The Unnoticed Billionaire

Chapter Three

"I was . . ." I trail off. "I was serving, of course, but then I suddenly didn't feel good, so I decided to take a break. I didn't want to slow others or make a scene." I look down at my fumbling hands. "I should be going back now, sir."

"With a whiskey bottle? Were you trying to get better or party better?" he asks, tilting his head to one side, inspecting me.

"I didn't drink." I look up, startled. "I just . . . took it. I was going to return it, I swear. I shouldn't have taken the bottle. I'm sorry." Dropping my eyes again, I try to avoid his assessing eyes.

"Why were you not feeling good? Had someone bothered you? An ex-boyfriend?" he asks.

"No." I laugh, shaking my head. "It's not about that. Um . . . it's a personal reason. It was suffocating me." Strangely, being distracted by the mess I have gotten myself into has extinguished that stifling feeling in my chest.

"Does anyone know you have decided to take a few moments off?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to be on break. Or was supposed to." I bite my lower lip. "I understand there is no excuse for what I have done, but I promise it'll never happen again. I'm feeling much better. I would like to get back to work." I take a step closer to the door.

He stands up and grabs my wrist. I gasp.

"No," he blurts assertively.

I meet his eyes. My breath hitches in my throat in fear. What is he doing? He releases his hold instantly and takes a step back. I continue to stare at him with wide eyes. This is it. He's going to call the staff manager and have me fired.

Please, don't report me. I want to beg. My lips start quivering.

"I'm sorry. I told you I'm not going to report you, and I'm keeping that promise. In fact . . ." He walks toward the massive oak desk. "Thank you for bringing whiskey for me." He grabs the half-empty bottle of whiskey and brings it to his sinful lips.

What is happening here? I finally let out a breath.

"Want some?" He raises the bottle and offers it to me. I shake my head. "I'm going to be honest with you. Your reason is unconvincing. I can give you a piece of advice. If you are going to make an excuse, you better make it sound."

"I ran away because I didn't want to stay," I suddenly confess. "I-I had an anxiety attack because being in that ballroom reminded me of very bitter memories. I didn't want to . . . stay because . . . I-I didn't want to see the man who ruined my life.

"Who?" He cocks his head to one side.

I've said this much. I inhale sharply. "Mr. Davis—he ruined my life and took my father away from me. I hold him responsible for my dad's death. All that rage is what forced me out of the venue. So, here I am."

He appears taken back. A frown forms on his face. He opens his mouth to respond but ends up pressing his lips into a thin line and looking down at the whiskey bottle. Slowly, he puts it down, his jaws ticking in anger.

"Why? What has he done?"

I huff softly. I've already given a lot of information to this stranger. I shake my head and stare at him without responding.

He nods in acknowledgment. "Well, I'm gonna tell you that, from what I've heard, he could be quite an asshole," he jokes, trying to lighten up the mood.

I smile faintly. I'm not sure I can laugh or even smile genuinely about this subject.

He stops smiling and looks at me with sad eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as he approaches me slowly. "I had no idea about your family's distress."