Love or Luxury (2 page)

"I wouldn't have almost hit you if you hadn't been crossing when my light was green. You're lucky I was paying attention, which is more than I can say for you."

Hmm, maybe that came out a little harsher than he'd meant it to. After all, he had almost run her over. Even if it was her fault, that would be pretty terrifying.

"Are you okay?" he asked, changing his tone to the one he used when he had to tell his clients the estimated price for work when he knew they were expecting a figure much lower. He didn't even know this girl and, by the look of her, she wasn't having the best day. Girls in the Meadow didn't carry their own bags. That alone would be enough to put someone like her over the edge of sanity.

Her prickly exterior softened just slightly. If he wasn't mistaken, he even saw a tiny quiver in her chin, her pouty lips pouting just a bit more.

"I'm fine." She hoisted her bag back onto her shoulder, stumbling as it settled into place, then strode down the crosswalk with a ramrod-straight back, her fiery red hair streaming out behind her in the breeze.

He watched—equally amused and annoyed—as she walked up to the black Beamer parked on the other side of the street. To anyone else, the car would have looked brand new. But he could tell by the few little design changes that it was actually a few years old. Five or six to be exact—an old car for here in the Meadow where everything was always new and shiny.

After tossing her things into the back, she climbed into the driver's seat, her wild red hair whipping around her face as she did. He wasn't usually attracted to redheads. He was a brunette guy all the way. But this girl? This girl had hair to match her personality—untamed, unpredictable, and absolutely captivating.

At least, she certainly seemed that way from his brief meeting with her here on the street. Most of the women—nope, make that all—that he'd ever met in the Meadow would never dream of speaking to him the way she had. They were far too put together and constantly worried about making the right impression to be so impulsive or to even dream of speaking what was actually on their minds.

Not this girl.

Interesting.

If meeting her had been a little different, maybe he actually would have taken the time to chat her up a little. Normally, he wouldn't bother chatting up any of the women in the Meadow—he didn't have the bank account to support dating them. But this girl might be different. She was driving an older vehicle after all.

He shrugged. Regardless, she was already in her car, and he didn't even know her name. No sense wondering about a date with a girl he'd never see again.

A car honked. The light had changed to green again while he'd been watching her. Too bad he couldn't sit and watch her longer. Something about the redhead caught his attention and was currently holding him hostage. Damned if he could figure out why.

As if she knew he was watching her, she glanced over her shoulder at him. If he wasn't mistaken, she gave him the full once-over again as if she were evaluating a piece of art to discern its price. Then she shoulder-checked and pulled into traffic, headed the opposite direction.

The car behind him finally gave up waiting and pulled around into the left lane, leaving Finn in the road alone. Without another glance back to the car in the distance, he sped off. He was almost late for an appointment, something that wouldn't be tolerated by his client. He had a business to run, and he couldn't let every feisty redhead who crossed his path distract him.

Chapter Two

Rebecca stood at the food pick-up window that separated the dining area from the kitchen, twisting her ankle in little circles, trying to relieve the stiffness as she waited for the tuna melt on rye. She brushed a strand of fallen hair behind her ear while the rest stayed gathered at the nape of her neck in a tight elastic band. Even with her hair pulled back, she was hot and sweaty from standing near the kitchen all lunch hour.

Lunch was the worst time to work. Not only was it crazy-ass busy for a solid two hours, but everyone was always in a huge hurry and, therefore, naturally assumed their order should come up first. She tried her best to ignore their ignorance, but it didn't take long before she got pissy and annoyed with all of them.

Not that she'd ever let them know. She lived for the tips, and bitchy waitresses didn't get tips. She just had to watch Eileen to see why her pockets were nearly empty. Of course, Eileen
had
told one customer to shove it and refused to serve another.

Rebecca served everyone with a smile, and it didn't go unnoticed by her customers. Her stuffed pockets were evidence of that. Being nice to even the most awful customer was worth it if it earned her a better tip.

Being nice to the other staff, however, was completely optional. And not an option Rebecca often chose.

Her last boss had fired her.

She'd had it pretty cushy working for her long-time friend and housemate Chase at his bookstore Bloom's Books. She'd been the manager then. She'd loved her job. But she hadn't been able to keep it. Chase fired her for that girl, Julia.

Looking back, it was obvious why he'd done it. One, he was in love with Julia right from the second he'd met her—love at first sight and all that bullshit. Two, Rebecca really had been a total hag to Julia on her first day of work at the bookstore, which also happened to be Rebecca's last day of work. Of course, that wasn't the first time Rebecca had pulled bitch toward a woman who showed interest in Chase. She'd always felt territorial over him, protective of him.

For a few fleeting years after Reid had left, she'd tried to fill the void in her life by forcing herself to have feelings for Chase… feelings that hadn't been real for either of them.

Now she knew how big a mistake that had been.

