Authors: Summer Cooper
C
ara Ford has seen
enough men come and go that she’s sure she knows what they want: one night, and a conquest. Orphaned at twenty and adrift in New York City, she fell for the worst man she could have picked—Craig Daugherty, a trust-fund boy with perfect looks. When she got pregnant, he left her to raise the baby alone, and Cara lost her dream of becoming a scientist.
Seven years and a dozen failed romances later; Cara is barely scraping by as a waitress in a 24-hour diner. When Perry Hammond waltzes into her life, she expects nothing but his contempt, and she turns him down flat when he asks her out to dinner.
But Perry Hammond isn’t an ordinary man—he’s a billionaire who built himself up from nothing, and in Cara’s fierce independence, he sees a woman who is a match for him. Cara isn’t willing to take his help, and Perry isn’t willing to give up… but does he have what it takes to show Cara that she’s not alone?
“
I
don’t
care
what you have on tomorrow night,” Cara hissed into the phone. The voice chattering back from the other end was a drawl, disaffected and bored. “No—no, no, no—Craig. Craig,
please—
“
The sound of the click echoed down the line, and her shoulders slumped. She replaced the receiver, shaking, and then let herself lean against the wall. There were tears starting to form in her eyes, and she had nearly worn out her ability to keep them back. She pressed her hand over her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep from making a sound.
“Cara?”
Oh, God. No one could see her like this. Cara whirled away from the door and fumbled with her apron, acting as if she had come in here to change.
“Cara?”
“Uh-huh?” Her voice sounded a little strained, but she might have pulled it off.
There was a pause, and she knew Lexie was looking her over. The night cook at Bell’s Diner was young and supermodel pretty; blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She looked about fifteen…but she was one of the most clear-eyed, observant people Cara had ever met in her life. There was no point in trying to fool her. “You have a customer, sweetheart.”
Cara managed a laugh. She knew Lexie humored her by acting like every other world-weary diner chef out there, and humor was just what she needed right about now.
“Are you okay?” Lexie asked, more softly this time.
“I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll be okay.” Cara turned around and wiped her eyes; no use in pretending. “Is my mascara running?”
“Nope.” Lexie smiled and disappeared. “I’m going to go start cooking. This guy always gets the same thing. Give him decaf.”
“Thanks.” Cara smiled after the girl’s retreating form. Four weeks on this job and she was just getting used to the dizzying array of people that came in. When she came out to see a tailored suit and a copy of yesterday’s
Times
, graying dark hair peeking out from above the pages and a Rolex glittering on the man’s wrist, she hardly gave it a second thought. There were only two kinds of people who came in this late: drunks, and stockbrokers.
She supposed he might be both. That would liven up the night somewhat. Without tips, she was practically working this shift for her subway fare.
“Decaf?” She asked lightly, pasting her diner-waitress smile on her face.
Her smile faltered when he folded his paper and looked at her, assessing. She had expected someone portly, or run-down, but this man looked to be in the prime of his life. The salt and pepper in his hair had clearly been earned with time, but the man wore his suit like he’d been born in it, the polite cut failing to disguise well-muscled arms and broad shoulders. His skin was caramel, his sharp jawline free of stubble, and his eyes were somewhere between black and brown.
“Yes, please,” he said politely.
Cara had to force herself to take a step, and then another. She seemed to have forgotten how to move; her fingers were clenched around the handle of the coffee pot so tightly that she was worried she might break it, and she knew she was staring like a fool. So this man was one of the most attractive people she’d ever met in her life. He was a customer. He was a
rich
customer. No one needed her staring like a teenager.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” he observed as she poured. His tone made it clear that he remembered nearly every person he saw.
“I’m new here.” Cara managed to jerk the pot up just in time to keep the cup from overflowing. “I don’t usually work this shift.”
Don’t usually, but didn’t have much choice, she thought. How many months in a row had it been since the child support had shown up? And Craig, she thought bitterly, didn’t even have anything to spend the money on. He lived with his parents and talked about clubs and champagne.
But it was no use thinking about that. And no use thinking about Darren, sleeping in their neighbor’s apartment because Cara couldn’t get the thought out of her head that someone might break in while she was gone. She tried not to let her smile flicker.
