Christmas Baby For The Princess. Barbara Wallace
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work at the Fox Club? I mean, besides the fact you need a job.”
“I, um...” She reached for a napkin and dabbed at the dampness forming on her upper lip. Where on earth was her toast? The strongest of odors was emanating from her cup, a combination of grass and another plant she couldn’t place. Had chamomile tea always smelled this noxious? Her stomach lurched again.
Swallowing back the acid, she started over. “I don’t...I mean, there isn’t one specific reason. I...”
“You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she breathed, grateful to have an excuse. “Very. I arrived a few...” She caught the word days before it could slip out. “Weeks ago. How did you know?”
“Because anyone who’s lived in New York for any length of time knows the Fox Club. At least if they’re in the restaurant business they do.” He paused for another sip of coffee. “So, you’re new to the city, and you need a job.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Dunphy Hotel.” Actually, dirty and dated, the Dunphy barely qualified as habitable, let alone a hotel. It was also the last place anyone would think to look for a princess, which was why she had picked it.
“Interesting selection,” Max remarked.
“I’m on a budget.”
“I see.” Something in his tone made her stomach roll again. This time, a layer of anxiety accompanied the nausea. It wasn’t possible that he recognized her, was it? Her fingers absently combed the ends of her hair. She’d been monitoring the headlines since she arrived, and thus far, there had been no mention of her or her running away. Then again, Father would no doubt take great pains to keep her running away private. Even if news had made the press, she’d done her best to alter her appearance. Following advice she gleaned from American crime shows, she cut several inches off her hair and dyed the natural blond color a deep black. Since the Corinthian royal family didn’t garner that much attention—the paparazzi preferring their British counterparts—she figured even the most ardent of royalty junkies would be hard-pressed to recognize her.
The gray eyes assessing her from across the table, however, made her wonder. The open scrutiny would make her nervous, whether she was hiding or not. He seemed to be examining every inch of her.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, while pressing a hand to her abdomen. The churning was getting worse. She could feel the acid creeping up her esophagus again.
“Experience...?”
He was talking to her. “Experience in what?” she asked, pressing her lips into a tight smile.
“Waiting tables. Now that the holiday season is getting underway, we’re going to be busier than usual. A lot of groups book tables this time of year so we need someone who is used to juggling multiple large parties. Have you done large parties before?”
Swallowing back the queasiness, Arianna nodded. “Several.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She’d been standing in as her father’s hostess since her mother died a decade ago and had assisted in planning more than her fair share of state dinners. Surely, memorizing dinner orders and bringing them to the table couldn’t be more difficult than memorizing dignitaries’ dossiers and defusing potential international incidents.
“Great. Where?”
“Where?”
“Where did you wait tables?”
“Oh, right. Italy,” she replied, falling back on the cover story she’d rehearsed in case someone asked about her accent. Out of all of Corinthia’s continental neighbors, the Mediterranean country was the closest in terms of language and culture.
“Any particular location or did you serve the entire country?” While his coffee cup masked much of his mouth, she could still see the hint of a smile.
Naturally he expected more specific details. To buy a few seconds to think, she took a drink, only to gag as soon as the liquid passed her lips. The stuff tasted as botanical as it smelled. Worse, actually. She shoved the cup to the middle of the table.
“Miss Santoro?” Max asked.
“I—”
No good. Her tea, her breakfast and everything else in her stomach jumped to the back of her throat. Clamping a hand to her mouth, she sprinted from the table.
* * *
“Second door on your left,” Max called out as she rushed away. Not that it mattered all that much with the restaurant empty. So long as she made it to one of the restrooms, they’d be fine.
“What the...?” Darius had just come around the bar carrying a plate of toast. “Usually it takes two or three dates before the woman runs away from you. What happened?”
“Very funny,” Max replied. From behind him he heard the soft thud of a restroom door closing. She had made it somewhere at least. “Do me a favor and get a glass of ice water. She’s probably going to need a cold drink when she comes out.” Poor woman was as green as her tea.
Definitely not your typical job interview. Or applicant, for that matter. Not too many out-of-work waitresses that he knew walked around wearing cashmere. He might not know women’s fashion labels by name, but he recognized expensive when he saw it. Besides, she moved like money. That posture screamed “private school.”
A cashmere coat, and she was staying at a rat hole like the Dunphy? New to the country or not, the two did not go together. Women as beautiful as her stayed in five-star suites and not alone. They didn’t apply for temporary waitress positions.
“You notice the haircut?” Darius asked, returning with the water.
Yeah, Max had noticed. Right after he noticed the coat. A total home job, and not a very good one at that. “She’s trying to hide from someone.”
“If she’s thinking that hair will help her blend in, she’s crazy.”
It wasn’t just her haircut that attracted attention. It was the whole package. “If she wore it up, it’d look okay.” Even if it didn’t, most people would be too distracted by the rest of her to notice.
“Don’t tell me you’re considering her.”
“Something tells me she’s in a tough spot.”
“Great. Another one of your lost puppies.” If his friend rolled his eyes any further, they would see the inside of his head. “Didn’t you learn anything from what happened with Shirley? You can’t save the whole world, you know.”
“I never said I wanted to save the whole world.” The few desperate souls who crossed his path, is all. And just because some, like his former piano player, chose not to be saved, was no reason to stop. It was definitely not a reason in this case.
He lowered his voice in case Arianna happened to come back. “She’s staying at the Dunphy.”
Darius whistled.
“Exactly.” If that wasn’t enough of a red flag, there was desperation in her eyes. An anxious shadow that said things weren’t as she pretended. Max knew that shadow well. He had seen it in his mother’s eyes all her life. Okay, so maybe Arianna wasn’t running away from an abusive bastard like his father. But she was running away from something. And there was no way in hell he was turning a desperate woman out in the street. His mother’s eyes haunted him enough; he didn’t have to add a second pair.
“Besides,” he said, shaking off the ghosts, “you’ve got to admit, she would look amazing in the uniform.”
“Maybe, but can she wait tables? All you did this morning was jaw my ear off about how hard it is to find decent help. Do you really want to take the risk? Christmastime is crazy.”
“I thought it was the time for goodwill toward men.”