Great. Just what she needed—drunk sex slavers sizing her up like prime meat.
In the staff bathroom, she transferred the panic button and transmitter from her chef’s uniform to the waistband of the miniskirt. “I hope you guys heard all of that,” she whispered. “I’m getting major red flags from Regina, and Benny is starting to weird me out.”
No earpiece meant no response. She could only hope—and pray—they were on top of this.
She changed quickly, tugging the skirt lower, the neckline higher, and slipping on the heels, muttering, “Where, outside of a strip club, does any waitress wear four-inch ankle breakers?”
Because she had a role to play, she ran a brush through her hair, gathered it into a high ponytail at her crown, then slicked on a coat of pink lip gloss. She’d never felt more exposed. And she’d done scenes at a sex club. Twice.
After a steadying breath, she grabbed a tray and joined the party.
Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, casting golden light across the polished travertine floors. Towering floral arrangements burst with gardenias and orange blossoms. The air was thick with citrus and salt from the ocean breeze drifting in through the open French doors.
Servers dressed just like her—all leg, tight tops, high ponytails—glided past with trays of bubbling champagne in gently clinking crystal. The guests weren’t to be out done. Breasts swelled over low-cut designer gowns, diamonds dripped from ears and wrists, watches gleamed with gold and platinum amid a sea of black tuxedos. Laughter rang out, the kind that came from people who’d never worried about rent, putting gas in their car, or survival.
As she circulated with her tray for the next two hours, Emily watched a pattern emerge. The hostess pulled aside the young, fresh-faced, nervous girls who disappeared for a while. They returned with dimmer smiles and confusion clouding their eyes.
Seeking answers, Emily sidled up to one of Regina’s new hires, a blue-eyed blonde, nineteen at most, named Mia.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You disappeared, and I thought you might be sick.”
“I wasn’t when I went in,” Mia said, her voice shaking. “But I am now.”
“In where?”
She glanced over her shoulder at a side door marked PRIVATE. “They asked me to deliver champagne to a group of VIPs. It was weird.”
“How so?” she asked, keeping a casual air.
“Other than the hostess, it was a roomful of men,” Mia said, not looking at her but off, as if in a daze. “Most were old. A few were foreigners. All filthy rich from the ginormous diamonds in their rings and the gold watches they flashed.”
“Why did serving champagne take so long?”
“They all wanted to talk to me. Asked a million and one questions. They were polite enough, I guess. But the way they looked at me…”
“What, Mia?” Emily pressed.
“It made my skin crawl,” she whispered with a delicate shudder. “I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“If you’re uncomfortable, say no if they ask you again.”
“I don’t think I can afford to.” She dipped her fingers inside her neckline and withdrew a wad of bills. “They tipped me $500 for a half hour of pouring champagne and chitchat. That’s pocket change for a millionaire, but it’s weird, don’t you think?” She tucked the money between her breasts again. “Excuse me. I think I need a minute.”
Mia walked away, weaving a little, as if she didn’t know what had hit her.
“Someone needs to watch the guys in the private room to the left of the ballroom,” Emily murmured under her breath, pretending to focus on gathering empty glasses. “I haven’t seen Regina go in or out. She’s out there mingling, smiling, and chatting, like it’s just another night at work.”
Emily moved through the crowd with her tray of empty flutes, eyes and ears open. In the back hallway, she paused to adjust her grip—dropping twenty crystal glasses would get her the attention she didn’t want. That’s when a man’s low growl sliced through the air.
“This isn’t happening fast enough.” His thick New York accent wasn’t out of place in South Florida, but his pronounced lisp made it memorable.
Another man responded, “The clients are enjoying themselves. What’s the rush?”
“They’re guzzling my expensive champagne and stuffing caviar I paid for into their faces. I’m cash-poor. I need deals made now.”
“I’ll try to move things along, boss. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“Benny’s rat daughter cost us a fortune. If I ever find her, she’ll wish she had died in the limo along with her daddy.”
