Billionaire Mistakes Her for Event Staff, Only to Realize She’s the One He’ll End Up Falling For
A Misunderstanding in Manhattan
Meera Vance was halfway through balancing a tray of champagne flutes when a voice behind her snapped, “You’re late. Take those to the east veranda. Guests are already arriving.”
She turned, blinking at the man in the black tux who hadn’t even looked at her. He had a sharp jawline, midnight blue eyes, and hair that looked like it was styled by a team of professionals.
He had the kind of presence that made people part like water around a yacht.
“I’m not staff,” she said, holding the tray steady. “I’m—”
His eyes finally moved to her face for a half second. Something flickered in them—surprise, recognition—but it was gone before she could understand it.
“Then why are you carrying drinks?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I was helping,” Meera said, setting the tray on a nearby table. “One of the servers tripped. I caught it before it spilled. I thought I’d help her out before it tipped again.”
“You were just helping?”
“Yeah, shocking, right?”
He looked at her like she just told him she cured cancer while baking cookies. Meera shook her head and turned away.
She hadn’t even wanted to be here tonight. Her best friend Ava, a wedding planner, had begged her to come help set up the space for the Van Allen Foundation Gala.
Meera had agreed to help for a few hours before heading home. She didn’t expect to stay, let alone get mistaken for a server by some tuxedoed snob.
“Wait,” he said behind her. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“No kidding,” she muttered without turning around.
“I meant, you don’t look like the type who usually comes to these.”
Meera paused, then turned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked uncomfortable for the first time. “That came out wrong. Rich people usually do.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, stepping closer. “I just don’t know who you are.”
“Good,” she said. “Let’s keep it that way.”
She turned again, heading for the exit.
“Wait!” he called after her. “I’m Grayson Van Allen.”
She froze. Of course, he was the Grayson Van Allen: billionaire CEO of Vance Tech, owner of half the buildings in Manhattan, and heir to the Van Allen fortune. The irony of their last names didn’t escape her.
He was the man hosting this entire gala, and she just told him off in front of a hundred guests. She turned slowly.
“Well, congratulations on being rich.”
Something strange passed over his face, then he laughed—actually laughed.
“I deserved that,” he said, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I thought you were staff and I was being a jerk.”
“You were,” she agreed.
Grayson stepped forward, holding out a hand like he was used to people forgiving him just for being charming. “Can I make it up to you?”
She frowned at his hand. “How?”
“Have dinner with me.”
Meera blinked. “That’s your idea of an apology?”
“I’m improvising.”
She eyed him for a beat. “I don’t do charity dinners.”
“This wouldn’t be charity.”
“Then what would it be?”
Grayson smiled. “A second chance.”
She didn’t know what possessed her to say yes. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like no one else existed in the room. Maybe it was the flicker of regret in his otherwise perfect expression, or maybe it was just curiosity.
“Fine,” she said. “But I pick the place.”
Grayson looked intrigued. “Deal.”
Three nights later, he was sitting across from her in a tiny Thai restaurant in Queens, clearly out of his element. The ceiling fans squeaked overhead and the table was so small their knees brushed.
“You bring all your dates to five-star restaurants?” Meera asked, sipping her Thai iced tea.
“I don’t go on many dates,” Grayson said simply.
“Why not? You’re rich, good-looking, and you probably have your own cologne.”
He laughed. “I do not have a cologne yet.”
“I do not have a cologne yet,” she said, grinning. There was a pause, tension lingering between them like warm static. He looked at her, then really looked.
“You’re different because I don’t care about your money? Because you don’t pretend?”
Meera looked down at her plate. “You know, I thought you were going to be a total jerk, and now I still think you might be,” she said, smiling into her food.
Grayson didn’t understand it. He had been with women who looked like they stepped off magazine covers, women who studied his portfolio before their first date.
But Meera? She challenged him. She didn’t care about his last name, she didn’t ask about his company, and she called him out when he was being arrogant. She didn’t chase him like everyone else did.
