Chapter 6 The Spill

• Emma's POV
• It was already 5:45 p.m. when I finished my shift at the eatery. My feet were sore from running around all day, but there was still one more task ahead. I stopped a cab and slid inside, telling the driver my destination as I settled into the seat, resting my head against the headrest. I shut my eyes, letting out a deep breath to calm myself. I had to prepare for what was coming next-how I'd face Mr. Preston with my request for extra hours, for the money I so desperately needed.
• As the cab sped through the bustling streets, my mind wandered back to the hospital, to my mother's diagnosis. Type 1 stage 2 diabetes. It hit me hard, the weight of it all. And still, there was no end in sight. I needed to work harder, earn more-anything to keep her comfortable and get her the care she deserved. It was the only thing that mattered.
• The cab stopped, pulling me out of my thoughts. I paid the driver and stepped out, the cool evening air hitting my skin. I walked briskly toward the entrance of the lounge, took a deep breath, and entered, putting on my most professional demeanor.
• I hadn't been there long before I got my first order for the night-a cocktail for table seven. I grabbed the tray, balancing it carefully, and made my way over. But as I approached the table, I froze. My heart skipped a beat, and my mouth went dry.
• There, sitting at the table, were none other than Mr. Blackwood and his personal assistant, Harper. Of all the people I could've run into tonight, it had to be him.
• I blinked, stunned. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the drink to set it down. But just as I did, the glass slipped from my fingers, crashing to the floor in a shattering mess.
• "Oh my God," I muttered, mortified, trying to bend down to clean it up, but Mr. Blackwood's voice stopped me.
• "How many jobs are you juggling?" he asked, his voice smooth, almost amused.
• I froze for a moment, unable to look him in the eye. What could I say? That I was barely making ends meet and working every shift I could? Instead, I gave a nervous laugh, brushing a lock of hair from my face. "Nothing," I said, forcing a casual tone. "Just this one."
• He studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I'm amazed by how hardworking you are," he said, his voice surprisingly soft. "What's your motivation?"
• I straightened up, giving a small shrug. "I'm taking care of my sick mom. She needs me," I explained, my voice a little quieter than I intended. The words slipped out before I could stop them, the truth too raw, too close to the surface.
• Harper, sitting beside Mr. Blackwood, watched the exchange silently, a faint, curious glint in his eyes. I could feel his gaze on me, but I did my best to remain professional.
• "I'm sure you're doing a great job with that," Mr. Blackwood said, his voice filled with unexpected sincerity. "Take care of yourself too. You can't help anyone if you burn out."
• I nodded quickly, forcing a smile, then carefully set the new drink down on the table. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. Blackwood, Harper."
• Just as I was about to turn to leave, the door swung open, and in walked none other than Mr. Preston. He caught sight of Mr. Blackwood immediately, and a broad smile spread across his face.
• "Well, well," Mr. Preston said, striding toward the table. "Mr. Blackwood! It's been too long. How are you?"
• The two men exchanged a quick handshake, and I could feel the tension shift in the room. I gave the gentlemen a polite nod and, with a tight smile, said, "Enjoy your drink, gentlemen."
• As I turned to leave, I couldn't help but feel a little shaken. I hadn't expected to run into Mr. Blackwood again, let alone so soon after our strange encounter in his office. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. My focus had to stay on what mattered-my mom's treatment, the bills I had to pay, and the endless work that lay ahead.
• Still, there was something about the way Mr. Blackwood had looked at me that stayed with me, lingering like an unanswered question. Why couldn't I shake the feeling that this wasn't the last time our paths would cross?
• Damon's POV
• I watched as Emma quickly left the table the moment Mr. Preston arrived. The atmosphere shifted instantly when he joined us, his usual warm smile on his face. I returned a tight smile, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness of Emma's sudden departure.
• "A little mess here, huh?" Preston remarked, his eyes lingering on the spilled drink before looking up at me. "Oh, I'm sorry. The little girl's going through a lot."
• I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Like what?"
• Preston let out a deep breath, his expression darkening slightly. "She's trying to make ends meet. Doing several jobs to take care of her mom. She's been hospitalized for so long now. Sad story. I don't like sharing it."
• My brow furrowed in confusion. Emma? She was so quiet, so composed-it was hard to imagine her in such a difficult situation. Harper, who'd been standing silently at Preston's side, gave me a look of sympathy. I glanced at him, feeling a weight press down on me as I processed what Preston had just said.
• Before Harper could say anything, I dipped my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. I slid it across the table, pushing it toward Preston.
• "For what?" he asked immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.
• I gave a brief shrug, trying to hide the irritation creeping up. "In case she asks for help. Don't tell her it's from me."
• Preston looked at the cash for a moment, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Got it."
• I caught the corner of Harper's mouth twitching into a faint smile, and something about the look in his eyes told me he wasn't going to let this go easily. As if on cue, Harper raised his glass, taking a sip of his cocktail with a grin.
• "This cocktail is nice, by the way," he said, clearly trying to change the subject. He raised the glass in a mock toast that felt more forced than celebratory.
• I didn't respond, my mind elsewhere, trying to figure out how I felt about the situation. All I knew was that there was something about Emma's struggle that made me uneasy. I didn't know her, not really, but something about the way she'd looked at me before-the way she had seemed so lost in her thoughts earlier-pulled at me.
• "Thanks, Harper. Enjoy the drink."
• Preston stood up, extending a hand. "Enjoy your night, Damon. You too, Harper."
• As Preston walked off toward the exit, I could feel Harper's eyes still on me. He shot me a look that was more curious than anything else, and I knew he was already preparing to ask a hundred questions.
• I leaned back in my chair, trying to dismiss the strange tension I was feeling. Emma's situation-whatever it was-wasn't my problem. She was just a delivery girl. Yet, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I hadn't seen the last of her.