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Everything.
As I approach the front entrance, I can hear the sounds of music and laughter coming from inside. My heart races with anticipation, but as I try to get closer to the entrance, a large, burly bouncer steps in front of me.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk, “but this is a private event. Guests only.”
I can feel the eyes of the other guests on me, mocking me for my server uniform.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I must have missed the dress code memo that said only those with designer clothes and empty heads were allowed in.”
The bouncer’s smirk fades, replaced with a scowl. I stand there as the large man towers over me, blocking my path to the party.
“Listen, missy,” he growls, “I suggest you turn around and go back to serving drinks. This function is not for your kind.”
My cheeks flush with anger as I ball my hands into fists. “What do you mean ‘my kind’?” I demand. “I’m a server with the catering team. It’s my job to be here.”
He sneers down at me. “Then you belong ‘round back, not mingling with the guests. Now get lost before I make you regret it.”
My heart pounding in my chest, I swallow back a retort and turn on my heel, heading around to the service entrance. As I walk away, I can hear the man’s mocking laughter echoing behind me.
Urgh. What a dickhead.
I find my way to the back entrance, where I spot an imposing man searching everyone before they enter. He’s built like a tank, with dark, wavy hair that’s pulled back, revealing several scars that only seem to add to his rugged appeal. His piercing blue eyes are framed by strong, sculpted features, and he’s dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit. As I approach, he looks up and fixes his gaze on me.
“Name?” he asks, his voice deep and authoritative. I fight down a shiver.
“Soph—” I catch myself just in time, my heart pounding against my ribs. “I mean, Sonia…it’s Sonia Brown,” I reply hastily, recalling the fabricated name Aleks had assigned me for this mission. I struggle to maintain a façade of calm, steadying my voice as I teeter on the edge of jeopardizing my entire undercover operation. The weight of my precarious position presses down on me, and I wonder if my small slip will be enough to unravel the delicate web of deceit I’ve woven.
He glances at a list in his hand and nods. “You may enter, but first, a quick check for weapons and devices.” He retrieves a handheld scanner from his pocket.
I swallow as I think of the microchips hidden in my hair, disguised as bobby pins. I need to be quick-witted and resourceful to pull this off. As he’s about to scan me, I “accidentally” stumble, bumping into him and causing his scanner to fall to the ground.
“I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, feigning embarrassment. We both bend down to pick up the scanner, and I use the opportunity to slip the microchips into the pocket of his pants. He doesn’t notice, his attention focused on the scanner.
“It’s alright,” he says, straightening up and running the scanner over the lines of my body. “Just be more careful next time.”
Holy shit, I almost peed my pants!
That was freaking close!
“Thank you,” I reply, trying to suppress the relief that floods through me. He gives me a final suspicious look, and I step through the service entrance quickly, preparing to make my way into the building. As I pass him, I hesitate for a moment, allowing myself to truly take in the sight of the striking man. The undeniable allure he possesses is magnetic, but I can’t let that distract me. Right now, my priority is to devise a plan to retrieve those microchips.
God, I hope he doesn’t find them first!
Once inside, I can’t help but marvel at the opulence surrounding me. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow over the grand ballroom as I pass it. The air buzzes with excitement and tension, but I know I must stay focused on my task.
The place is a maze, and I slip off my shoes and carry them as I navigate toward the bustling kitchen. On my way, I overhear snippets of conversation among the servers. They share stories of their own mishaps and the strict expectations of the manager of the catering team. My nerves heighten, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face.
“Get a grip, Sophia,” I mutter under my breath, hoping no one notices my unease.
“New girl! Over here!” calls a stern voice, drawing my attention to a hatchet-faced middle-aged woman. Her expression is all business, and I assume she is the manager everyone has been talking about.
“Ma’am?” I reply, trying to sound confident despite my trembling hands.
“You’re late. Which means you’re starting at a disadvantage, so you’ll need to pick up the pace. Remember, walk like a lady, heels on at all times. We have a reputation to uphold,” she instructs firmly, eyeing my feet with disapproval.
I look down at the shoes in my hand, realizing the challenge they present. I’ll die in these heels, and the thought of having to move gracefully in them sends a ripple of anxiety through me. Nevertheless, I nod my agreement and slide my feet into the torturous shoes.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, trying to put on a brave face.
