After that little scene with the cleaner storming out, I honestly thought I'd seen enough drama for the week. But, well, life apparently had more in store for me.
By evening, Katie and I had a small gig lined up — a waitress shift for some high-end private party. One of my classmates had passed the contact along, saying the pay was decent for just a few hours of smiling and serving food. I couldn't say no. Rent wasn't going to pay itself, and Tessa's school trip was coming up next month.
So, there I was, standing in front of an open-roof restaurant that screamed money the moment you looked at it. String lights hung over the tables, chandeliers glowed from inside the glass walls, and the scent of imported wine filled the air. Everyone looked polished — designer suits, diamond-studded smiles, and laughter that sounded like it cost money.
Katie stood beside me, wearing her server's apron and adjusting her messy ponytail.
"You ready?" she asked, smirking like she knew I wasn't.
I sighed. "Not really. But we need the money, so let's go."
We both entered, balancing trays and pretending we fit in. The event was apparently the birthday celebration of some ninety-year-old grandpa from one of those families you only read about in magazines. And oh boy, the crowd. CEOs, businessmen, ladies with glittering necklaces that probably cost more than my college tuition.
The party had that mix of pretentious smiles and polite conversations that made me want to roll my eyes every two seconds. But, whatever. Smile, serve, leave — that was the plan.
I moved through the tables, carefully balancing a tray of glasses filled with champagne. Katie was at the far end, serving desserts and flirting with one of the bartenders. Typical of her.
Everything was going fine until… well, it wasn't.
I had just stepped out from behind one of the tables, eyes on my tray to make sure none of the glasses tipped over, when I felt a sudden bump. The kind that rattled through your bones.
And before I knew it, my tray wobbled — one of the glasses slipped — and I managed to catch it just in time before it smashed onto the floor.
"Watch where you're going," a deep, curt voice snapped.
I blinked, taking a step back. "Excuse me?"
The man in front of me looked like he'd stepped straight out of some billionaire magazine cover — black tailored suit, cold grey eyes, hair perfectly in place. His entire presence screamed control, power… and something annoyingly familiar I couldn't quite place.
But the way he was glaring down at me? Yeah, that was definitely Mr Attitude.
"I said, watch where you're going," he repeated, his voice even colder this time. "Do you not look up while walking, or is that a part of your job description too?"
For a second, I was stunned. Then I realised what he'd just said. Oh no, no, no — this man was not going to talk to me like that.
"I was doing my job," I shot back, keeping my voice polite but sharp. "You were the one standing right in the middle of the walkway."
His eyebrow arched slightly, like he wasn't used to being talked back to. "I was walking through the walkway. You were the one not paying attention."
"Well, excuse me for not expecting a wall of arrogance to suddenly appear in front of me."
That earned me a brief pause — and then, the faintest twitch of a smirk on his lips. Oh, so now he was amused. Great.
"Arrogance?" he echoed softly. "You must be new to working in places like this."
I crossed my arms — carefully, so I didn't spill anything. "You must be used to people not talking back, huh?"
He gave a low chuckle — quiet but sharp enough to feel like a challenge. "Most people know when to keep their mouths shut."
"And most people know when to say sorry," I countered.
His gaze dropped slightly — like he couldn't believe I was still talking. Then he took a small step closer, lowering his voice just enough for only me to hear.
"You should be careful who you talk to like that," he said quietly.
I met his eyes without flinching. "You should be careful where you walk."
For a second, there was just silence — him looking down at me with that cool, unreadable stare, and me refusing to back down. Then, someone called his name from across the terrace.
"Mr Knight, sir—"
I froze. Mr. Knight?
But before I could even process the name, he turned his head slightly toward the voice and said, "I'll be there." Then, without another glance at me, he adjusted his cufflinks, straightened his posture, and walked off as if the entire world moved out of his way.
I stood there, blinking, still holding the tray like an idiot.
Wait. Mr. Knight?
No way. It couldn't be that, Mr Knight. Right? The one from the house? My boss?
No, that's impossible. What were the odds?
Still, that voice. That same tone. That same irritating arrogance.
God, if this was really the same man, then I'd just insulted My Trillionaire Boss at a billionaire's birthday party.