Chapter 1 TABLE SEVEN

ISABELLA'S POV:

"You forgot the sugar."

I stopped halfway across the restaurant.

I looked down at the tray in my hands.

Three cups of coffee.

Three saucers.

One small bowl of sugar.

I frowned.

I hadn't forgotten the sugar.

I had been specifically asked to bring it.

"I'm sorry," I said, turning toward the table I'd just served.

The elderly woman sitting there pointed at the empty space beside her husband's coffee.

"Could we have another bowl?"

"Of course."

I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'll bring it right away."

I turned toward the counter, but before I could take a step, my phone vibrated inside my apron pocket.

Once.

Twice.

I knew who it was.

I didn't need to look.

My father rarely called while I was working unless something was wrong.

I hurried behind the counter and slipped the phone out.

Dad.

My stomach tightened.

I answered immediately.

"Dad?"

"I'm fine."

I closed my eyes briefly.

That was the first thing he always said whenever he knew I'd worry.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I just wanted to remind you about the pharmacy."

"I haven't forgotten."

There was a short silence.

"The medicine is almost finished," he said quietly.

"I know."

"Isabella-"

"I said I know, Dad."

I softened my voice.

"I'll pick it up after work."

"You don't have to rush."

"I know."

"You've already been working all day."

"I'll be fine."

Another silence.

Then my father sighed.

"Don't work yourself sick."

A small smile touched my lips.

"I won't."

I ended the call and stared at my phone for a moment.

My bank balance flashed through my mind.

Then the rent.

Then the electricity bill.

Then the pharmacy.

I pushed all three thoughts away.

One problem at a time.

"Isabella!"

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

"Coming!"

The Grand Crest Hotel was never quiet.

Even at night.

Crystal chandeliers illuminated the restaurant, silverware clinked against porcelain, and conversations drifted through the room beneath the soft music playing overhead.

I'd worked there for almost a year.

Long enough to know which guests tipped generously.

Long enough to recognize the businessmen who complained about everything.

Long enough to know that some people came to the Grand Crest because they genuinely enjoyed luxury, while others came simply because they enjoyed being seen surrounded by it.

I'd learned not to judge either group.

Luxury was simply another world.

One I served, but didn't belong to.

As I passed the entrance, I caught sight of someone I'd been trying very hard not to notice.

Adrian Knight.

He was sitting at table seven.

Again.

I'd seen him there three times that week.

Always in the same corner.

Always surrounded by different people.

Always looking like he had somewhere more important to be.

I didn't know much about him.

I didn't need to.

I knew the name, of course.

Everyone did.

Adrian Knight was the CEO of Knight Holdings, one of the largest companies in the country.

His photograph had appeared in business magazines more times than I could count.

But the man sitting across the restaurant didn't look like the smiling executive in those photographs.

He looked tired.

Not physically.

Something deeper.

His dark suit was immaculate, his black hair neatly styled, and his expression was controlled enough to discourage conversation.

He rarely spoke.

He mostly listened.

And somehow, I'd noticed that whenever I walked past his table, his eyes followed me.

I told myself it meant nothing.

People looked at waitresses.

It was normal.

I turned away.

"Isabella."

I looked over my shoulder.

Mr. Collins, the restaurant manager, was standing near the kitchen entrance.

"Table seven."

My heart sank.

"Again?"

His eyebrows rose.

"You sound disappointed."

"No. I just-"

"He asked for you."

I glanced toward the table.

Adrian was looking directly at me.

I swallowed.

"Did he say why?"

"No."

Mr. Collins handed me a notepad.

"Just go."

Wonderful.

I forced a smile and walked toward table seven.

As I approached, the two men sitting with Adrian fell silent.

One of them looked at me.

Then at Adrian.

Then back at me.

I stopped beside the table.

"Good evening."

Adrian's gaze lifted to mine.

Up close, his eyes were darker than I'd expected.

Not cold.

Just difficult to read.

I waited.

Nothing.

I glanced at the other two men.

They were staring at me too.

"Mr. Knight requested me?"

"Yes."

His voice was calm.

I held my notepad a little tighter.

"Is there a problem with your service?"

"No."

"Your meal?"

"No."

"Then..."

I waited.

One of the men beside him cleared his throat.

Adrian didn't look away from me.

"You've worked here for almost a year."

It wasn't a question.

I blinked.

"Yes."

"You're always on the evening shift."

"Most evenings."

"And you leave at eleven."

I stared at him.

"How do you know that?"

For the first time, something shifted in his expression.

Not quite amusement.

"I'm observant."

"That doesn't answer my question."

The man beside him suddenly coughed.

I realized I'd spoken more sharply than I intended.

"Sorry."

Adrian leaned back in his chair.

"Don't apologize."

I didn't know what to say to that.

So I looked down at my notepad.

"Would you like anything?"

"Coffee."

"Black?"

"Yes."

I wrote it down.

"Anything else?"

"No."

I turned.

"Isabella."

I stopped.

"Your necklace."

My fingers instinctively touched the small silver pendant resting against my collarbone.

"What about it?"

"Where did you get it?"

I looked down at it.

"My mother gave it to me."

Something unreadable crossed his face.

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

He said nothing else.

I frowned.

Then I walked away.

What a strange man.

I returned a few minutes later with his coffee.

When I placed the cup in front of him, his eyes dropped briefly to the necklace again.

I noticed.

This time, I said nothing.

I turned to leave.

"Thank you," he said.

I looked back.

"You're welcome."

I walked away.

For the rest of the evening, I tried to forget about him.

I couldn't.

Not because he had been flirtatious.

He hadn't.

Not because he'd been rude.

He hadn't.

It was simply the way he watched me.

Like he was trying to remember something about me that I'd never told him.

By ten thirty, the restaurant had begun to empty.

I wiped down a table while checking the time.

Thirty minutes.

Then I could go home.

I still had to stop at the pharmacy.

I was reaching for another stack of plates when I heard footsteps behind me.

I turned.

Adrian Knight stood there.

Alone.

My heart gave a small, inexplicable jump.

"Mr. Knight?"

He slipped one hand into his trouser pocket.

"I need to ask you something."

I glanced toward the clock.

"What is it?"

"Would you be willing to meet me tomorrow?"

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"I'd like to discuss a business proposition."

My eyebrows drew together.

"With me?"

"Yes."

I almost laughed.

"I don't think you have the right person."

"I don't think I do either."

That stopped me.

Adrian reached into his jacket.

For a second, I expected him to pull out another business card.

Instead, he placed a white envelope on the table between us.

My name was written across the front.

ISABELLA HART.

My stomach tightened.

"How do you know my full name?"

Adrian's expression remained unreadable.

"I did my research."

I didn't touch the envelope.

"What kind of business proposition requires research?"

His gaze held mine.

"The kind I don't discuss in a hotel restaurant."

He stepped back.

"Tomorrow. Nine o'clock."

"Where?"

"My office."

He walked away before I could answer.

"Mr. Knight."

He stopped.

I stared at his back.

"I don't even know what you're asking me to do."

He turned his head slightly.

"You will tomorrow."

Then he left.

I stood completely still.

After a moment, I looked down at the envelope again.

My name stared back at me.

I slowly picked it up.

There was something inside.

Something thick.

Something that felt like several sheets of paper.

I opened it.

The first page contained only one sentence.

My eyes moved across the words.

And then stopped.

MARRIAGE PROPOSAL - ONE YEAR CONTRACT.

My breath caught.

I read it again.

Then again.

My fingers tightened around the paper.

"What the hell...?"