Seducing the billionaire CEO

Emma's POV

I dashed through the entrance of Crystal's Lounge, barely catching my breath. The large clock above the counter read 6:01 PM. One minute late, but in this place, it might as well be an hour. My manager, Mr. Preston, had a sixth sense for lateness, and I wasn't in the mood for one of his infamous lectures.

"Cooper, you're late!" his booming voice echoed from somewhere near the bar.

Of course, he noticed. "Sorry, Mr. Preston! Won't happen again," I called out as I hurried to the backroom.

The staff locker area was cramped as usual, with everyone moving about like ants in a colony. I squeezed past Grace, who was adjusting her ponytail in the tiny mirror.

"Cutting it close, Emma," she teased, smirking.

"I know, I know," I replied, shrugging off my jacket. "It's been a day, Grace."

"Isn't it always?" she quipped before disappearing into the kitchen.

I threw on my uniform shirt, which had seen better days, and tied my apron with a quick knot. The loose strings brushed my leg as I slipped into my comfortable but worn-out sneakers. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me-a frazzled girl with tired eyes and a determination not to let it show.

By the time I emerged from the back, the lounge was already bustling with customers. The low hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the air. It was the usual crowd-a mix of office workers winding down, couples on awkward first dates, and the occasional lone customer lost in their phone.

"Table three needs refills, Emma," Grace called out, already balancing a tray of plates.

"I'm on it," I replied, grabbing my notepad and rushing to the table.

The chaos didn't take long to spiral.

By the time I reached table three, a man was already waving me down from table five. Before I could catch a breath, another customer at the counter was snapping their fingers impatiently. My pen skidded across my notepad as I jotted down the drinks for table three, my mind racing to remember the other orders.

"Hey, miss, we've been waiting for ages!" a man at table five barked.

"I'll be right with you, sir," I said, forcing a smile.

The lounge suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in. I carried trays of drinks and plates back and forth, dodging clumsy feet and the occasional spilled drink.

"Emma, the kitchen needs you to grab this order," shouted Liam, one of the chefs, from the doorway.

"On my way!" I hollered back, weaving through the maze of tables to grab a tray of steaming food.

My wrist ached from balancing trays, and my feet protested with every step. Still, I plastered on a smile, even as customers kept piling on complaints. One wanted extra sauce, another wanted their drink colder, and someone else swore they'd ordered a side of fries.

"Emma!" Mr. Preston's voice rang out again. "The counter is backed up-help Grace!"

"Got it!" I yelled, though my voice sounded thin and strained.

Grace shot me a knowing glance as I slid behind the counter. "They're insatiable tonight," she muttered, passing me a glass to refill.

"When are they not?" I replied, pouring a soda with one hand and grabbing a receipt with the other.

Somehow, despite the chaos, I found a rhythm. The constant movement kept my thoughts from drifting too far, especially toward the mountain of responsibilities waiting for me after my shift. But in the whirlwind of orders, there was a strange comfort-a reminder that, no matter how hectic life became, I could handle it.

By the time the clock struck 10 PM, my shift was finally over. My feet ached, my back felt like it had been twisted into knots, and my uniform was splattered with sauce stains I didn't even remember getting.

As I clocked out, Grace walked up beside me, her face equally tired but still wearing that easy smile of hers. "Made it through another night, huh?"

"Barely," I said, shaking my head with a tired laugh.

"Well, see you tomorrow, Emma. Get some rest."

I nodded, slinging my bag over my shoulder and stepping outside into the cool night air. The city lights flickered like stars, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to just stand there and breathe.

It had been a long, chaotic evening, but tomorrow was a new day. And somehow, I'd face it all over again.

~~

I arrived home, my feet dragging with exhaustion as I unlocked the front door. The familiar scent of expensive perfume and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the house, instantly making me want to retreat into the solitude of my room. The warmth of the house felt oddly suffocating, and I was already bracing myself for the inevitable interactions with the people who lived here.

As I stepped into the living room, the first sight that greeted me was my father, sitting on the luxurious leather couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He was talking animatedly with his second wife, Helena. She had always been more of a presence than a person in my life, her high-pitched voice echoing through the room like a dull drone.

"Emma's home," my father muttered, but his attention quickly returned to the conversation at hand, completely uninterested in acknowledging my presence.

Helena, on the other hand, looked up from her glass of wine, her sharp eyes narrowing as she caught sight of me. "Witch," she spat, her lips curling into a sneer.

I didn't even give her the satisfaction of a response. Instead, I chose to ignore her as I always did and made my way past them toward the stairs.

The moment I passed the door to Bianca's room, I heard it. Her voice-sharp, commanding, and utterly condescending.

"I don't wear my clothes twice, get me new ones," she screeched at the maid, her tone dripping with entitlement.

I could almost hear the poor woman's embarrassment as Bianca's tantrum echoed through the house. The sound of a door slamming followed shortly after, but I could imagine the scene. Bianca, in her oversized designer clothes and perfectly manicured nails, was fussing about something trivial, as usual.

Rolling my eyes, I muttered under my breath, "Spoiled brat."

I didn't want to be around any longer than necessary, so I hurried up the stairs, heading straight for my room.

The door slammed shut behind me, and I threw myself onto the bed, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. My face turned toward the ceiling, staring at the familiar, slightly cracked paint as I tried to unwind from the madness of the evening.

It had been a day of non-stop chaos, and my mind refused to stop running.

Just then, a cab pulled up outside my window, its headlights cutting through the darkness. I didn't know who it was for, but the sight made me restless. Without thinking twice, I pushed myself off the bed, grabbed my purse, and made my way down the stairs.

As I stepped outside and the cab driver greeted me, I couldn't help but let out another tired sigh. There was a part of me that just wanted to escape-to be anywhere but here.

"Where to?" the driver asked, his voice bringing me back to reality.

"Just drive," I muttered, sinking into the backseat, letting the darkness and the rhythmic hum of the car fill my thoughts.