Chapter One

Alex

T he restaurant was hot and heaving. Patron chatter almost drowned out the discreet classical music. Waiting staff bustled between tables carrying plates and silver trays of drinks. It was the sort of place where you were looked at like shit on the bottom of their shoe by the staff if they thought you couldn’t afford to dine there. Not by everyone though, and certainly not by me. It was also the sort of place where your tips exceeded your pay at the weekend.

Over by the wall with the stencilled Japanese cherry blossoms at possibly the worst table for two in the house, sat a dark-haired man in his forties wearing a black suit. I had already got three orders wrong since he’d arrived.

“Put your fucking eyes back in,” hissed Max as he dumped a foaming pint of lager on my tray and grabbed a bottle of Coke to go with the vodka and ice.

“I can’t,” I said, glancing across the room again. “He’s beautiful.” And he was. His short, immaculately groomed glossy black hair had streaks of silver around the temples. He was clean-shaven, his jaw strong and smooth. I hadn’t yet got close enough to see the colour of his eyes, and I needed to. Badly. And I bet he smelled amazing. I needed to lean over his shoulder, put my nose to his neck and inhale his scent so much it hurt.

“Someone doesn’t think so,” Max said. “He’s been stood up.”

I scowled. “They can’t be in their right mind.” Secretly, I was glad. I didn’t want to see this angel with someone. Not when he’d look best on my arm. Nonetheless, it bothered me. If someone of his calibre was sitting alone in one of the most expensive restaurants in town on Christmas Eve, what hope was there for the rest of us? I sighed. What a terrible situation. I felt so sorry for him. He wasn’t the first person I’d seen here waiting fruitlessly for someone who would never arrive and he wouldn’t be the last, but Jesus Christ, it was Christmas. The person who did this to him deserved no less than hanging, drawing and quartering. “Arsehole,” I spat.

“What did I do?” Max asked. He was a charming man of thirty-five who had taught me everything I needed to know when I first started here seven months ago.

“Not you. Whichever twat stood him up.”

“Oh yeah, right. Well, he’s been here twenty minutes now. They’re not coming, are they?”

I smoothed down my shirt and adjusted my bow tie. “Then I better give him my commiserations.”

“I hope that’s all you’re going to give him,” Max said.

I smiled and winked, but as I set off across the room, the distance suddenly became a gaping chasm imperilled with crocodiles and sharks. My heart beat hard, my hands clammy. I was too afraid to approach him. He was way out of my league. As I got there, I spun, about to turn and run for the hills, but it was too late. He had already looked up.

Our gazes met and that heart of mine almost jumped out of my chest. Mother of God, he was utterly divine. His almond shaped eyes were the darkest sapphire blue and fringed with lush, black lashes. His jaw and cheekbones were chiselled like someone had sculpted them from the finest marble. His mouth was made for sin, full-lipped and sensual. I stared at him. I started to wonder if maybe he was an actor or a rock star or a male model—we had our share of those—because there seemed to be no other explanation for his beauty. He couldn’t just be a…regular person, could he? He was staring at me too and I wondered how long I had been frozen there at his table. Maybe an hour, maybe two. Hell, maybe it was already Christmas Day and I should have been driving to Devon to spend the day with my parents.

He wore a black shirt with his black suit, and a silver tie, the whole ensemble immaculate. His shoulders and chest were broad. It looked like he was concealing a seriously impressive physique.

“Er, hi,” I said, like he was my mate. I was such a dick.

“Hi,” he said. He looked pissed off. I doubted it was at me. Nonetheless, I knew very well how to deal with pissed off customers. I had never slid onto my knees under the table for one, but that was definitely on the menu for him if he wanted it. Right here, right now. Not a problem.

“Can I get you another drink?” I asked him. Plus, your phone number, if it’s not too much trouble.

He looked down into his crystal glass, a few lumps of melting ice covering the dregs of some clear liquid. My money was on gin. He looked like a gin drinker to me. He shrugged. “Why not? And the bill, while you’re at it.”

My heart sank in disappointment. “Oh, you’re going?”

He laughed without amusement. More a savage bark. “Yeah, I’m going. A man can only take so much humiliation.”

I swallowed at the expression on his face. “They’re an idiot,” I said, a watered-down version of what I’d said to Max.

He raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “Are they? That’s what you get for getting your dates on Grindr.”

I coughed to hide both my delight and shock. Oh really, how lucky was I? He batted for my team. “I don’t know why anyone would want to stand you up,” I said ardently and cursed myself.

He stared at me like he couldn’t believe his ears before seeming to compose himself. He tossed back the remaining liquid in his glass, crunching an ice cube. I saw a flash of beautiful white teeth. “You don’t know me,” he said. “Maybe I’m a terrible person and I deserve it.”

“You don’t look like a terrible person.” Oh, what was I doing? Why didn’t I just ask to suck him off right now?

Once more he held my gaze. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Fuck! “Alex,” I said.

“Well, Alex, get me my drink and my bill, please, then you can have the table for some other poor bastard hoping for some Christmas cheer.” With that, he turned his attention to study the bottom of his glass like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, and I was dismissed. I scuttled away with my face red, feeling so sorry for him my heart could have burst.

“That was a very long conversation,” Max said, when I made it back to the bar.

“Yeah. What’s he drinking?”

