The Billionaire and the Waitress: (Billionaire Matchmaker - Book 2)

by Lacy Andersen

  The Billionaire and the Waitress

  Billionaire Matchmaker

  Book 2

  Lacy Andersen

  The Billionaire and the Waitress

  Copyright 2018 by Lacy Andersen

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  lacyandersenauthor@gmail.com

  First Edition

  Cover by Josephine Blake of Covers and Cupcakes

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Billionaire and the Waitress (Billionaire Matchmaker, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Billionaire and the Rock Star Excerpt

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  Chapter One

  Rachel Knight would give anything to be back in Paris at that very moment, sashaying down the catwalk in a pair of glittering diamond heels and a crimson silk dress, but fate had other plans for the wannabe model. She tied her apron strings around her waist and glanced warily into the dining room, where she was expected to start her next waitressing shift in less than a minute.

  “Watch out, girl,” a fellow waitress whispered to her as she entered the kitchen, carrying a tray full of dirty dishes. “He’s in a mood today.”

  Rachel made a face and ducked when the cause of her apprehension came into view. Tony Moon was tall, thick around the waist, and loved to flash his extra-white veneers at the waitresses. He had a head full of straight black hair and thick eyebrows to match. He thought he was heaven’s gift to women.

  The women knew otherwise.

  “All right, Rachel,” she muttered to herself, pulling her sleek chestnut hair off her slender neck and into a low ponytail. She’d been dumped back into her home town of San Jose, California, with nothing but an empty bank account to keep her company. Pep talks to herself were common nowadays. “You can do this. Just until you finish school.”

  Not even her optimistic nature could wipe the disgust off her face when Tony came through the door, pinning her with a leer.

  “You’re late,” he said, his lecherous gaze roving slowly over the curves of her slender body.

  “Not yet.” Rachel looked down at her nickel-plated wristwatch. “My shift doesn’t start until five...four...three...two...one. Now, I’m on the clock.”

  Tony wrinkled his long nose and then held the door open for her. “After you.”

  She resisted the urge to shudder as she brushed past him. It had only been a month since she’d taken the waitressing job at La Fete and already she was regretting it. But rent had to be paid and as of today, her skill set only included posing in expensive clothing and bussing tables.

  Since she couldn’t seem to burst onto the modeling scene, waitressing would have to do until she got her associates degree at the local community college. The alternative was to go to family for money, but the idea was more revolting than Tony Moon’s advances.

  Rachel Knight would make it on her own. Money certainly wasn’t everything in this world and she was out to prove it. Especially to her father.

  “We’ve got a special reservation coming in at four,” Tony said, following her into the dining room. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward a fake pair of potted ferns. “I have it on good authority that it’s two baseball players for the LA Suns. Sit them at your table. I don’t want any of them walking away unhappy. If news gets out about them dining at La Fete, this could really put us on the map. I need you to do what you do best.”

  Rachel’s lips curled into an overenthusiastic smile as she looked up at him. “Which is, provide great customer service?”

  “Yeah.” He trailed his hand up her arm and played with the cuff of her sleeve. “Among other things.”

  She shivered with disgust and turned toward the door. At that moment, two tall men in their early thirties came strolling through the entrance. It was easy to tell these were the athletes Tony had been spouting about.

  Both of them had been blessed with broad shoulders, thick arms, and tapered V-shaped waists. Although they wore simple outfits consisting of t-shirts and jeans, Rachel could recognize expensive brand-names when she saw them. Even their exclusive Nike tennis shoes had to be worth more than the average person’s car. They looked like the kind of guys who left generous tips. She could only hope.

  Rachel jumped toward them, picking up two heavy hard-backed menus. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said with a sweet smile. “Care to follow me? I’ve got our best table ready for you.”

  They nodded and followed her to a small, round table set into a window alcove at the back. Soft sunlight streamed through the window and lit up the table with a golden shimmer. She handed each man a menu after they had chosen a seat.

  “My name is Rachel and I’ll be your waitress this afternoon. May I ask what brought you to our tiny little corner of the world today?”

  The guys laughed as if they shared a private joke, and then grinned up at her.

  “The L-train here is moving up in the world,” said the man on her left. His orange-red hair was cropped close to his head and a spattering of freckles had sprouted across his nose. He picked up a sugar packet from the table and tossed it at his friend. “We’re here to check out the finer side of dining, since fast food is no longer good enough for his billions of dollars. What do you say, beautiful? Shouldn’t a guy stick to what he knows?”

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. Dropping hints at his friend’s riches was not a way to impress her. She’d had enough of people like that during her twenty-six years of life. Money certainly didn’t buy her a happy childhood.