Sighing, Rebecca forced the memories out of her mind. If only she could go back and realize sooner that Chase had only loved her like a sister, never as anything more then maybe she'd still have a job in the Meadow. Maybe then she wouldn't have made a fool of herself, pursuing feelings that could never become anything.

The plate of meatloaf burned her hand as she picked it up from the counter then grabbed the tuna melt in her other hand. Sometimes the plates came out of the kitchen practically on fire. It was as if the plate had been sitting right on the grill instead of beside it.

She rushed to Mr Meatloaf's table and set the plate down in front of him, accidentally letting it bang onto the table. He jumped, surprised, as he looked up from his book.

"Sorry, sugar," she said, smiling as sweetly as she could while shaking out her hand as if that might help cool the burn she felt. "Hot plate."

"No problem, sweetheart," he said, smiling up at her. "We can't have you hurting those dainty hands of yours."

She winked over her shoulder at him as she walked to a table a few booths away to drop off the tuna melt. With her not-at-all-dainty hands free and no other meals waiting to be served, she returned to the front counter to grab a quick sip of water.

Emmett's Diner was a typical American-style diner with cozy booths and a service counter facing the kitchen. She didn't mind working there most days, but sometimes… well, sometimes she shook her head and wondered what exactly she was doing in a joint like this.

Her friends from the Meadow didn't know she worked here, and she had every intention of keeping it that way. They thought she spent her time volunteering at the local women's shelter. If they knew she actually spent her time here working… well, she'd probably need to find new friends.

Trophy wives and girlfriends did not work at diners as waitresses.

Rebecca did volunteer at the shelter, but not as much as she used to when she still lived with Chase and his family. Definitely not as much as she wanted to. She loved working at the shelter and someday, when she was a trophy wife herself, she'd finally be able to work there full time, helping others. Maybe she'd even start her own organization someday. That's what she really wanted to do. Not work at the diner. For now, she had to spend every day working, so she could attempt to afford the lifestyle she'd grown up with in the Meadow.

Rebecca and her father had moved to Meadow Ridge when she was only a child. He'd gotten a job as the Blooms' personal driver, and as part of his job deal he'd secured them room and board on the estate and a place in the very sought-after school district for Rebecca. The Blooms had taken in Rebecca as one of their children. They knew her mother had died and felt the need to help her grow up in a "normal" family. Not that there was anything normal about being dropped off at school each day by her father driving another family's Bentley.

But Rebecca had adjusted to her new life just fine.

In fact, the Meadow was the only place she could remember living now. She didn't have many memories of life before the Meadow with her mother. A life outside the gates didn't seem like something she wanted.

Even after her father retired and moved back to their old neighborhood into a small condo in the city six months ago, she hadn't wanted to leave. This was where her friends were, where her life was. And as soon as she could afford it, she was bringing her father back here to a condo in the Meadow. Or better yet, a guest wing in her new mansion. She hated the thought of her father ever having to struggle to pay his bills like she struggled to pay hers. She couldn't let that happen.

So she'd stayed, but not at the Blooms' family estate. Not after Julia and Chase got engaged and she'd been asked to leave because of her behavior. Not after the Blooms stopped treating her as one of their own. Staying in the Meadow meant moving into a tiny apartment she couldn't afford.

But it was worth it. Everything she'd ever wanted in life was there, except Reid, but he was coming back. She was sure of it. No one who grew up in Meadow Ridge ever really moved away.

She cleared away a coffee cup and plate as the customer got up to leave and tucked the dollar bill left on the table into the front pocket of her apron. It wasn't much, but she wouldn't complain about any amount right now. Living one paycheck at a time wasn't easy and the tips made all the difference.

Her landlady wasn't going to let her get away without paying her rent. Now that the leaves were changing, the cold weather wouldn't be far behind. Another month or so tops, and she'd have no choice but to turn on her heat, something not included in rent. Fall in upstate New York got cold quickly.

If only she had a roommate. But that would mean letting someone in close enough to see how little she had left. Nope. No roommate. At least not until she was back on her feet a little more.

The bell over the front door jingled. She didn't bother glancing up from where she was wiping the counter, knowing that one of her customers had just left. The jingling of that silly bell would get on her last nerve soon, as usual.

"Can I get a coffee, please?" a man asked from a place at the counter only a few seats away.

Throwing the cloth in the sink, she poured a hot coffee and set it in front of him along with a menu. His face was vaguely familiar, but not enough for her to pinpoint how or why she recognized him. She smiled. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

He tapped the motorcycle helmet sitting in the seat next to him. "Already forgotten, huh? Do you have near-death experiences so often they don't stick with you?"

The helmet under his hand—his rather large hand—shone a deep blue as the overhead lights of the diner reflected off its surface. Oh no, she hadn't forgotten about him at all. How could she? One, he'd almost run her over in the middle of the crosswalk… Not exactly the best way to start her day. And two, he'd looked damned sexy straddling his motorcycle earlier.

