The Wealthy Man's Waitress
THERE was just a door between Emma Jane Robards and
her current goal. Only it wasn't just any old common or garden door. No: this one was sleek and forbidding, made out of the finest grained walnut, with a sign in perfectly formed gold lettering that seemed to haughtily announce the name of its occupant like a VIP at a banquet. Piers Redfield. Even the name seemed imbued with importance.
"Don't bother trying to arrange an appointment to see him," Lawrence had advised. "He employs an army of staff to keep out the riff-raff. No offence." He'd smiled apologetically and Emma's stomach had churned a little queasily. What on earth was she letting herself in for, sneaking around trying to get into some corporate wizard's protected enclave as if she was some kind of amateur spy or something? And why, oh, why had she allowed Lawrence to even persuade her to consider it?
Because he needed her help, Emma reminded herself with renewed determination, and that was why she was willing to risk being thrown out into the street by Security or — worse — being driven off in a police car. Doggedly tilting her chin to shake off her fe ... read full excerpt from: The Wealthy Man's Waitress ebook
