"Table three. One omelette, one side salad, and two soups," Quinn calls from the kitchen.

I excuse myself from a table of young mums and dash over to Quinn, knowing he hates his food to be kept waiting. He places the dishes on the top of the pass, where the warming counter divides the kitchen and the thin walkway behind the industrial-sized coffee machine. The décor is as cruisy as the owners Quinn and Penny. Jazz music plays loudly, all in an attempt to drown out Quinn's death metal singing in the kitchen as he flames a steak.

I snatch up the meals, deliver them and return with a drinks order. As I froth the milk, laughter sounds from the kitchen as Penny sneaks up on Quinn. He forgets the steak and pulls her in for a kiss, and that's my cue to look back to the milk jug.

It's been three years since I attended their wedding and they were in their late thirties then. You couldn't meet two people more opposite: Penny with her red bob, khaki trousers and tailored shirt, and Quinn with his piercings, tatts and bleached spike, yet they work. It's hard to imagine what that kind of happiness would be like after what happened with Jeremy.

I shudder, picturing Jeremy's cropped blond hair and personal trainer uniform I'd seen him wear so often. The guy was fit, tall, with a boyish face that could be sweet one moment and venomous the next.

The way his lip curled when he was angry...

Penny bumps my hip as she squeezes past me, then sets about positioning her ladder beneath the chalkboard. Climbing the ladder, she begins writing today's specials on the chalkboard, meticulously checking that each line is horizontal. Satisfied, she peers down at me as if I'm her next task to cross off her list. "You're in a bit of daydream, aren't you?"

"Not quite so much a dream," I mutter.

"Please tell me you're not thinking about him again?"

"The Tool's not worth it, Evie," Quinn adds from the kitchen.

Penny shakes her head. "Jeremy has no right taking up space in your brain, Eve. I hope you realize that."

"Um..." I grit my teeth, wanting to agree. It's as if Jeremy's stalking my thoughts, too. "I know. But he pops in there."

"If he ever gives you trouble when he gets out, you call me. Alright?" Quinn says.

"Thanks, but I might not need to. I've got myself a housemate."

"Yeah? She good at karate or something? 'Cause Jeremy's pretty tough in the ring. Never brought me down in a match, but he's defeated a lot of guys."

"My housemate, he's a security agent. And ex-military, I think. Should be fine."

"That's why you picked him, 'cause you're scared of Jeremy coming back?"

I frown, seeing how that must look, hoping that Aaron doesn't see it that way when I tell him the Jeremy saga. The thought of telling Aaron makes me queasy. "That wasn't why. I accidently got him fired and evicted yesterday and I felt a tiny bit responsible."

Quinn laughs. "Only you, Eve, could get someone fired and manage to get them to move in with you."

Penny blows at the chalk and looks down at me, smiling. "What's he like?"

Damn, I think I'm blushing. "You know... What you'd expect from a security guy. Other than the longish hair and tatts. We're kind of starting a band together."

"Wow, that's awesome," she says.

Quinn prods the poor steak. "You should enter that new contest, Original... something."

"Original Star," I say, excited to be telling somebody the news. "And we're already on it. Aaron and I spent all night practicing our demos."

"I'll expect free tickets and autographs when you make it big," he says.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." I dust the cappuccinos with chocolate. "You'll jinx Aaron and me."

I rush off to deliver the drinks when Quinn calls, "Table twenty. One Chalky steak burger, one side of wedges, and one bolognaise puree." When I return to the kitchen he scans the café, his mood souring by the second. "Where's Tasha gone?"

I shrug apologetically. Not that I did anything wrong. "Table twenty, did you say?"

He gives me a nod and tends to a sizzling patty. Loading the dishes along my arms, I wind my way through the tables to number twenty. I place the burger and wedges in front of a guy in his late twenties, then place the puree on the highchair beside him.

"Give me a sec, will you?" he asks, gesturing for me to wait at the table while he grabs his son from the fenced off play area along the side of the café. The child cries as he's parted from the plastic cubby house, but once he is seated his eyes light up at the food. He reaches for a wedge, but gets a mouthful of puree instead, courtesy of his dad.

I pull a paper bib from the pocket in my apron, of which I have about ten stashed away—complimentary with any baby meal. "Disposable bib?" I ask the dad.

"Thanks..." He looks me up and down, his squinty eyes lingering on my chest, where my abbreviated name is embossed on the black apron. "Eve."

"That's me!" I do my best to smile. As he straightens his tie, I notice he's not wearing a wedding ring. And he has flirty eyes! This never happens at the mother's group tables. "So, what's this cute guy's name?" I ask, holding the toddler's hand.

"Joshua."

"Hi, Joshua," I say in my sweetest voice. The little boy chuckles and throws puree across the table. I pull out my cloth and wipe it clean.

"I'm Harry." The dad wipes his greasy burger hands on a napkin before offering to shake mine. I really don't want to, but I do.

"Let me know if you need anything." Damn, that line always sounds like an invitation for my phone number or a date, not just 'Oh, could I have some more sauce, please?' No, men like this always take it for something more. As he's about to speak, I excuse myself and rush to the kitchen to collect the next order. Harry is still watching me, and it gives me the creeps. Not that I can say anything. This is work.

As I'm loading my arms with plates, Tasha sidles up beside me and collects a bowl of soup. "You swear you're not that Evangeline they're talking about in the papers?" She grins.

"Seriously, how many times do I have to answer this?"

