Chapter 2 Playing a Hero

Williams POV That insolent little waitress had actually slapped me. ​My cheek still burned, a dull, stinging reminder of the humiliation. In my world, everyone bowed down. Directors, producers, screaming fans, women throwing themselves at my feet-they all played by my rules. But Jennifer Taylor? She looked at me like I was dirt beneath her shoes, and worse... she had the nerve to lay her hands on my face. No woman had ever dared touch me like that. Not once. ​Sitting in the back of my G-Wagon, listening to my friends try to stifle their snickers, my ego was bruised into overdrive. I didn't care about her sob story or her family's bills. I only cared about one thing: making her pay. ​What she did not know was that I owned that restaurant, and Pedro answered directly to me. He was just a puppet doing what I paid him to do. ​"Find out everything about her," I had told my fixer late last night. "Where she lives, who she owes, what breaks her." It didn't take long. A struggling father with diabetes, a mother running a tiny local bakery, and a younger sister in college. Perfect. ​When Pedro called her back to the restaurant, it was almost too easy. The moment she showed up expecting a normal shift, my cue was right on time. The police were waiting. The look of pure betrayal on her face when Pedro caved and stepped away was almost poetic. She thought she was clever, but she was trapped. ​My plan was simple. I wasn't just going to break her with a contract. I was going to play a much deeper game. I would act sweet, pretend I was madly in love with her, and make her believe she had finally melted my cold heart. Once she let her guard down and fell for the lie, I would take her to bed, let her give me everything, and then pull the rug out from under her. I would film it, laugh in her face, and humiliate her in front of all my friends-the exact same way she had humiliated me in public. ​Now, standing in the massive, quiet kitchen of my private estate, I watched her walk in with that rigid, proud posture of hers. She tried to hide it, but I could see the panic fluttering in her eyes. ​"You start work now. I am your boss," I told her coldly, keeping my voice flat. "Be careful what you say. The menu is in the kitchen. Your salary is a thousand dollars."

A thousand dollars was chump change to me, but to her, it was a lifeline. I watched the calculation happen behind her sharp eyes as she swallowed her pride and accepted it. She thought she could outsmart me, play the dutiful cook for three months, and walk away clean. ​She had no idea what was coming. ​Hours later, there was a knock at my bedroom door. "Mr. Williams, your lunch is ready," her voice called out from the other side. ​I smirked, standing up from the bed. I had stripped down to a low-slung pair of boxers, letting the outline of my arousal press visibly against the fabric. I wanted her to see it. ​The door clicked open, and she stepped inside, her gaze immediately locking onto the floor as she set the tray down. ​Before she could pivot toward the door, I moved fast, my hand shooting out to grip her wrist. I hauled her forward, pressing her palm flat against my bare chest. Her breath hitched, hot and sharp, ghosting across my skin. ​"Are you sure you really don't want me to eat this lunch first?" I drawled, leaning in close. ​Her skin was soft, and I could feel the immediate, traitorous shiver that went through her. She was fighting herself hard. Grabbing her hand, I guided it lower, pressing her palm firmly against my cock. ​For a split second, she melted. Her fingers curled against me, her body betraying her fierce words. But then panic took over. She jerked her hand back, bolted for the door, and slammed it behind her as she fled. I let out a dark laugh, staring at the closed door. ​Keep running, Jennifer. The trap is set, and you are walking right into it. It was time for her to leave. ​"I will drop you off," I offered. ​"No, Mr. Williams," she snapped. "I already booked a cab." ​"Another rejection. Suit yourself," I said, shutting the door behind her. ​I had already dialed Joel and Vincent with a new phase of the plan. I plotted a fake street mugging, aiming to scare her out of her wits and then swoop in as her knight in shining armor. She had no idea what was coming. I instructed the guys to wear black masks and act like violent street thugs along the path she had to walk to reach her cab. ​Once the fake attack played out, I would roll up, play the hero, and drive her home like a concerned protector. ​The setup went smoothly. I drove down the quiet street where she was cornered and terrified. I stepped out of my G-Wagon, fired a warning shot into the air, and watched Joel and Vincent scramble away into the shadows. She ran straight into my arms, convinced I had just saved her life. ​"Get inside now. It's not safe," I told her, playing the part. ​I drove her straight to her house without asking for directions. When I pulled up outside, I caught the stunned look on her face. ​"How did you know where I live?" she asked, her eyes wide. ​I stayed silent, letting the mystery work on her nerves. "See you at work tomorrow. Be there on time. I don't joke with my breakfast."