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The first thing I did when I got inside was crank up the heat. Then I stripped off and grabbed a towel from the pile of clean washing folded on the end of the bed.
But twenty minutes under the steamy jet of hot water wasn’t long enough to wash the grime away.
Working for Mary was a good gig, and it paid well, but the hours were usually long. And after hours spent serving people food and drinks, I usually came home smelling worse than lavender egg rolls.
It was worth it though.
Working for Touch of Class could be my ticket out of the apartment.
Out of Clintonville.
And on the path toward my fresh start.
* * *
The Grand looked more like a modern apartment building than a hotel, but I was certain I had the right address, so I made my way inside.
The receptionist pointed me in the right direction, and soon, I arrived outside the Herrick Suite.
When I entered the room, Tara was busy giving orders to two girls I didn’t recognize. Noticing me, she lifted a hand and gave me a slight wave. I waved back before scanning the room.
If I’d learned anything in my time working for Touch of Class, it was to know your room, the layout, and the service areas. Mary’s team rarely worked at the same venue, and when we did, it was usually in a different suite or with a different setup.
“Service is for fifty,” Tara said. “Five tables of ten. You and Jamie can take tables one through three, and the new girl and I will take tables four and five. Set courses, one vegetarian on table three.” She handed me her clipboard, which outlined a detailed table plan. “Guests will be seated for seven. That gives us forty minutes to finish prepping the tables. The hotel did most of it, but some of the silverware needs repolishing. Jamie,” Tara yelled over my shoulder. “Can you grab a cloth and start on the silverware?”
“Sounds good,” I said. “Do we know what the event is yet?”
“Alumni of Ohio State or something. It’s an annual thing. I just go where I’m told. You know that.” She winked and snatched her clipboard back out of my hands. “Now, don’t you have silverware to polish?”
My laughter chased Tara away as she went to oversee the new girl. I assumed Mary had given her instructions to keep her eyes on her.
“Yes, boss,” I shouted across the room, earning an eye roll from Tara and a strange look from the new girl.
Forty-five minutes later, we watched from our area toward the back of the room as people took their seats around tables decorated with orange roses and cinnamon stick displays. Once everyone was seated, we headed into the kitchen to collect the first course of spiced pumpkin soup.
Tara was last in as she was doubling as server and maître d’. “Piranha. Table two,” she murmured. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
Her apology was swallowed in the hollow pit carving its way into my stomach.
Brittany was here?
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
I loaded two bowls into my right hand and picked up another with my left.
“You good?” Tara had somehow cut in front of Jamie to stand behind me as we got ready to serve the course.
I nodded.
“Of course, you are.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice, but I paid her no attention. My attention was elsewhere.
Specifically on the blonde at table two.
Brittany Arnold was a mean bitch wrapped up in a perfect, pretty package.
Her long blonde hair was curled at the ends, and a black bodycon dress hugged her slim figure. But it was the huge fucking rock on her ring finger that made me nauseous.
I welcomed the anger swelling in my chest though.
