Leah thought she was only a waitress risking her job to protect a helpless elderly woman from a powerful socialite.

The fallout was immediate. Eleanor was dragged away, sobbing hysterically as the elite crowd watched in stunned silence. The catering manager scurried forward, sweating through his suit, apologizing profusely to Caleb and preparing to fire Leah for making a scene.

"If you fire her," Caleb said, his piercing gray eyes locking onto the manager, "I will ensure you never work in this city again. She is the only person in this room with a spine."

Caleb gently helped his mother to her feet, then turned his gaze to Leah. Up close, he was even more intimidating.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

"Leah," she replied, keeping her chin up. "Leah Evans."

Evelyn Thorne patted Leah’s arm, smiling warmly. "She was so brave, Caleb. Just like a little lion."

Caleb reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black card. "You are no longer a waitress, Leah. Call this number tomorrow at 8:00 AM. We have business to discuss."

The next morning, Leah sat in her cramped apartment, staring at the card. She had massive medical bills for her younger sister’s physical therapy. She needed money, but she knew better than to trust men like Caleb Thorne. Yet, when the clock struck eight, desperation won. She dialed.

Ten minutes later, a black Maybach idled outside her crumbling apartment building.

When she slid into the back seat, Caleb was typing on a laptop. "My mother has early-stage vascular dementia," he said without looking up. "She hates nurses. She hates feeling handled. She sneaked away from her security detail last night because she wanted to see the flowers at the gala."

He finally looked at her. "She hasn't stopped talking about the lioness who saved her. I want to hire you as her personal companion. You will live at the Thorne Estate. Your salary will be fifteen thousand dollars a week, plus full medical coverage for whoever is draining your bank account."