“My name is Perry,” the customer told her, and Cara nodded.
“Cara.”
“A beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
A ding sounded from the counter, and Perry smiled over at the plate. “Bless Lexie, one of these days she’ll have my food ready before I even get here.”
“You know Lexie’s name?” Cara asked, rendered curious by this turn of events.
“I make a habit of knowing everyone’s name,” he said gravely. “And Lexie’s eggs are better than Jamie’s. But he makes better pancakes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cara said, at a loss for any other words. She wove her way behind the counter and brought the plate out. “Ketchup? Hot sauce?”
“Hot sauce, please.”
Please and thank you. So he was one of
those
stockbrokers. The kind that said they weren’t too rich and privileged to remember people’s names. People like waitresses and cooks. People less than them. And wasn’t everyone going to be impressed now?
Cara set the plate down in front of him with rather more force than was necessary.
“Thank you,” he said, so mildly that she had to grit her teeth.
“Anything else I can get for you?”
“No, thank you.” His eyes focused on hers. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
“…Ma’am?” Cara asked him. Too polite. He was mocking her.
“It seemed overly familiar to call you by your name.”
“I see. Well, if there’s nothing else I can get for you—”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He asked, his forehead creasing. “Have I said something to offend you?”
“No,” Cara snapped. “You haven’t. Please enjoy your food.”
Back in the kitchen, she leaned against the wall and groaned softly. She was never going to make it if she couldn’t be polite to customers.
“What was that about?” Lexie asked, looking over from where she was scraping the grill down. She was relentlessly neat, so much so that she threw a sponge towards Clara and gestured to the countertops. “Help me out.”
“Sure.” Clara began scrubbing.
“So…” Lexie prompted.
“He’s just one of those ones who mocks you the whole time.”
“Really?” Disbelief rang in Lexie’s voice. “He’s always been so nice to me.”
“Doesn’t he seem a little…
too
nice? Like he’s just doing you a favor by talking to you?”
“Not really.” Lexie shook her head. “And even if he was, wouldn’t that be…kind of better than everyone else we have in here? I mean, so he says nice things and tips well. Doesn’t matter if he thinks he’s better than us. The rest of the people who think that, say rude things and don’t tip at all, see what I mean?”
“There is that. But I don’t think I’ll be getting a good tip.”
“What did you say… ?”
“Nothing.” Cara shrugged. “It was how I said it.”
“He’ll tip well, anyway. He always does. Lord knows he has the money for it.” Lexie shot a glance over her shoulder, and shook her head at Cara’s uninterested expression. “Doesn’t anything interest you these days?”
“Not really, no. I’m too tired.”
“Well, look alive — that’s Perry Hammond, and he’s worth seventeen billion dollars.” When Cara only raised an eyebrow, Lexie snorted. “
And
it looks like he’s pretty taken with you. Even tired, you look like a million bucks.”
She was probably right. Cara’s curls, when they behaved themselves, tumbled fetchingly in a waterfall of auburn, and her blue eyes were very bright in her heart - shaped face. She was not tall and stately, as many New Yorkers seemed to be, but she had a sweet smile and a sprinkle of freckles over her tiny nose. She was, she admitted, very pretty.
Not that it ever did her much good.
“Well, I’d need to be seventeen thousand times as pretty to be on his level,” she told Lexie wearily.
“Well, don’t say I don’t ever set you up.”
“I won’t.” She dropped the sponge in the sink and washed her hands. “I suppose I should go see if he needs anything.”
“That’s the spirit,” Lexie said encouragingly.
“Don’t. I’m just going to get him some coffee.”
“You could at least
try
—” Lexie was saying as the door swung shut.
“Can I get you anything else?” Cara asked. She was trying to keep her voice pleasant, but it was remarkably difficult. What
was
it about this man that set her on edge? First he looked like a stockbroker, then he looked like an athlete, then he was too polite by half, and now she found out he was a billionaire. He set her on edge, and she couldn’t figure out why.
“No, thank you.” He slid a fifty onto the table and stood. His food had been eaten, the silverware placed neatly on the plate; the coffee mug piled on top with a used—but folded—napkin. “I hope you have a good night, ma’am. I hope you know I did not mean to offend you.”
