Page 81 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“Miss Betty is a fraud. And it happens every year. Aunt Martha drank three glasses during the first course and did you see her shoes? When will people realize flats are always safer? Heels have no business where alcohol flows.”

“I think I remember that one from my proverbs calendar.” He grins. “Honestly, this is kind of fun. I feel like a superhero.” He dances with the mop, rolling the wheeled bucket all the way into the kitchen, twirling in time to the live string quartet’s rendition of some popular song. I follow.

“Graham Carmack, defender of cream carpet, mop wielder extraordinaire.” I pop a bite-sized crab cake into my mouth, sighing as it melts against my tongue. Okay, so there is one more perk of working this event: great food that I am allowed to eat if I’m sneaky enough not to get caught.

“Laugh it up. But I bet I just saved them thousands of dollars in cleaning fees.”

“As if they need it,” I say, actually laughing.

“Touché.”

“What are you two doing right now?” My mom bursts into the kitchen where we’re rinsing the mop in the sink. I hide my hand behind my back to disguise my pilfered spinach puff.

“Just—” Graham starts.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” A piece of hair has slipped free of her twist and threatens to fall in front of her eyes.

Uh oh.

“Mom, what’s up?”

My mom looks at the ceiling and draws a deep breath. This has to be bad. “I need you to take Mr. Littrel to the ER.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“He’s fine,” my mom adds, hurriedly. “Well, he’s bleeding. But he’ll be fine. He’s had a few Chardonnays and decided to be helpful and pick up the shattered wine glass. With his bare hands.”

“Yikes,” Graham says.

“He needs stitches,” my mom says. “Can you drive him?”

Stitches. Check.

“Yeah, sure,” I say. I surreptitiously drop the spinach puff into the sink behind me. My stomach growls its displeasure like a dragon deprived of its meal. Luckily, my mom is too distracted to notice.

“Graham, you better go, too. He’s husky and inebriated. Not too steady on his feet. And not that I doubt your strength, Chloe, but⁠—”

“Say no more,” I say, holding up my hand. “Let me get my coat.”

We collect Mr. Littrel at the front door. He’s holding a white, expensive-looking dish towel on his hand and sitting patiently on a plush settee. He might be waiting to head to the opera, except for all the blood.

“Hang on,” Graham says. “I’m going to bandage this for you, Mr. Littrel. Until we get to the hospital.” I watch, surprised, as Graham wraps Mr. Littrel’s hand with various supplies from a First Aid kit someone has leaned against the wall at the older man’s feet.

“When did you learn that?” I ask.

He smiles. “Over the summer.” Huh. Apparently, I’m not the only one who did some self-improvement after our breakup. He hands the bloody towel to a maid, who looks like she might throw up. “You’ll want to rinse this with cold water and bleach it.” She pinches it between two fingers, hiding a gag behind her other hand, and disappears down the hall. Poor girl. “Okay, Mr. L. Let’s get you taken care of.”

In triage, the surly woman behind the desk points us to the waiting room with a handful of other patients in varying states of disarray. Graham sits with Mr. Littrel while I go to find a water from the vending machine. I swipe my debit card and press the buttons, grumbling about how ridiculous it is to pay four whole dollars for sixteen ounces of literal water. I blow my hair out of my face and tap the glass impatiently as the machine groans. The bottle sticks when it’s halfway out.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I kick the machine twice, hoping the force will cause it to fall, but it stays lodged there, half in and half out. “Excuse me,” I call out to a passing nurse. “The machine is stuck.”

The nurse just looks at her clipboard and says, “Not my problem,” before turning out of sight.

I face the machine, setting my jaw. I draw my foot back to kick it again when someone else bangs on the machine twice. The bottle drops with a thud.

“You have to bang on it with your fist.”

“Thanks.” I reach my hand in and grab the bottle. “How did you know that?” My smile freezes when I see who helped me. “Rhoads?”