mural behind me.

He remembered me.

What he did to me.

He remembered everything.

His eyes met mine, and my stomach knotted. My heart fluttered in my chest, and an urgent need to fill the awkward silence slammed into me.

“Have you come here for forgiveness?” The words left my mouth before I had the chance to swallow them.

Vicious chuckled darkly, like the concept in itself was preposterous. He hadn’t made a single move, yet I felt his touch everywhere.

“You’re a mess,” he said matter-of-factly, eyeing my hair. My lavender locks were all over my face, and a nasty bruise had bloomed on my forehead.

“Nice to see you too.” I pressed my back against the wall, my hands against the cold tiles below the mural, seeking relief from the fire he’d lit in me the moment he walked in. “I see you successfully graduated from a bully to a tyrant in the span of a decade.”

He laughed, a deep laugh that vibrated against my bones. I closed my eyes then opened them, drinking him in. A year of him being hateful toward me had trained me well. I stopped caring a long time ago that the joke was on me.

His smile disappeared, replaced with a frown. “What are you doing here, Help?”

He took a step forward but stilled when I held my hand up, stopping him. I wasn’t sure why I did it. Maybe because it hurt so much that he was seeing me like this. Helpless. Half naked. Poor and lost and small in this big city that chewed you up and spit out the remains once your hopes and dreams died. Filling the small meaningless shoes he’d created for me all those years ago. Becoming the help.

“I work here,” I said, finally. Wasn’t it obvious?

He moved my way again, his posture casual and relaxed. This time I straightened. I tilted my chin up. A waft of his scent—spicy, earthy, clean, and masculine—filled my nose. I inhaled and shivered. He’d always had this impact on me. And I always loathed myself for it.

“Last I heard, you were working on a Fine Arts degree.” He arched a thick, devilish eyebrow, as if to ask, What went wrong?

Everything, I thought bitterly. Everything went wrong.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I did get a degree.” I pushed off from the wall and moved past him to wash my hands. He followed me with his eyes. “A thing called life butted into my plans, and I didn’t have the luxury of working my way up on an art-intern salary, so I work as a PA. That’s what I did until about three hours ago when I was let go. I thought I was having a bad enough day when I walked in here, but”—my eyes swiped his body—“clearly, the universe decided to make it an all-out disaster.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him all this. I didn’t know why I was speaking to him at all. I should’ve yelled or stormed out of the bathroom after what he’d done to me years ago. Called our bouncer and kicked him out of McCoy’s. But as much as I didn’t like to admit it, I didn’t hate him as much as I probably should have. A tiny sad part of me knew he wasn’t to blame for my current state. My choices were mine.

I’d made my bed. Now I had to lie in it, even if it was full of fleas.

He tucked one hand in his pocket, using his free one to tousle his unruly hair—even more perfect now that he was all man. I looked away, wondering how he’d spent the last decade. What he did for a living. Whether he had a girlfriend or a wife or maybe even some kids. I’d always made it a point not to ask or listen, but now that he was in front of me, curiosity poked me, begging my mouth to ask these questions.

But I didn’t.

“Have a nice life, Vicious.” I turned off the faucet, sashaying to the door.

He grabbed my elbow and jerked me in his direction. A jolt of panic and excitement ripped through me. There was no point in shaking him away—he was twice my size.

“Do you need help, Help?” he whispered in my face. I hated him for calling me that.

And I hated me for responding to his gruff tone the way I did, even after all this time. Goose bumps prickled my skin, and a hot wave crashed inside my chest.

I was breathing heavily, but so was he.

“Whatever it is I need,” I said, my voice a hiss, “I don’t want it from you.”

He pinned me with a wolfish grin. “That’s for me to decide,” he said, releasing my arm like it was dirty and nudging me to the door. “And I still haven’t made up my mind.”

I turned around and bolted out of the bathroom, leaving my high school crush turned nemesis alone in the bathroom.

I contemplated asking Dee to serve their table for the remainder of the night—knew she’d have probably said yes, seeing as they reeked of money—but my stupid pride made me want to see this evening through. It somehow felt important to show him, and myself, that I was indifferent to him, even though it was a lie.