Now, seeing him up close and without his helmet on, there was no way she'd forget his face anytime soon. His strong jaw and hint of stubble were a perfect complement to his deep brown eyes and sandy-brown, clean-cut hair. Add his chocolate-colored leather jacket and he looked as if he'd just walked into the diner off the set of a Hollywood blockbuster. He was not the typical hard-edged biker. This guy oozed class, his motorcycle a huge contradiction to his otherwise professional appearance.

"I haven't forgotten almost being run over, no. That's something that tends to stick with a girl," she teased, twirling the watch on her wrist, the tarnished silver looking shabby chic instead of old, like it was. When she looked at it, she imagined it on her mother's wrist instead of hers.

"I was at least a foot away when I stopped. You know you should look before you cross the road. Your parents did teach you that, didn't they?" He smiled before taking a sip of his coffee.

Her fingers paused on the watch's winding dial before she gave it one last turn and let go. He probably thought his comment was cute and playful, but little did he know, it stung deep. Her parents hadn't taught her much of anything. No one had for that matter. Life had taught her everything she needed to know.

She raised an expertly tweezed eyebrow at him. "I'm aware of the rule, yes. Can I get you something to eat or what?" Damn. That hadn't come out quite right. Why was she being so rude to a guy who was so incredibly hot? And possibly interested. He couldn't know the sting of his words.

"I'll take a bacon and cheddar burger, medium, and an order of fries." If the curve of his lips revealed anything about him, it would be that her comment hadn't bothered him as much as she'd thought. Resilient.

She scribbled the order on her ticket pad and snapped it into the metal clip above the food service window, rotating the circular ticket holder until his order hung on the kitchen's side. Even with her back turned, she felt his eyes watching her. Was he looking at her ass right now? She shifted to the side, slightly sticking out one hip, knowing the position showed off her rear nicely in the otherwise boring black jeans. The familiar clang of a coffee cup banging against the saucer caught her attention.

She turned. Mr Motorcycle mopped up spilled coffee from the saucer under his cup.
Accident or distracted?
The way his eyes traveled up her body when he looked up from his mess made the answer perfectly clear. Distracted.

Good. She liked to be the source of a man's distraction and the object of his undivided attention.

"Let me help." She grabbed the cloth from the sink and mopped up the mess underneath his cup. Now that she could take a moment to really look at him without her mind being muddled from the almost-accident, he looked good.

Damn good.

The fancy Rolex watch, the supple leather of his coat. She peeked down at his footwear as she passed behind him on her way to bring coffee to another table. His shoes were obviously expensive, judging by the logo printed on the back heel.

He was definitely from the Meadow. She didn't know many Meadow guys who chose motorcycles over souped-up sports cars, but she could get used to riding on one.

Shit.

If he really was from the Meadow, then flirting would get her nothing but a five-dollar tip. No way in hell would a man from the Meadow go out with a waitress like her. Not that she was looking for something long-term with anyone but Reid, but that didn't mean she couldn't have fun on a date every now and again while she waited for his return. Surely Reid hadn't been single or celibate all these years.

She put the pot of coffee back on the burner, grabbed Mr Motorcycle's burger, then turned to find him smiling at her again as he watched her. He didn't seem bothered by finding her working in the diner.

He spread his napkin across his lap as if he were in a fancy establishment. A dollop of mustard stuck to his chin after his first bite. She watched, hypnotized as his mouth moved, chewing his food, his very stubbly, rugged looking jaw clenching and unclenching. Was his stubble scratchy?

"You have a little mustard on your chin," she said.
Your delicious, kiss-me-till-I'm-pink-skinned, stubbly chin.
She bit her lip again to force that last thought to stay a thought.

She didn't usually go around thinking thoughts like that about anyone other than Reid. It was weird… and nice.

"Here?" he asked, wiping his chin with his napkin. "Did I get it?"

Her gaze fluttered from his lips to his chin then back up to his eyes. She nodded, having lost her voice during the short trip. How had she never seen him around Meadow Ridge before? Maybe he was new because there was no way she'd forget a face like his.

"Thanks." He took another bite of his burger.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her other customers at their tables, peering into their coffee cups. It never seemed to matter how many times she made the trip with the pot, her customers always ran on empty.

And yet, she didn't reach for the pot or move to clear the dishes another customer stacked on the edge of the table, the universal sign for "I'm finished eating" in the diner world.

No, she stayed with Mr Motorcycle as if rooted to the sticky tile floors.

I wonder if there's a Mrs Motorcycle.

A quick ring-finger check revealed no ring and no tan line where a ring should be. So he wasn't taken, but she also shouldn't be looking, not with Reid due back at some point.

"What brings you outside the gates?" she asked.

"Everything. I live here in the city."

"Oh," she said, trying hard not to let her disappointment come through in her voice. What a shame someone as hot as this guy wasn't from the Meadow. But at least that explained why she hadn't seen him around before. "What brought you to Meadow Ridge earlier?"