Max tapped a few buttons on his iPad. “Raspberry gin with rhubarb tonic. Fruity bastard.”

“Get him another. Make it a double. And take it out of my tip jar.”

Max frowned. “He’s staying?”

“He’s having another, then he’s going.”

Max took a gin glass from the shelf and held it against the optic. “Why are you buying him a drink?”

“I feel sorry for him.”

“You don’t usually buy people drinks. You’re a waiter. Do you know how much this costs?”

“It’s Christmas,” I said. I considered that enough explanation. Although I scrimped and saved and shopped at Aldi, I also wasn’t a miser. I believed in altruism. The world would be a better place if more people tried it. Being nice to people gave me a warm glow. Usually I enjoyed giving presents much more than receiving them. It was the best part of Christmas.

Max added some ice and berries and a slice of lime and bent to the fridge to take out a can of tonic. He poured it in and gave it all a stir with a gin spoon. “You know who he is, don’t you? I thought I recognized him, so I googled him.” He put the glass down on a tray and whipped out his phone.

There it was. I braced myself for some superstar. Premier league football manager and ex-England player. Hollywood superstar. One of those Z-listers who had been in the jungle. If he’d been eating cockroaches in Australia, he could fuck right off out of here. I had some standards.

Max showed me his phone. There was our diner standing on some red carpet in another expensive suit, no trace of a smile on his handsome face. “He owns a massive men’s underwear company. The headquarters is only around the corner.”

I stared at Max and at the photo of the divine customer. My mind plummeted into degradation. I wonder if he wears his own underwear. I wonder if he’s ever modelled it. If he has, I need five minutes to find those images and check out his bulge. “Of course,” I said in a croak. “Of course he does.” And I laughed. I saw his name on the screen. Lucas Rainford. I tried it out in my head and liked it a lot.

“He’s very ethical. All his pants and socks are made from organic cotton or bamboo and manufactured here, no sweatshop shit. He’s carbon neutral with no plastic packaging. Gives ten percent to charity. He pays well above minimum wage. And check out the blokes he has modelling for him.” Max showed me a picture of a scowling dark-haired guy reclining on a bed wearing tight white briefs with what looked like a cucumber and two apples shoved down them.

I stared and Max scrolled down, reading an article. “Seems he’s kind of a recluse. Doesn’t often appear at public things. This was a charity event for animal rescue.”

My heart swelled in my chest. I smiled to myself. Then I felt depressed again on his behalf. A recluse who agreed to a date, only to get stood up in public. I felt burning hatred for the man who had done this to him. “Get me his bill, please,” I said.

Max was still looking at the picture of Lucas Rainford. “He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights.” He cackled. “He really doesn’t get out much. You’d think the CEO of a massive company would have more social skills.”

“Stop being so mean,” I snapped.

Max looked at me in surprise.

“How would you like to be sitting here on your own on Christmas Eve?”

Shame poured over his face. He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “You’re a good bloke, Alex,” he said. “I wish you had someone to treat you like the diamond you are.”

I reddened. “Calm down.”

“I mean it.” Max was married with a young baby and loved his wife more every day. I envied the sort of all-consuming love he had found, but it was a source of tension for him that he worked unsocial hours and couldn’t be there for his family all the time. He folded the bill on a little saucer and placed it on the tray next to the drink. “Go and ask him out.”

I spluttered. “Yeah, right.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s probably twenty years older than me.”

“So?”

I looked across the room. Lucas had his phone out, head bent over it. “Show me your phone again,” I said. “Let’s see how old he actually is.”

Max smiled. He swiped his phone open, went back to his google search, and located a Wikipedia page. Shit, the man had his own entry. There it was at the top. Born in Lincoln on 25 December 1979.

“Fuck, it’s his birthday tomorrow!” I blurted.

Max looked amused. “He’ll be forty-five. Only nineteen years older than you. Not bad at all.”

I glowered at him. Eighteen really, as it was my birthday in January. What would my mum say? Well, she’d be delighted I was bringing a millionaire home, wouldn’t she? “Scroll down to personal life,” I said.

There were two precious lines summing up the customer sitting by the cherry blossom wall.

Lucas Rainford lives in London. He is currently single.

“There,” Max said. “That’s all you need to know. And now, courtesy of Grindr, he’s still single. Go on.”

I dithered and saw Lucas glance across at me, probably wondering where his drink was. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Write your phone number on his bill.”

“Are you trying to get me sacked?” I cried.

“I’m your manager. I’m not going to sack you.”

“Do you encourage all the staff to harass the customers?”

Max lifted an eyebrow. “Harass? You’re a hot gay man and he’s an even hotter gay man. I doubt there’ll be any harassment.”

“Stop it.”

“And if he’s not into twinks, he’ll tell you to fuck off, won’t he?”

“I’m not a twink, I’m twenty-six!”

“You are a twink. He’ll probably eat you for his birthday breakfast. If you’re lucky.” Max laughed. My cheeks flamed and my cock twitched at the very idea.

“Shut up.” I grabbed the tray. I wasn’t so desperate and so gauche that I would write my number on a customer’s bill. If he wanted it, he would need to ask for it. Not that he would. He was a rich, powerful man, and I was a waiter. I crossed the shark-infested waters once more with my heart racing even faster than previously.