Logan pushed off from the bar and moved toward her. But before he could get close enough to grab the tray, Clive, a witty Englishman and one of his top waiters, slipped smoothly behind Grace and rested his hands on her hips.

“Brace your knees, love,” Clive said, “and put all your strength right here.” With that, he skimmed the edges of her slender thighs all the way down to her knees. Then he moved around to face her and patted his own stomach. “Breathe from here. Muscles nice and tight.”

Logan froze in place, his teeth clenched, determined not to step in and save her again. Instead, he would allow Clive to instruct her, unless it started to look like she would need more skilled intervention from Logan himself.

He watched Grace’s breasts move in rhythm with the deep, anticipatory breaths she took. Then she was flying solo, following Clive’s instructions, steadying her legs and lifting the tray onto her shoulder.

Clive and several other waiters watched with apprehension as Grace moved slowly across the room to a table of guests sitting near the window. Bending her knees, she set the tray down on the table. Half the staff applauded and Logan’s tight jaw relaxed.

Grace’s face lit up as she glanced around at her odd group of supporters. When her gaze met Logan’s, her happy smile faltered.

Hell. He hated to be the cause of her bright eyes dimming, so he quickly grinned at her and flashed a thumbs-up sign. Her eyes widened and, as her smile grew, the entire room seemed to light up, as well.

Satisfied that she was happy and would survive the night, Logan turned back to the bar and took a last sip of his drink. But before he could even swallow, reality smacked him upside the head and he noted with disgust that she’d manipulated him again. Who cared if she smiled, for God’s sake? She wasn’t here to be happy. She was here to earn her paycheck or go home, damn it.