  “What Darren means is that I’m in the middle of opening a fine dining restaurant and he’s jealous he didn’t think of it first,” said his friend, pulling the dark sunglasses off his face and running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

  He had a slight bend to his nose and a tiny scar on his upper lip, but that did nothing to detract from his strong jawline and classically good looks. There was also something strikingly familiar about the man, but Rachel just couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe, she’d seen him on TV. He certainly had the face for it. Companies would love to have a man like that representing their brands.

  He looked up at her with startlingly blue eyes and smiled warmly, making Rachel’s stomach do a little flip. “I needed to scope out the competition. Don’t tell your boss, okay?”

  She m
ade a zipping motion across her lips and fought back a smile. Tony would be livid if he knew the athletes he was hosting were scoping out his business. All the more reason to really give these guys a great meal and cash in on the fabulous tip.

  “You guys take a few minutes to check out the menu and I’ll be back with water,” she said, leaving them to peruse the daily specials.

  “Don’t forget the beer, darling,” the red-head yelled after her. “And keep them coming.”

  As she filled up two glasses at the water station, Rachel allowed herself a moment to consider her business teacher’s latest assignment: to intern at a local business. The very thought made the muscles in her temples throb. Between classes and work, how was she supposed to find the time to do an internship? Not to mention, finding an internship that paid would be like striking water in the middle of the Sahara desert. It just wasn’t going to happen. As if life couldn’t get any more complicated.

  “What do you say, after this shift, you and I check out that new club on First Street?” Tony cooed, coming up beside her. She hadn’t even heard him approach. His brown eyes lingered a little too long on her chest, before flicking up to her face. “How ’bout it? It’s not like you have a boyfriend.”

  “I’d say that’s entirely inappropriate,” Rachel answered in a monotone voice, trying her very best to keep it civil.

  As much as she hated it, she needed a job. And true, she didn’t have a boyfriend and hadn’t had one in far too long, but that didn’t make Tony’s offer any more alluring. It was as if all the decent, single guys in the world had evaporated from the face of the Earth all at once. That wasn’t her fault.

  “You’re my boss,” she continued. “You shouldn’t be asking me out anywhere.”

  “Come on, Rach. Who’s gonna care?” He slid closer until he had her trapped between the soda fountain and the wall. “Your one month review is coming up. I’ll bet you could sure use that raise. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

  She glowered at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “You’re the one who decides the raises, Tony.”

  He grinned, flashing his veneers. “That’s true. So, I’ll put in a good word to myself, if you’ll come with me to the club.”

  Rachel hesitated, feeling like a worm on the end of a hook. She really could use the raise, but going anywhere with Tony was asking for trouble. If she said yes now, he’d forever be hounding her for dates. She’d better put a stop to it while she still could.

  “I’m only going to say this once, Tony, so listen carefully.” She lifted her chin and fixed him with a steady scowl. “I’m not going on a date with you. I will never go anywhere with you. I’m not interested, so please, stop making me uncomfortable and let me just do my job.”

  Tony’s cocky grin melted from his face. Anger took root in his eyes and he stepped even closer, until she could smell the hint of garlic on his warm breath.

  “I’ll have you know, you wouldn’t have a job without me,” he spat, eye-to-eye with her. “You’re not the hot stuff you think you are, sweetie.”

  “Get away from me,” Rachel grunted, gritting her teeth. He’d pinned her against the wall with his massive bulk. She splayed her hands on his shoulders and tried to push him, without success. “Leave me alone, Tony. I said no.”

  She should’ve known Tony wouldn’t let her be. She’d had a bad feeling during her interview with him when he kept leering at her blouse, but she’d tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Here she was, being punished for his lack of self-control. It wasn’t worth it. All the money in the world wasn’t worth working around this excuse of a human being one minute longer.

  “Is there a problem here?” a low growl of a voice asked from behind them.

  Tony backed off just enough for them to both turn and gaze at the blond baseball player with the blue eyes. He stood just a foot away, hands curled tightly into fists and his jaw clenched. His challenging glare never left Tony’s face.

  “I believe this young woman told you to leave her alone,” he continued, inching closer so that he could look down his nose at Tony. “I’d suggest you do that.”

  “What are you doing here?” Tony sputtered, his face turning red. He looked wildly around the dark hallway. “Customers aren’t allowed back here.”

  “I was looking for the restroom.” The baseball player didn’t blink, his impressive scowl sending a jolt of adrenaline through Rachel’s chest. He looked like the kind of guy who followed through on his silent threats. “But it seems I found myself a situation here.”

  Rachel let out a low breath as Tony backed away, giving her room to breathe. Her face felt hot to the touch, as if she’d just finished running a marathon. She sent the stranger a grateful smile, but waved him away. As much as she enjoyed watching Tony cower under the man’s hulking figure, she could take it from here.

