Chapter 6

Delilah itched her forehead with the back of her hand before picking up the tray of drinks from the bar.

It had been easy the first week to keep her thoughts from her troubles. Her entire body had ached in rebellion to being run off her feet. The best part was, each night, she fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep and woke early enough to get in a run through the city. It was different from what she was used to, and she made the most of the change, unwilling to sulk.

But now that she was settled into the role, and waitressing had become the norm for her, her mind wandered to how things could have been. How things should have been if she hadn't been betrayed. She'd loved life on the West Coast. Her home, her car, her friends, and a job she'd always dreamed of.

She set the glasses in front of the couple she was serving. "Is that everything for now?"

"Yes, thank you," the woman said.

Returning to the bar, she left the tray before collecting several plates from the kitchen.

Her feet didn't ache much as she walked the now-familiar path between tables. The specials rolled off her tongue without effort, but she was sure the smile on her face didn't reach her eyes.

"Excuse me, waitress?" A man in his thirties snapped his fingers in her direction.

She bit down on her lip to keep from responding how she wanted, and she walked to the table. "Yes?"

It looked like a business meeting, judging by the other suits at the table. When they'd ordered, the same man had made a crude comment. She'd ignored it at the time. Maybe he didn't like her indifference.

"I asked for medium rare." He pointed at his steak. She didn't know a lot about cooking steak, but it looked right to her.

"You're not happy with your meal?"

"Maybe you're standing too far away. Why don't you come in a little closer."

She obliged, plastering a tight smile on her face.

"Does this look medium rare to you?"

Her confidence was already shot. And listening to this man demean her—when a few months ago she had probably been in a more powerful position than him—was hard to swallow.

"I have no idea. I'm just a waitress."

"At a restaurant like this, I'd expect every part of the staff to know what a properly cooked steak looks like. At the very least. Maybe I should have a chat with your boss." His eyes lifted over her shoulder, and his face contorted from scorn to surprise. She straightened when a hand rested on her back. She thought it was Luca until she heard the rich timber of his voice.

"How is everyone this evening?"

She turned around and for a moment understood why everyone was so taken with Samson. It would be easy to be taken in by the magnitude of his gaze. She would too if she didn't know better.

"I hope my favorite waitress is being treated well," he said. "She's the best in the city."

Samson had tried and failed to charm her several times, and now it seemed she'd become a mission to him. Every time he came in, he singled her out and made a point of talking to her. He was always polite, but every word held the hint that he wanted something from her. She refused to give it.

"Yes, she's been fantastic," the man at the table said.

"You're all enjoying your meals?" Samson glanced down at the steak. "Medium rare. Nice choice."

"Thank you."

He turned his attention to Delilah. "I hope you'll be serving my table tonight." The way he looked at her lit an unwelcome fire in her stomach.

While she couldn't deny being the focus of a man whose attention everyone wanted had its appeal, and it certainly made her feel good about herself, that was as far as her interests would ever go.

She kept her face neutral, not wanting anyone to get ideas about her involvement with him.

"I'm afraid your table is not in my area tonight," she said.

"A shame." Without another word, he went back to his table, where he looked back at her. The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin when he found her still watching him.

She growled and turned to face the man who'd complained. She didn't need Samson fighting her battles. "I'd be happy to get another steak for you if you're not satisfied with it."

The man glanced in Samson's direction. "No. You can tell your boyfriend the food and the service is fine."

She clenched her teeth. "He's not my boyfriend."

"Whatever you say." He chuckled at his friends, and they joined in.

She turned quickly, visiting another table.

"How is everything?" she said with a bright smile in an attempt to wash away thoughts of the last encounter.

"Everything is wonderful. Thank you."

"Hey, D." Another waitress stopped her as she crossed the room. "Can you cover my tables for a minute?"

"Yeah, sure. Where are you up to?"

"Everyone's ordered already. Just keep the glasses full, and bring the plates when they're ready."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, my stomach's been off all day."

There had been whispers that Heather was pregnant, but she hadn't said anything yet, so neither did Delilah. "Take as much time as you need."

"Thanks."

After delivering a tray of drinks to the table in the corner, she returned to the kitchen to collect several plates of hors d'oeuvres, then saw what table it was for.

She took a deep breath, preparing mentally, determined not to react to whatever assumptions Samson vocalized.

"Delilah," he said when she reached the table. The smile didn't show on his face, but his eyes were full of it. "I thought I wasn't going to get the pleasure tonight."

"I'm only filling in for your waitress." She'd keep it to the facts. He liked to take what she said and twist it around to suit him.

"Filling in because you asked her to swap?"

His eyes glinted.