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t seem to say anything else, so she only watched while he hesitated, before nodding his head and leaving, expensive shoes tapping on the laminate flooring.
It was such a pity when the jerks were handsome.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Mr. Smith.” Cara turned at the voice and smiled, this time a bit more sincerely. The man who owned the diner was kind, very forgiving of her mistakes, and observant enough to call out the riff-raff who took liberties with the waitresses.
“I see Perry was here,” he said now, eyes fixed on the fifty. “Good man.”
Cara refrained from rolling her eyes, and Mr. Smith looked around himself before heaving a sigh.
“I, uh…I have something to tell you. Lexie, could you come out here a moment?”
“Sure thing, Mr. S.” Lexie walked out, wiping her hands on a pristine white towel.
“Ladies…” Mr. Smith cleared his throat. He looked sad all of a sudden, sadder than Cara had ever seen him, and with his tired expression, she realized now how old he looked. “The diner is shutting down.”
“What?” Cara whispered? Fear clamped down, icy, on her heart. She needed this job, needed it desperately. It barely covered her rent, let along utilities or food, and Darren hadn’t had new clothes in a year, and… “No.”
“I’m sorry, Cara. I know… I know you’re depending on your check. I’ll try to get it to you as soon as the building sells.”
“You don’t have it…” Cara lost her words in a wave of panic. “When’s the last day?”
“Today,” he said, and his eyes were sad. “I… was at the bank earlier. They said—well, never mind what they said. I’m sorry. I’ll tell the rest of the staff tomorrow.”
The coffee pot was shaking so hard in Cara’s hand that she thought she might drop it, and she barely got it onto the counter before she was running for the exit, listening to Lexie’s desperate call for her to come back.
In the alley, she leaned against the wall and felt a sob bubble up in her chest. Extra shifts and no paycheck. Every time, every time she thought she was getting a little further ahead, every time she thought she might break even; the world found some way to take it away from her. Every time.
“Ma’am? Cara?”
Oh, God. She could not deal with this.
“What?” Cara asked. She stood up and wiped her nose, daring him to comment on her appearance.
“What happened?”
“The diner’s closing down,” Cara told him. And then, because the words wouldn’t seem to stop, she added, “And I’m behind on my rent, and my son doesn’t have clothes that fit, and this job was supposed to be the one that…”
Oh, don’t mention school. He’d laugh. She couldn’t bear to have him laugh. Not about that.
“Can I… would you let me help you?”
“Help?” Cara said bitterly.
“No?” He guessed; one dark eyebrow slightly raised.
“No,” she confirmed. She should take it, the rational side of her brain whispered, and her pride whispered that she could not, she couldn’t accept this. “I know this game. I’ve seen what this looks like. I know what people expect when they throw money around like that, and you know what? I’d rather be poor.”
She slammed the door of the diner in his face, covered her face with her hands, and bit down on a scream of rage. The last thing she’d needed tonight was an offer like that. Lexie might tell her to go for it, smile at the rich man, but all that told Cara was how little Lexie knew about the world. Because Cara had met men like Perry Hammond before: polite, well-dressed, and generous. And there were always strings attached. Men like Perry never went for women like her, not unless they wanted something.
And she had nothing more to give.
T
he phone was ringing
. Cara gave a groan and felt around in the covers, whimpering a little as the light hit her eyes. Between cleaning up the diner and crying her eyes out, she felt like she had only just gotten to bed—and she strongly suspected that the clock saying 10:45AM was lying to her.
“Yes?” She managed, when she finally got the phone up to her ear.
“Ms. Ford?” A man’s voice asked.
“Uh-huh?”
“I’m Mack Nelson, the manager over at Best Beans coffee on First. You were recommended to us, and we were wondering if you could come in for a job interview at noon.”
Cara sat bolt upright, her heart racing. A job. A
job.
“Yes, I can—yes. Of course. On First?” She tumbled out of bed, tearing open the closet door and rifling through the clothes hanging there. Skirt, knee-length. Cardigan, professional. Kitten heels. A glance in the mirror revealed hair that looked like a small shrubbery, and she grimaced. She needed to shower.
“That’s right. I’ll see you at noon.”