  “It’s okay. We were just finishing up here.” She untied her apron and pulled it over her head. Turning toward her boss, she shoved it into his hands. “I quit.”

  Tony’s face fell and he stuttered. “But...but you can’t. Your shift just started. Who’s going to cover the tables?”

  “Maybe you should get off your lazy rear and cover them yourself,” she said, snatching the ponytail holder from her head, allowing her long hair to cascade freely down her back. “I can’t work with you a minute longer. You’re a piece of scum, Tony. No self-respecting woman would ever go out with you, no matter how much you threaten or throw money her way. I hope you know that.”

  She felt the baseball player’s gaze heavy on her face while she finished up her speech. Looking up at him, her breath caught in her lungs as their eyes met. The protective scowl was gone. Instead, his lips had curled into an approving smile that made her face warm. He nodded slowly, his blue eyes twinkling with humor. She returned his nod and then marched past him, their shoulders brushing.

  “Do me a favor and put this restaurant out of business,” she said, turning around to give him one last look.

  He smiled again and quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll certainly do my best.”

  “Good.”

  She marched off down the hall and out into the dining room, making a beeline for the exit. It felt good to be free. It was as if she’d just shrugged off last season’s heavy canvas jacket and slipped into a charmeuse kimono. She could get used to that feeling.

  Too bad this feeling couldn’t pay her rent.

  Chapter Two

  Hot orange flames shot toward the ceiling of Logan Madison’s brand new kitchen and the acrid smell of burning grease filled his nostrils. A plume of black smoke curled above the two steel commercial ranges, marring the fresh paint job on the ceiling. His head chef yanked the fire extinguisher from the wall and fumbled with the pin, dropping the heavy canister on his foot and eliciting a howl of pain.

  “Out of the way,” Logan grunted, pushing past the employees who’d gathered to stare at the disaster in the making.

  He ran toward the pantry and grabbed the economy-sized bag of salt. Sprinting back toward the stoves, he began to toss it wildly onto the flames, sending up a silent prayer that his new business wouldn’t literally go up in flames a week before it opened. His friend Darren would get a kick out of that. He’d always maintained that Logan was out of his depths in this fancy new world of fine dining.

  If Logan had learned anything growing up in a double-wide trailer home with a mother who loved to cook, but probably shouldn’t be allowed within fifteen feet of a kitchen, it was how to put out a grease fire. Slowly, the flames receded and all that remained were the charred leftovers of what resembled a chicken breast and a blackened steel pan.

  “All right people, gather round.” Logan leaned wearily on the steel island and tugged at his blue tie.

  He wanted nothing more at that moment than to shrug off his Brooks Brothers navy suit and change into athletic shorts, but if he was going to be the owner of a fine dining experience, he needed to look the part. Athletic shorts and t-shirts might have been a
ppropriate for the owner of the fast food chain, Logan’s Pizzeria, but no longer. He’d invested his baseball money into his first business and made billions, but now he was out to create something more. Something lasting. Something that would finally prove he was good enough.

  “I know we’re all having a hard time adjusting,” he went on, fixing each of his new employees with a hard stare, “but I need you to focus. Madison Park is going to open to critics buzzing and raving, not to the sound of fire alarms. Please, work with me here. I want tonight’s practice run to be spectacular. No more accidents. Agreed?”

  There was a simultaneous bobbing of heads as Logan passed the bag of salt over to the chef. He breathed a sigh of relief and excused himself from the kitchen, longing for a quiet place that wouldn’t give him a headache. Unfortunately, the painters had just finished up in the dining room that morning and the air there still reeked of new paint. The plumbers had been recalled due to a leak in the men’s bathroom and already there was a scratch on his exotic Brazilian walnut floors from the delivery men dropping off the giant upright fridge for the kitchen last night.

  Still, Logan didn’t let that get him down. Every new beginning had its rough patches. And besides, tonight he was entertaining good friends. They wouldn’t judge him, like everyone else.

  “Logan!” a deep voice called from the entrance.

  A grin lit up his face as he rushed to meet his guests. Standing in the doorway was Michael Knight, looking dapper as always in his black suit, shortly cropped brown hair, and trimmed beard. They’d been buddies all throughout school, pretty much since the day Logan’s scholarship had brought him to St. John’s private academy in the eighth grade.

  Logan was forever grateful to the young boy who hadn’t let prejudice or judgment get in the way of welcoming a new kid. Life as a trailer park kid at a private academy hadn’t been easy. But thanks to Michael’s friendship and Logan’s own supportive parents, he’d graduated with a full ride to Long Beach State and eventually been drafted into the MLB to play first base with the LA Suns.