"Until you admit it, babe." She knocks my hips and I nearly drop my service.

"Nothing to admit."

"I could be ten grand richer if you'd let me call the hotline, Evie," she sing-songs, and I dart off through the maze of tables. "You could snatch up a billionaire! And he's seriously hot. It's a win-win."

"I don't need a billionaire." What I need is to forget ever meeting Nathaniel Blake.

Shaking my head, I place the meals on a table of mums and bubs, positioning my ponytail over my embossed name. These aprons are turning out to be a disaster.

Tasha leans into my ear, "Please, let me.... Please...."

"This isn't Cinderella, you know. There's no Prince Charming trying a glass slipper on every girl in the kingdom. We're not living a frickin' fairy-tale."

"Oh, you so are." She giggles. "You want proof? You even have that super-hot guy in the last booth checking you out."

I squint at her, not trusting her judgment. She always does this—at work, at clubs—pointing out guys that would be perfect for me. They're never perfect.

"Turn casually, like you're checking for customers who need service," she whispers. "You'll spot him right away."

I take the damp cloth from my pocket, as if I'm looking for a table to scrub. I'm partway through turning when I spot him by the corner windows. Laughing, I walk towards a burly Agent Randall. He is perusing the menu. Beneath the table, his legs are stretched and crossed at the ankles. The clean-shaven agent is gone, replaced with stubble and no ponytail. His dark hair hangs above his shoulders in stylishly cut layers.

Okay, for once I'm agreeing with Tasha. The guy is hot.

Hm. I can't believe I just thought that about Agent Randall. I mean, Aaron.

I smile. "Were you bored or did you miss me, Agent Randall?"

He lowers the menu. "I thought we'd made it past Agent Randall, or do you plan on calling me that even when we're on tour?"

"Tour?" I laugh. "We haven't even made our demo, yet."

He shrugs lightly and flicks a stick of sugar. "We've still got until midnight."

"Midnight deadline, hey? Cinderella had a midnight deadline and turned back into a maid." I sound incomprehensible. "Did you overhear my talk with Tasha?"

"Tasha?"

"Forget it. She's hoping that I'm some real-life Cinderella." When he raises his brows, I point out Tasha serving at the register. Her red lips grin back at us, and I become hyper aware of how pretty she is, with her multi-toned blonde ponytail and slinky top that shows off her tiny curves. Suddenly, I regret pointing her out. Agent Randall notices everything.

Why do I care? Tasha's engaged. Agent Randall's a free man.

"Is something the matter?" he asks.

I sigh. "You know the hunt for the billionaire's mysterious Evangeline?"

He gives a reluctant nod.

"Tasha wants to tell the hotline it's me." I laugh nervously and peer around the café. "This apron has the name Eve on it, Aaron! It's not hard to guess what it stands for. Almost everyone who's seen it today has asked me if I'm the mystery girl. I can't handle much more."

"You have no choice but to handle it. You signed the contract."

"Stupid contract." I try to shake off my bad mood, realizing that I still haven't taken Aaron's order. I pull out my note pad and pen. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"I thought one of the other waitresses could do that while we have lunch."

"Oh?" We're having lunch. Again, unexpected.

"Have you eaten?"

Somewhat stunned that he'd care to ask, I shake my head.

"It's a quarter-to-two. You must be famished." He grunts. "I thought we could discuss our demo over lunch."

"Oh." So that's why he cares. The music. His dream. "Okay, I'll go ask."

He frowns, then nods. I don't think I'll ever be able to interpret the vast repertoire of his frowns, nods, and grunts. I'm about to leave when he says, "Has that guy been bothering you?"

"Which guy?"

"The wank—the guy with the baby."

I shrug. "He hasn't been offensive, if that's what you mean?"

"He's been ogling you ever since I walked in."

"I'll be back." The guy hasn't actually done anything wrong, but I'm tired and every small disturbance seems to upset me. What really upsets me is that Agent Randall has noticed, has gone into protective bodyguard mode. I've survived my whole life without protection. Agent Randall wasn't there then, but now that he is, I'm sure he'd tell me to leave the café again. But I feel good here. The fact that it's mums and bubs makes me feel safer. Most of the time. Except for moments like these, moments when guys watch or make their little insinuations. The café has quietened down in the past few minutes, and as Penny slams the till shut I hover in front of her. "Do you mind if I take lunch? My housemate's here."

She looks over the café, and something catches her eye. "Can you fix the spill at table twenty before you do?"

"Sure." I put on a smile and hurry away. Harry smiles up at me and I repress a groan as I scrub blobs of puree from the table. The boy throws some sticks of sugar on the floor and I feel Harry's eyes on me as I pick them up. While I'm down there, I start to clean up the splatter of puree. His chair leans back, brushing my shoulder. It's then that I feel a draught on my lower back and realize my jeans are low. Help me. As I stand, I hitch up my jeans. I'm about to walk away when he asks, "Could I buy you a drink some time, Eve?"

"Hey, gorgeous." Hearing those words come from Aaron's mouth, I almost laugh. His arms slide around me, then he makes a point of staring at Harry. "Don't even think about looking at her ass like that again."

"Got it," Harry says, turning back to his child and fiddling with his phone.

I must look as stunned as I feel.

"Shall we have lunch?" asks Aaron.

"One moment." I hold up the dirty cloths and run back to the counter to clean up. When I return to the booth I find Tasha sitting opposite Aaron. Hopefully, I'm not in for any surprises.

(Read on... This Chapter continues in Part 2!)