“Uh-huh. I mean, uh, thank you!”
Best Beans coffee. Who had recommended her? Not important. She skidded into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower, brushing her teeth hastily as the water warmed.
“Mom?”
“Hi, Darren.” Cara smiled over at him and spat toothpaste into the sink. “Did you sleep well?”
Darren’s silky black hair slanted across his forehead, and his blue eyes were pale against his tanned face. For all that Cara might hate Craig—and right about now; she really did—she could never, never regret Darren. Smart and funny, Darren had brought more joy to her life than she knew existed, and uncovered a well of strength that Cara drew on when the world tried to beat her down. More shifts, more time away from home—she would do all that and more for Darren. She’d cleaned penthouses and held signs outside of pizza shops.
“I slept okay,” Darren said. He took in her ruffled hair and the makeup still on her face. “You got home late, though.”
“I had to clean the diner,” Cara said, hoping her smile didn’t show the anger that was rising in her chest again. Closing the diner. Why had he hired her if the diner was just going to close? “And I have a job interview in an hour.”
Being a barista wouldn’t be so bad, by contrast. Maybe even better than the diner. She was willing to bet the hours were more reasonable.
Darren’s face fell. “You’re…going to be gone more?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Cara walked over, holding him close. “No, I… the diner closed. So this would just be one job.”
But she needed two. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell him that. What mother could? No one was supposed to have to choose between keeping their kids fed and clothed, and seeing them every day.
She felt like she was racing as she scrubbed her face, washed her hair and drew it back tightly. Her curls had a way of escaping in the summer heat, and the last thing she needed was for this Mack person to think it would get in the coffee. A quick application of makeup, something to hide the circles under her eyes, and Cara slid into her interview clothes. She sighed with relief when she saw the time. She was going to be early. She liked being early.
For all the good it did when you worked in food service.
“Where are we going?” Darren asked curiously as they left. His latest book, something about space travel, was tucked under his arm. Cara tried not to let him see the wistfulness in her eyes when she looked at it, or read to him. Maybe someday Darren would have everything she’d dreamed of for herself. The thought roiled in her chest, as sweet as it was painful.
“The Financial District. I’d be making coffee for stockbrokers.” Cara hurried them down to the subway station near their house. She checked her phone, and suppressed a grimace; no call from Craig. Typical.
She flushed with shame to remember the call she’d made last night. She knew he’d be able to tell she was crying, and she’d begged him for money. She hadn’t ever begged before. She had screwed up her courage and whispered the plea, over and over, thinking it was all worth it if Darren had food and shelter.
And Craig didn’t even respond.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, sweetheart.” Cara brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m just tired.”
“You say that a lot,” Darren said softly.
“It’ll be okay,” Cara promised him. “This way.”
Up the stairs and off the train, and there it was: Best Beans, with a perky little logo of a coffee tree. Cara squared her shoulders and took Darren’s hand as she pushed her way into the store, edging around a line of people in expensive suits. Suddenly her best clothes felt inadequate. She could feel their eyes flicking over her: from the red-brown hair she hadn’t styled, to the blue eyes without makeup, and the lack of jewelry. The looks said she didn’t belong here.
“Cara?” A lanky man with white-blond hair held out his hand. “I’m Mack.”
“Hello, Mr. Nelson. Sweetheart, can you sit over there? I’m really sorry; I hadn’t arranged for a sitter today.” The polite lie tumbled off her tongue without even a flicker of her expression. Successful people had sitters.
“Of course.” Mack’s eyebrows rose as Darren settled down quietly and began to read. “Do you think you could teach my kids to do that?”
“I got lucky,” Cara said softly, feeling a smile tug at her lips as she watched her son. “He’s a good boy.” And she would fight to the death for him to have the opportunities she had squandered.
“Seems it. Now, Ms. Ford, have you ever worked in a coffee shop before?”
“No,” Cara admitted. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach. “But I assure you, Mr. Nelson; I am a
very
quick learner. I’m neat; I’ll be a hard worker—”
“Oh, you come with glowing recommendations,” Mack assured her.
“I… meant to ask about that. Who recommended me?”
