"I'm not blind, babe. But I am disappointed. I was waiting for the big moment! I was waiting for you to fall into him, for your hand to go to the side of his face . . .” She closes her eyes and sighs. "You missed an opportunity."
"I missed an opportunity to embarrass myself. Poor me." I roll my eyes and pick up another tray, this time a platter filled with canapés.
"For someone so fun, you're really not very fun when it counts," she huffs.
"What's Mr. Pickner say? We aren't here to have fun,” I intone. “I have work to do, Lo." I ignore her protests and head out of the kitchen. As soon as I step foot back into the Savannah Room, my elbow is snatched. I whip to the side to see Mr. Pickner guiding me off to the side.
The other servers flurry past us, giving me the side-eye. I'm not sure what I've done to be hauled off like this.
"Can I help you with something?" I ask, keeping my voice level.
"Have you forgotten the rules around here, Alison?"
"No, sir."
He tsks his tongue and releases my elbow. "I see and hear everything."
"Mr. Pickner, I have no idea what you're referring to, but I do have a tray that needs to be passed around the room. So if you'll excuse me . . .” I turn to leave, but his voice lets me know he's not done.
"It would serve you well to remember the contract you signed. You are to serve the guests and not engage them in conversation. You, Ms. Baker, are not a guest. You're not getting paid to entertain them. You're here to pass around appetizers, not yourself."
I whip around to face him head-on, my jaw slack. "Excuse me?"
"These people have nothing to say to you. If I catch you doing anything more than offering an appetizer, you'll be fired on the spot. Do you understand me?"
I open my mouth to respond, but my mouth feels lined with cotton. I want to tell him to take this plate of overly-priced smoked appetizers and shove them straight up his ass, but I'm not given the chance.
Before I can do anything, the energy in the space shifts. Mr. Pickner notices too, because he immediately takes a step away from me. Everything in the room seems to be drowned out, the air once filled with laughter and scooting chairs is now saturated with the scent of expensive spice.
My eyes flitter to my right to see Barrett Landry. His deep blue tie has been loosened a bit, his cufflinks gone, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks elegant in his custom-fit suit. I’ve never seen a man look this put together and pull it off like he woke up this way.
He smiles and I immediately relax, my body instinctively responding to him. He holds my gaze for a long second, both stealing my breath and giving me oxygen at the same time, before a coolness falls over his face as he turns to my boss.
Mr. Pickner puts on his game face, the one he doesn't use with his employees, and outstretches a hand. His eyes are a bit wide, like he's as star-struck as the rest of us.
"Mr. Mayor! I do hope you're enjoying yourself. It's been an honor to cater this event for your campaign."
Barrett shakes his hand firmly, and I can see the muscles flex in his forearm. It's pure arm porn as I watch the veins pop and his tanned skin tighten.
"Tonight has been exemplary, thank you," Barrett says, letting his hand drop to his side. "I couldn't help but overhear a conversation between you and the lady by your side."
The vein in my boss’s temple pulses and I know I'm screwed. My stomach twists, a pit of acid churning, as I wait to see where this conversation goes. I consider excusing myself, but I think that'll make things worse.
Instead, I throw back my shoulders and brace myself, preparing to hear my boss and this gorgeous man discuss some impropriety I've unknowingly committed and wait to be fired. My mind ticks off possible replacement jobs, a way to make the kind of money that is currently going into a fund to help pay for the rest of my schooling.
God help me.
"I'm sorry about that,” Mr. Pickner says. “My employees are under strict orders not to disturb you or your guests. Please accept my apologies and assurance that I will deal with this and it won't happen again."
"I'd hope not," Barrett says, his voice stern. "I'd hope you wouldn't reprimand your employee for taking a few minutes to answer my questions. This is a social gathering, Jim," he says, looking pointedly at him, "and it is one I'm paying for. If I'd like to socialize with . . .”
He looks at me with raised eyebrows and waits on me to find my voice.
"Alison Baker," I say, trying to look away, but unable to pull my eyes away from his.
"If I'd like to socialize with Alison, it seems as though I'm paying for the honor."
Mr. Pickner’s face pales. He stumbles to recover but fails spectacularly. "Oh, I, um, I'm sorry, Mr. Landry. I had no idea. I . . .”
"I'm sure you didn't, which is why I find your readiness to discipline her insulting. In business, it's best you have the facts before you leap into action." He watches Mr. Pickner’s face fall further and further towards the plush carpeting until he's satisfied. "Let me also point out that it is never okay for you to put your hands on a woman."