She put the plates on the table and looked at the brunette to Samson's left—probably his date for the night—and wondered what she thought of all this. The woman's stare was so full of contempt she could be looking at dog poo on the bottom of her shoe.

Delilah dragged her eyes to Samson, and she allowed her frustration to slip out. "What can I say, Sammy? I guess I'm just drawn to your animal magnetism. Or is it your overinflated ego?"

His date huffed a laugh, and Delilah looked back at her, holding her gaze with a smirk. "Can I get anyone another drink yet?"

"Yes," the brunette said. "I'll have another chardonnay." Her lips pursed in that pouty way women thought was attractive.

Delilah nodded, then shot a look at Samson, who was watching the exchange with intrigue. "I'm fine, thanks. Trevors?" he said to his other guest.

"I'm good," Trevors said.

"I'll be back with your drink, ma'am," Delilah said. "Enjoy your hors d'oeuvres."

"Ma'am?" Delilah heard the brunette say as she headed for the bar. The smile that lit her face was the first genuine one she'd had all night. At least the exchange wasn't a total waste. Not that it would make her feel any better when she fell into bed tonight.

She waved to Bruno. "Hey, I need another chardonnay for Samson's table. Whatever they're drinking. Probably something expensive."

"Hey, don't knock expensive wine. It's usually the best."

"Doesn't mean the person drinking it is."

She drummed her fingers on the bar until Bruno returned and slid the glass to her.

"You've got company," he said before heading down the bar to another patron.

She took the glass, puzzled, until she turned to find Samson directly behind her. She almost spilled the wine on him. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Sorry." He took the drink from her and took a sip, then made a face. "I don't know how people can drink this stuff. Tastes like cool-aide."

"I doubt it."

"It does. Try it."

"That's supposed to be for your guest."

"Rebecca won't care."

Delilah took the glass from him but didn't drink. "Is there something you needed? Because I have an order to deliver."

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I'm ashamed to say my date was quite rude to you just then."

"I don't think she appreciated you paying attention to another woman."

He ignored her comment. "I'm excellent at reading people, but you're complicated."

"Compliment accepted. Is that all?" She spotted the waitress she'd taken over for. "Heather." She nodded her over. "This drink is for the young lady at Samson's table."

Delilah didn't give him another look but enjoyed walking away from him, knowing it would irritate him that she'd dismissed him so easily.

"I'll take that," Samson said to Heather.

"Is there anything else you need?"

He looked at Delilah's back and smirked. "Yeah, but it's not something you can provide."

He went back to his table and set down the drink.

"Samson," Trevors said.

"Yeah?"

"You look a million miles away."

He was. At first, he'd thought his attraction to Delilah was as someone he wanted to conquer. There weren't many he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't remember one. But as he'd walked back to his table, he began to suspect there was something else. She was a beautiful woman, but most people would consider the woman sitting beside him to be the more attractive one.

"Yeah," he said. "I've got some stuff going on." Like being dismissed by a woman he was interested in. But tonight, he'd noticed something else. There was pain in her eyes and a maturity that came from overcoming loss. She had a strength of character that he rarely came across, and it reminded him how life used to be. It pricked him with a reminder of all that he had lost.

"Can you believe she called me ma'am?" Rebecca tugged on his arm after taking a sip of her drink. "She looks older than me."

"I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with your age."

"Then why would she say it?"

"Why don't you ask her?" he said tersely.

Rebecca scoffed. "Like I'd waste my time caring what the waitress thinks."

He'd spent years pushing down any shame associated with the life he'd been living. Hordes of people would kill for what he had, and yet, at that moment, he wanted to crawl under the table knowing that Delilah had seen him with this woman acting like she was. And she wasn't the first. But it was his own fault. These were the women he chose. They had fewer strings attached.

"Samson?" Trevors knocked on the table to get his attention. "You okay?"

"Sorry. I was lost in thought."

"Yeah, well, I've gotta get going soon, so it's probably time to start talking business, if you don't mind. That's why you brought me here, wasn't it?"

"Yes, of course, sorry. I lost track of time. Rebecca, if you'll excuse us." Samson stood, waiting for her to do the same.

She looked up at him, indignant. "You really think I'm a threat?"

"Please. I can call you a cab."

"Who am I gonna tell? I want to hear how accurate the reports of your exploits are."

"They're not."

"Please?" She pouted, and he had to work hard not to roll his eyes. "I thought this was supposed to be a date."

Normally, he would have asked for a raincheck, but he didn't want one. "Rebecca."

"Fine." She gulped her wine, then scooted her seat back and stood. "I'll find my own way home."

Samson sat back down and folded his hands on the table. "What have you got for me?"

Trevors watched her leave, then looked at Samson. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."