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Tara rushed over to me, handing her tray to one of the other servers. “Are you okay?” Her gaze flitted over my head to where Brittany and her friends stood.
I gave her a small nod, embarrassment staining my cheeks. “Yeah, I’m fine. Help me get this mess cleaned up?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner will now be served. Please move into the Arlington Suite,” a voice said, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
The guests started to move away from us, queueing to enter the suite, where they would spend the evening dining and donating. Brittany muttered something about how pathetic I was before joining the queue.
“What a freaking bitch,” Tara said in a low whisper when everyone was out of earshot.
I pushed myself up to my feet and blew out a long breath. “She tripped me.”
“Oh, I know exactly what she did.” Her expression darkened. “She tried the same thing with me on my first shift. Come on, let’s get this cleaned up. I’ll sneak you a glass of West Lake’s finest when we’re done. Before the real fun starts.”
* * *
True to her word, Tara swiped us two leftover champagne flutes and made me drink mine before giving me a breath mint.
“Sometimes, all you need is really expensive alcohol,” she joked. “Feel ready to face them again?”
I shrugged.
What choice did I have?
“Don’t let them beat you, remember? Hold your head high and plaster the biggest, fakest smile on that pretty face of yours. If it weren’t for us, half of the people out there would starve. They need us.”
Her speech made me smile weakly, and although it was the biggest pile of utter crap I’d ever heard, it did make me feel a little better. Besides, I’d met worse than Brittany Arnold.
Survived worse.
“I’ll swap sections with you,” she said. “I’ll take the piranhas tonight.”
“No, I got it. It’s fine.”
Tara hopped down off the counter in the back of the kitchen and smoothed down her uniform. “Okay, let’s do this.”
We lined up with the rest of the servers at the service counter. The chefs were busy putting the final touches on the first course while bellowing orders at us. How to present the dish to the guests, ensuring sure the shrimp tail faced away and not toward the pomme puree.
I rolled my eyes when Tara glanced back at me and grinned. When it was my turn, I loaded two small plates on my left arm, picked up another with my right, and followed Annabel, one of the regulars, out the door and into the dining room.
Gold and royal blue, the colors of West Lake and Associates, embellished the whole room. I’d never met Mr. West, but some of the girls had worked at his functions before. By all accounts, he was a formidable man and demanded nothing but the best.
Veering off to the left, I entered my section, tables six through ten. Brittany sat at table six, my first stop. I inhaled a deep breath and approached her table.
She looked up and smirked, but I ignored her, placing down the plate in front of the person seated opposite her. An older woman with gray-blonde hair swept up in a sleek chignon sat to her right, and there were two empty seats to her right.Odd, I thought to myself, but I served the appetizers starting with the person seated next to one of the empty seats. It was petty, but it meant I would serve Brittany last.
My small sense of payback.
I returned to the kitchen and collected three more plates. When I arrived back at table six, I had to clear my throat to be heard over the gaggle. “Will the other guests be joining us?”
“My fiancé and father will be here shortly. Please leave their appetizers.” Brittany’s bark was worse than her bite, and I tipped my head in a submissive nod.
As I walked back to the kitchen, a strange sensation prickled the back of my neck, and I glanced over at table six.
And stopped dead.
Two men approached the table. The older man with graying hair and shrewd gaze was obviously her father. He had Brittany’s eyes. Her evil smirk.
He took the empty seat furthest from his daughter while the younger man leaned over Brittany’s shoulder, smiled at everyone, and pressed a brief kiss to her cheek. Her whole face lit up as he sat down and draped his arm along the back of her chair.
