‘You want the job or not?’ Carly asked.
Ellie’s cheeks heated.Stop being so small-town. You’re not in Moira any more.
‘I want the job,’ she replied. But as she headed off to change she decided Alex Costa wasdefinitelyan entitled jerk... Who else would insist the female wait staff got dressed up as hooker elves in the middle of winter?
CHAPTER ONE
Sorry, Alex, gonna miss the party. I got a better offer. Have a good one. And don’t hit on anyone I wouldn’t hit on.
‘THATLEAVESMEa lot of leeway,’ Alex Costa muttered as he glared at the text from his best buddy, Roman Fraser—who had bailed on him. Again.
Roman’s ‘better offer’ probably had a cute face and an even cuter figure. He didn’t blame the guy for bailing though. Parties weren’t Roman’s thing, especially parties that involved dress-up. Truth be told, they weren’t Alex’s thing much either. He’d started the Halloween bash seven years ago when Costa Tech had hit the ForbesGlobal 2000list for the first time and he’d officially become a billionaire at the ripe old age of twenty-three. The themed ball had been a classy way to announce himself on the world stage. He didn’t need the publicity now, but the party had become a staple of Manhattan’s social calendar.
He really wasn’t feeling it tonight though as he stood on the balcony of his top-floor suite and watched the festivities below. A ton of people he didn’t really know and cared even less about partied in an array of pricey designer costumes while oohing and ahhing at the outdoor space, which had been transformed into a haunted house and graveyard by an A-list Broadway set designer and her crew.
He should go check it out himself—but first he’d have to put himself at the mercy of the hair and make-up team who’d been waiting for over an hour to deck him out in whatever outfit his executive assistant had ordered.
He swallowed a mouthful of the expensive Scotch he’d poured himself when he’d arrived from his downtown office ten minutes ago. This evening would have been a whole lot more bearable if his ride-or-die pal, Roman, were here to make a dumbass of himself too. He’d also hoped to hang with Roman tonight because he knew his pal was heading off on business until Thanksgiving. And Roman always went to ground in the run-up to Christmas too, because it was a tough time of year for him. Alex shivered. He’d never liked Christmas much himself, not since he was a little kid.
Thanks, Pop.
He shook off the unbidden reminder of his father, Carmine Da Costa. A man who everyone had adored, except for Alex. Because Alex knew the truth of his father’s lies and half-truths. The evasion and the subterfuge. The ‘other women’ Carmine had kept all over the Bronx, while pretending to be a great husband. And a devoted father.
His mom had figured it out eventually, but his siblings not so much.
He squinted down at the party guests, surprised by the feeling of aching loneliness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Why the heck was he thinking of his old man? The family he never saw any more?
Time to get over yourself, Costa.
But just as he was about to head inside, his eye caught a waitress winding her way through the guests—in a costume the size of a place mat. He rubbed his hand across his mouth, annoyed by the shot of lust racing through his bloodstream as he took in her slender shape and the tumble of chestnut curls piled on top of her head.
What the heck was she supposed to be? Because she looked like an R-rated pixie. Whose dumb idea had it been to dress the wait staff like that at the end of October? She had to be freezing. As he followed her movements through the crowd—his gaze glued to the tempting sway of her butt in the barely there green silk skirt that fluttered around toned thighs displayed in fishnet pantyhose—he got even more pissed about the decision.
When was the last time he’d felt this visceral rush of attraction? Way too long ago.
But there was no way he was hitting on the wait staff—because that was so not a classy move. Which meant Roman was definitely the only one getting lucky tonight.
He chugged the last of the whisky, felt the burn in his throat and walked inside.
Just one more reason to give his pal hell next time he saw him.
‘Hey, cutie, you got any more of these witchy martinis?’
Ellie swung round, tottering on the mile-high heels that had given her blisters the size of Brooklyn hours ago, to see the preppy-looking Frankenstein who had been leering at her all night stumbling back towards her station.
Just kill me now.
‘Yes, sir. I’ll fetch another.’ She lifted the tray onto her aching arm and made to dart round him.
‘Hey,’ he slurred, his green brows lowering over bloodshot eyes, and blocked her path. ‘Don’t go running off again, cutie pie.’
Cutie pie? Seriously...?
She stiffened when his palm caught her waist.
‘Take your hand off me, sir.’ She twisted away from him, her skin crawling and her temper igniting. She was cold, sore, jet-lagged and so over this guy and it wasn’t even midnight. If he touched her again, he would regret it.
‘Aw, come on. I’m the CEO of Radisson Investments. Costa won’t like it if you play hard to get...’