“For HR reasons, we can’t really discuss that. I hope you understand. Now, here, let’s go behind the counter and I’ll run through some of the tasks with you, see how you do. Sound good?”
“Sure,” Cara said warily. This was too easy.
Steaming milk, however, was not as difficult as she had imagined. Under Mack’s instruction, she ground coffee beans, refilled the dark roast pot, and restocked the refrigerators under the counter. By the end of it she was sweating, and she was sure she remembered none of it—but Mack nodded, seeming pleased.
“I think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”
“Oh, good.” Cara patted at her hair. “I’ll, uh… thank you for the opportunity. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
“No need.” The man smiled at her easily. “The job is yours if you want it.”
Cara stared at him. This wasn’t just too easy—it was much,
much
too easy.
“Why?” She asked him finally.
“You’re competent, you’re pleasant to speak to, and you come recommended. Making coffee isn’t very difficult—but good employees are few and far between.” He waited.
“I… I guess I’ll take it.” Cara shook her head, then remembered her manners. “Thank you very much for the opportunity, sir.”
“Don’t mention it. Your first shift will be tonight, starting at 5. People in finance work late and
we—
” he grinned at her “—keep them awake.”
Cara smiled. She nodded, said her good-byes, and fled, terrified that if she stayed a moment longer, he’d realize he had made a mistake and take the job away again. She was so absorbed that she nearly ran full-on into Lexie.
“Cara! You look nice.” Lexie smiled, and gave a little wave at Darren. “Hi, champ.”
“Hi, Lexie.”
“Come here often?” Cara asked.
“Eh, sometimes. My parents live around here, so I stop for coffee sometimes.”
“Did you… I mean, thanks. For recommending me.”
“I didn’t recommend you.” Lexie shook her head, wide-eyed. “But whoever did, maybe they’d recommend me, too? Making coffee can’t be that much more difficult than cooking eggs.”
“I think it would be less difficult,” Cara said, smiling. “Maybe they’re hiring for more than one job. You might as well go check.”
“Sure. Well, thank your mystery person when you see them. And… hi, Perry!”
“Lexie.”
The smooth voice sent Cara’s stomach plummeting. She waited until Lexie had made her way inside, and then she turned; eyebrow raised.
“Mr. Hammond.”
“Cara.” He smiled at her, and his eyes flicked to Darren. “Hello. I’m Perry.”
“I’m Darren,” the boy said. He smiled.
“What are you reading about?”
“Space travel. Mom likes to read about science.
She
used to be studying robotics.”
“That’s enough, sweetheart,” Cara said, panic swamping her as Perry’s eyes flicked up to hers. “It was nice to see you, Mr. Hammond, but I have to go.”
“Certainly. I, uh…” He looked flustered, all of a sudden.
“Yes?” Cara prompted him.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider going to dinner with me.”
“I…”
“You should go,” Darren piped up, “I like him.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Maybe tomorrow night?”
“I don’t know when I’ll be working,” Cara said honestly. She didn’t like that she wanted to say yes. Everything in her head screamed for her to run—that men like this couldn’t be trusted. That they were too powerful to understand the real world.
“Ah.” Pleasure lit in his eyes. “You got the job, then.”
The bottom of her stomach dropped out, and anger followed quickly. After the confused tumult of feelings, the rush of rage was simple, easy to understand—and welcome. Cara felt her teeth clench.
“
You
recommended me?”
“In a manner of speaking. I simply told Mr. Smith that this coffee shop would be happy to hire people displaced when the diner closed.
He
recommended you.”
“And now you want to go to dinner,” Cara said. Her heart was beating very fast.
“Well, I… I wanted to go to dinner with you last night, but it seemed a bad time.”
“So you got me a job and now you want a favor in return.”
“It’s not like that at all.”
“Sure it isn’t.” Cara’s mouth twisted. “Goodbye, Mr. Hammond.”
“Where are we going?” Darren demanded as Cara pulled him away. “Aren’t you going to—?”
“No.”
“But I liked him,” Darren said plaintively.
“No,” Cara whispered again. Another dinner, another man pretending to care about robotics, about Darren, about Cara’s dreams. And then, inevitably, the betrayal. She barely had enough left in her to make it to work in the mornings. She could not live with more heartbreak.