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Terrific. I guess I don't have any choice. The way these people are drinking, though, it won't take long before every last flute is claimed. Then I can run back to the kitchen and do whatever comes next. Salad? I guess, unless rich people's dinner courses are different from the rest of the world. I wouldn't be surprised if they were.
I take hold of the tray and look up at one of the trees behind the bar, just as big and twinkly and shimmery as the rest. A glowing star at the top reminds me of the star we used to have on our tree when I was a kid. Every year, the night we set up our tree, Dad would flip the lights, and we would ooh and aah over its beauty.
Then he would tell me to make a wish on the star.“Who knows? It might come true by Christmas.”
What do I wish for now? It doesn't take much consideration.
I want a better life. I want security. I want to wake up in the morning without a gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach as I wonder how I'll eat that day. I want to live somewhere there's always hot water, where the radiator isn't always breaking down, and where I'm not afraid somebody will break in, thanks to the crappy lock on my door. It doesn't have to be anything big or important, just a little life where I can be happy and feel safe. That's all I want.
What a shame I'm not a little kid anymore, and I gave up on Santa Claus around the time I lost my parents.
“Well?” The shout from the bartender snaps me out of my stupidity, inspiring me to turn around with the tray.
Where I immediately crash against the chest of a tall, broad-shouldered man in a tuxedo.
It unfolds in slow motion, but I instantly know where this is going. There's no stopping it, the way the flutes wobble before tipping over. The golden liquid begins to splash over the rims as the glasses fall.
Over the rims, over the tray.
And across the jacket of the man in front of me.
So much for thinking I'd get the rent paid.
He jumps back, exclaiming in surprise and anger, his deep voice cutting through me, making me cringe harder. “How can you be so clumsy? Look what you've done!”
“I am so sorry, sir.” Tears sting behind my eyes as I spin around, reaching blindly for napkins while placing the tray on the bar.
“Don't waste your time.” He yanks the clutch of napkins from my hand and tries to blot away the worst of it. I can't believe I blew this up so spectacularly.
“Really, I'm so sorry, I didn't—”
His head snaps up, his deep-set dark eyes blazing. The sight of them robs me of whatever was about to come out of my mouth—my tongue is tied, and I've forgotten every word I ever knew.
It isn’t fear freezing me in place, rendering me mute. It's the feeling that I know him. I've seen him before, but that can't be possible. Everybody here is a wealthy donor to the charity holding the event. Maybe he's famous, and I've seen him online or on the news.
His eyes continue to blaze, but the rest of his face rearranges itself into something less terrifying. A very nice, classically handsome face topped with a thick head of wavy black hair. He has to be a movie star or something. Nobody this attractive could be anything else.
“Accidents happen.”
I blink rapidly. “Pardon?”
“This is nothing.” He snorts, looking down at his jacket. “It could’ve been red wine. Even then, So what? It's just a tuxedo.”
He's screwing with me. Loosening me up before he lands the death blow. No way did he change his tune that suddenly.
“Hey!” the bartender just about bellows. “I reloaded you. Try not to spill it this time.”
“Have a little patience,” the stranger advises him in that deep, commanding voice, glaring over my shoulder. “I’m sure nobody will perish from lack of champagne.”
“I really should get back to work, though,” I offer, torn between wanting to thank him for his kindness and wishing I could climb him like a tree. What is it about him? Something beyond good looks—he’s not the only hot man in the world or even in the room.
It’s the way he looks at me. Like he knows me the way I feel I know him. It weakens my knees and leaves my insides feeling like red-hot lava.
His brow creases before he nods. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to lose your job…”
“Oh. Winter.”
“Winter.” His smile is as gorgeous as the rest of him, right down to the dimple in his cheek. “I’m Warren. I’m glad we met, despite my soaked tux.” There’s laughter in his voice, though, so I can almost believe he won’t get me fired before I’ve even started.
