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I hang up my phone, pushing my hair out of my face. A flash of a man’s well-polished shoe and suit pant leg goes around the corner of the aisle, and I freeze. My eyes dart side to side searching for anyone else, but it’s probably a random guy shopping midafternoon at the grocery store. I’m not sure when I became overly paranoid. Seeing that man at the senator’s campaign event rattled something loose in my head.
Get it together, Kate.
* * *
“I expect excellent service this evening,”Renee, our manager, scolds us. We have about an hour before the art gala is expected to open and we are going over where we all need to be. This event is slightly different because it is a ticketed, formal dinner. Guests will then be ushered into the viewing room for the art exhibit. Lacy and I have been assigned a table for the dinner portion and then we will move into different positions for the art. Lacy will be behind the bar and I’ll be doing champagne service.
I let loose a breath and pull my hair clip off my apron, fastening my hair back out of my face, and mentally preparing for a night with the city’s elite.
“Hey, Kate!” Angelo, our head chef, says as he passes us to head into the kitchen. All the kitchen staff have been prepping food all day, getting ready for service.
“Hey! Good luck tonight,” I say with a smile. Angelo is such a big teddy bear, and he can cook delicious food.
“Each guest has already turned in their plate selection. When you approach the table, please take their drink orders first,” Renee continues.
“Think we’ll make out good tonight?” Lacy is grinning like she was given a lollipop from her doctor.
“I hope.” I frown. I’m in desperate need of this money tonight. I overheard Renee telling Angelo that each guest paid $2,000 a plate so I’m hoping tips for the second half with the bar and art will be flowing.
Lacy rapidly blinks her false lashes. “I’m betting we do,” she snickers.
I hate this—depending on people’s generosity with their money and giving it power over whether I can pay my rent or not. Guilt throbs in my heart, and I sink into it, allowing that heaviness to motivate me.
The anticipated guests pour in.Men dressed up in expensive suits and beautiful women with long dresses flowing behind them. They are all smiles and making small talk as they make their way to their seats. We are all lined up against the back wall, waiting for the speakers to introduce themselves before dinner service kicks off.
Finally, the hosts make their way to the podium, where they play a small fundraising video and thank everyone for being here. Proceeds from the dinner and art show will be donated to a local foundation I’ve never heard of. With that, it’s time for dinner service, and I pull my lips into a smile and head over to my assigned table.
A foot from my table, ready to introduce myself, I pull up short as a strong jawline comes into view with a shading of scruff. Heat pulls at my cheeks as my eyes dart up to his face.
This has to be a joke.
It’s not him—it can’t be. He doesn’t strike me as someone who would be attending a fundraiser art gala. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m stuck, frozen in place. I’m not progressing forward and I need to be.
The man to his right stops his conversation and glances my direction. In turn, Mr. Tall and Blue shifts his own gaze over to me. The smile he was wearing immediately falls away to a frown and his eyes narrow before the realization hits him. His nostrils flare, and he glares at me.
Crap.
I close my eyes for a second, willing my shock away, and redistribute my smile to a few other guests.
“Good evening. My name is Kate. I’ll be getting your drinks and attending to you before your meal arrives. What can I get everyone to drink?”
A woman next to me rattles off her drink order and I commit it to memory. That’s one thing that Renee requires. The rest of the table follows suit as I replay each order over and over in my mind. Then it’shisturn.
“Vodka, straight.” His stare continues to burrow holes into my head, and I almost lose my list of orders.
“I’ll be right back.” I look anywhere but at him, ducking away to the kitchen bar. Reciting my table’s orders to the back bartender, I scoot out down a hallway to calm my fluttering nerves.
This is dumb. I don’t know why I’m off balance with him.
Determined to get a hold of myself, I refocus. I’m ready to head back when he steps into the middle of the hallway, glaring at me. My stomach drops, and fear sets in. I’ve clearly upset him by being here. I struggle to sort out why he stands there, both hands tucked into his suit pockets. His head tilts to the side, and he studies me. Sweat prickles on my brow, and I flinch at a glass breaking in the background.
He strides toward me, and I barely notice the two suited men, arms folded in front, behind him as he barrels into me. He grabs my elbow and drags me close to him.
Oh god.
My eyes dart back and forth between each of his. I drag my gaze to his sharp nose and dark stubble. His lips are in a straight line, with a small scar lining his top lip. My heart is pounding rigorously and I can hear it in my ears. Surely, he can too. I try to back away, but his grip tightens.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” he demands.
