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Chapter 1
MEL
“Hostesses are over there!”
Fuck. Way to announce to everyone I’m running late. Flashing a tight smile to the frowning douchebag in a suit, I straighten my little black dress and slide in beside the other young women. Talk about being in a lineup.
Twelve girls, all appearing to be seniors like me, are lined up in demure black dresses with nude stockings and black heeled pumps. It’s straight out of someone’s wet dream.
The frowning guy in his sharp suit comes over, holding a clipboard. I’m not sure who crawled up his ass and made him king, but he clearly has issues when it comes to bossing young women around.
He pauses in front of me, lowering his eyes to examine his clipboard before raising them to roam over my body boldly. Creep.
“Melinda Larch?”
“Yeah. I go by Mel.”
“I didn’t ask for your life story.”
Yeah, and you didn’t get it. What a dick. I keep my face smooth. I need the cash for tonight. I have to pay for my apartment all by myself now Bee doesn’t live with me anymore.
I know, I know. I could have tried to find another roommate, but graduation is so close I can almost taste it. I’m not hanging around Seattle for a second longer than I have to. My lease is up the day after graduation, and I’m okay with that.
Another reason I will forever hate Philip Schofield. Who tells their fiancée to drop out of college five months before graduation? All that student debt, fuck all to show for it. Because of Philip insisting Bee drop out and her mooning over the asshole and actually doing it, I’ve eaten into my savings to cover living costs. Not to mention I’ve had to take jobs like this.
“Ladies.” Shit. Suited dickwad is talking again, with a sneering smirk. We’ve got ourselves a real winner here. “I’ll read off your names and your table numbers.”
He makes his way down the list. I’m on table eight. Fine by me. This is the third one of these events I’ve done. All I have to do is sit at a table with nine old dudes who leer and make inappropriate comments. Fucking sleazebags. It doesn’t even pay that well. But it pays well enough, and… you never know, maybe I’ll make connections.
I’d rather be at home, in our…my small two-bedroom apartment, in an oversized sweater, sketching for my dream job. I want to be an interior designer. I want my own company - but that’s a pipe dream. I’m broke. I’d settle for meeting someone in the industry who might offer me an internship.
I follow the swishing blonde hair of the girl in front of me, out of the foyer where the catering company is rushing back and forth and into the worst decorated room in the world.
My nose wrinkles as I stare up at the heavy beams. Some discreet lighting would do wonders for this room. The furniture is all dark and heavy as well. Again, they could have made better choices.
These alumni events are all the same. The girl acting as hostess on table two catches my gaze and rolls her dark eyes. She and I are the only non-blondes. Her thick black hair is swept back off her face and twisted into a gorgeous, intricate bun complete with braids. I’d love hair like hers. Mine is shoulder length and doesn’t do anything other than annoy the fuck out of me.
I have no idea what alumni group this dinner is about, but as they walk in, I bite back a sigh. I don’t see any women. They’re mainly older men. There are a few in their late twenties to early thirties. But the average age would have to be almost fifty. Just great. My girl at table two has a frozen smile as some guy gets all up in her personal space, flirting with her.
“Table eight? Right?”
Oh, god. Two older guys, looking like my grandfather, walk over, pointing to name settings on the table. Of course, one of them is sitting beside me.
“Looks like it’s my lucky night,” he’s chuckling to his friend. Barf. So gross.
I flash my warmest smile. “It looks like it is my lucky night too, Mr. Hayworth.”
Both men laugh, eyeing me appreciatively while I try not to shudder. They summon a waitress, getting two whiskeys and a glass of champagne.
“Thank you, so kind.”
I accept it with a smile, taking a small sip and trying not to sigh as I place it down beside my plate. Delicious, delicious champagne… which I can’t finish. I’m here to work, not drink. My job is to flirt and charm and make every one of the nine men on my table feel special. How fun.
Oh yay, more of them are coming.
