Second Hand Waitress

"I'll figure something out. It’s none of your business." Kira brushed past him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. But Tesah followed her up the stairs to the entrance.

"Maybe we should talk about these conditions of yours," he said. She turned to face him, feeling a little satisfaction that, standing a few steps above him, she could now meet his gaze directly.

"There’s nothing left to talk about. For someone who prefers to keep his personal life simple, you’re really being a nuisance."

"You don’t know anything about me," he said, his voice tight.

"And you know even less about me," she shot back, leaning in until their faces were just inches apart.

"I know you're stubborn, pregnant, and unemployed. I know you're living in a terrible apartment and don’t have the money to handle this pregnancy."

"Oh yeah? Then tell me my name, smart guy. Why do you keep calling me Miss Samia?"

"Not because I forgot your name, Kira," he murmured, his voice dropping lower as his eyes flickered to her lips. Kira cleared her throat, suddenly feeling warm and uneasy. She stepped back, but her heel caught the edge of the step, and she lost her balance.

She gasped, arms flailing as she tried to steady herself, but Tesah grabbed her elbows, keeping her from falling.

"I’ve got you. You’re fine," he said.

Kira's hands gripped his forearms as she tried to catch her breath and shake off the shock. One of his hands moved up to cup her cheek.

"You’ve gone really pale. Are you okay?"

She started trembling slightly as the fear of falling faded.

"I’m fine," she said, though her teeth chattered slightly. "Just startled. Not like I was actually going to fall, right?"

"No," he agreed. "And even if you had, you probably would have landed on me. So you would’ve been okay."

"Falling freaks me out a little," she admitted, still feeling off balance.

"Because of the scar on your wrist?" he asked, as if he already knew the answer. She didn’t respond, just stared at him in silence.

"I need to go," she finally said. "Let’s not do this again anytime soon."

"Can I come up?"

She gave him a look of disbelief.

"What? No! You are not coming up."

"Then I guess we’re having this conversation right here, in public?"

"Go ahead," she challenged. "You're the one who hates people knowing your business. I don't mind making a scene. I used to be a performer."

He hesitated at that, but not for the reason she expected.

"You were? What kind of performer?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable with his sudden curiosity.

"Look, I just need five minutes of your time," he said. Taking a step down, he gave her some space, as if sensing she felt cornered. He raised his hands in surrender.

Kira looked past him, noticing his sleek black car parked by the curb. One of his bodyguards stood beside it, watching them silently.

"Hey, Jake," she called out, waving at the large, tattooed man in a dark suit and sunglasses. He lifted his hand in response.

"How’s your new puppy? Still leaving surprises on the floor?"

"He’s improving," Jake said, giving her a thumbs-up.

"Have you picked a name for him yet?"

"Piddles."

Kira laughed, aware that Tesah was watching the exchange with disbelief. His glare shifted to Jake, who simply stood with his arms folded, his stance shifting slightly to look more imposing.

"Can we focus?" Tesah said through clenched teeth.

Kira sighed. "Fine. You can come up. But only for five minutes. You’re getting on my nerves."

"Noted."

Tesah followed her up the stairs to her fourth-floor apartment. His eyes stayed on her straight, narrow back, taking in the way she carried herself—still graceful, still elegant. It was one of the things he had always found so appealing about her.

He wasn’t even sure why he was here. He had plans to meet someone later that evening, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about Kira. Somehow, that had led him to her doorstep.

As they climbed, he started paying attention to their surroundings. The place was awful. The air smelled of damp and mold, the wallpaper was peeling, the stairwell light flickered, and the wooden steps creaked under their weight.

"Why don’t you move in with Lexington?" he asked, puzzled. "Your cousin has a huge house. It’s better than this dump."

She didn’t respond, just kept walking.

"Why not take the elevator?" he asked when he noticed her beginning to limp. Her hand, which had lightly skimmed the railing earlier, was now gripping it tightly with every step.