Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) Read Online Free Page A

I can read just by glancing at the cover. There's even a strange part of me anticipating the opportunity to put an asshole in his place. I intend to do just that, if it comes to it. Especially since the asshole I truly hate is too far for me to reach now.  
    The doors behind me open, and the aroma of grilled steak wafts from the kitchen as Lex Stone, the floor manager, comes out. I'm washing a few glasses in the sink, but from my peripheral vision, I notice Mr. Suit sit up when he gains sight of her.  
    Lex doesn't seem to notice him. Her stern gaze sweeps the immediate area and I stand a little straighter when it fixes on me. There's an incredibly imposing energy to her despite how quiet she is, but the tiredness behind her expression contradicts that.  
    She's just a little older than I am. A senior, I believe. When I first met her, I thought maybe we could be friends. She's unassuming but undeniably beautiful and oozes an easy confidence.  
    She gives me the small nod I've come to know as her greeting. "How's it going?"
    "Good," I say, as I set the glasses down on the drying rack. "Still waiting for the crowd."
    "You're off this weekend, right?"
    "I am. It was my weekend to work but I switched with Derik because I'm moving into a new place."
    "Cool…" She keeps eye contact as she says it, and the word hangs awkwardly between us, not exactly inviting further conversation even while her demeanor is attentive and expectant.
    I dry my hands on a towel, not sure if she's lost in thought or wanting to carry on our discussion. She's hard to read.  
    "Oh," I say, in an afterthought, "that guy over there was asking for you."
    She looks past me to Mr. Suit. He flashes her a charming, pearly smile that she doesn't return.
    I laugh inwardly.
    Men are pathetic. The way they see a beautiful face and completely miss the blatant disinterest written all over it. I'm almost sure she'll make a point to head off in the opposite direction. But, to my surprise, she heads over to talk to him. It appears the two have met before, which would explain why he asked for her. Yet, he didn't know her name.
    Well, that's a first.
    I've seen her get hit on more than once in the time I've worked here. But never have I seen her lean into it in any way. That's actually one of the things about her I admire—how she handles male attention. Me, it makes me defensive. But she doesn't let it go to her head or get under her skin. She's indifferent to it and that, I think, is the essence I want to embody.
    I try to grab snippets of their conversation, like the shameless eavesdropper I am, but I can't manage to catch a coherent word due to the ambient noise and music playing through the overhead speakers. They talk for over ten minutes, while I tend to a few other customers.
    When they finish, he leaves and when Lex passes me again, I hear myself ask, "Who is that guy?" and immediately regret it. My question is too interested and gossipy. She and I are not at that level, I remind myself. We aren't friends.
    "Just a guy," she says, straight faced, then turns her attention to a cocktail sitting on the service bar. "No one's picked up this drink yet?"  
    Before I can respond to her question, she reads the order receipt and whisks the drink away to its table. And I know that later on tonight, one of the servers is going to get an icy scolding for their lapse.
    The rest of my shift goes smoothly enough. There's just one obnoxiously drunk guy to deal with, whose drinks I take the liberty of watering down before finally cutting him off. Otherwise, it's a quiet Wednesday night, hours ticking past slower than usual as I look forward to peace and quiet.
    Afterward I sit in my car, my face illuminated by my phone screen as I scroll past names on my contact list. I've caught myself doing this over the last few nights, just watching the names go by and feeling a slight pull behind my navel when I reach the names of my sisters.  
    The emails from friends have dwindled