October 2, 1898 Worthington’s Restaurant If God had created a man better looking than the one that sat before her she could not imagine it. The buttons on his grey shirt strained against his massive chest as he leaned over to take a drink of his coffee. His bulging biceps pulled at his leather vest with every sip. Black wavy hair, slicked back, was tinged with a tiny bit of grey at the temples, just enough to give him a distinguished look. His eyes were so dark as to appear almost black, giving him an aura of mystery or maybe it was danger. She liked that. She could use a little danger … And a deep scar that ran along his square jaw accentuated his virile, masculine face. Angelica propped herself up on her elbows at the counter, dreamily staring at his handsome face, lost somewhere in her fantasies. Soon she'd be done waitressing. She'd be off to Boston! To new adventures! To freedom! No more dreary work dresses. She’d be covered from head to toe in diamonds – well maybe not diamonds – but anything sparkly would do. The beautiful jewels would glimmer as she danced ...
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