Come on Brian, please say something.
“A while,” he deadpans.
Before I can fully explain my presence at the event because clearly, I concerned him the first time, Brian interrupts my train of thought. “You don’t have many friends, do you?” he says bluntly.
That strikes a nerve, honestly. Never did I think I’d be so humbled by a taxi driver. My instinct is to snap back, but instead, I force a tight-lipped smile. “Wow. Aren’t taxi drivers supposed to be nice? I should talk to your boss.”
Surprisingly, a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Brian’s lips. It’s barely noticeable, but I swear I see it. I lean back in my seat feeling suddenly victorious.
***
As Brian’s car disappears into the distance, I realize I did something I didn’t think I could do: I didn’t freak out. But I don’t get a chance to internally congratulate myself, because I find myself standing before a grand mansion. Castle. That’s the only word for it. Towers stretch toward the sky, and grand stone walls glisten under the soft glow of lights. Dressed-up people adorned in elegant gowns and tailored suits glide through the entrance, all looking like they’ve just stepped off the cover of some fancy magazine.
And then there’s me.
Ugly shoes and all.
The guards at the entrance clock me immediately. Their sharp gazes slice through me, and I can feel the judgment radiating off them. One of them steps forward, his voice stiff and formal. “Name?”
“Um…” My voice falters, and I clutch the phone tighter. “I’m not on the list. I’m just here to return my friend’s phone. Camille. She’s a waitress.”
The guard exchanges a glance with his partner. Neither of them looks convinced—or remotely interested. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”
“Wait,” I say, desperation slipping into my voice. “I just need to give this to her. That’s all. Then I’ll go.”
The guards remain unmoved, their expressions blank as statues. “For safety reasons, you have to leave now,” one of them says, and honestly it makes me want to punch him in the face. Not that I would do much damage.
“Do you really think someone like me could be plotting against rich people or carrying some kind of secret bomb? I mean,really?” I snap and immediately regret it when I see the look on their faces. “I mean—obviously I’m not! I’m just… Oh, come on.”
With nonchalant ease, the guards swiftly block my path. “Listen here,Steve—” I say, reading one of the guard’s name tags, but before the situation escalates, a sharp voice interrupts whatever standoff we’re having. “Ah, the new waitress.”
I whip around to see a woman in a sleek black suit striding toward us. Her heels click against the cobblestones. “Wait,” I start, holding up my hands. “I’m not —”
She doesn’t wait for an explanation. Her hand clamps onto my arm, and before I know it, she’s dragging me inside. If this is how rich people welcome guests, I amnothere for it. I stumbleawkwardly in my ill-suited footwear, attempting to regain my balance as she leads me through the door.
“Please listen to me, I’m not here to be a waitress,” I yell, but my protests just seem to bounce off her as she drags me through the halls with an iron grip, and all I can do is stumble along, dodging the curious glances of passing guests.
“Excuse me, but I really need to speak to your boss,” I say urgently, but either this woman is having hearing malfunctions, or she genuinely doesn’t care.
I’m guessing it’s probably not the first option.
“You can speak to him after you’re done. If he feels like it,” she says without stopping, until finally, she shoves me into a room lined with uniforms. “Put this on,” she orders, tossing a black dress onto a chair without so much as looking at me.
The dress. Oh god, the dress.
It’s short—likewayshort. The kind of short that makes me rethink every squat I’ve ever skipped. And every time I purposely got out of PE class. “I’m not really sure this is… me,” I try weakly.
The woman raises an unimpressed brow. “Get dressed. Now.”
The door slams shut behind her, leaving me alone with the awful dress. Reluctantly, I pick it up, and yep, it’s even shorter up close. Camillereallyowes me for this.
I shimmy into the dress with admittedly no grace whatsoever, contorting myself at strange angles. It clings in all the wrong places, and the neckline plunges a way that makes me feel way too exposed for my liking.
I glance around the room. No mirrors. Probably for the best.
I consider my options: sneak out through the vents (though I doubt this place has them), run for the nearest exit (if I can find it), or just accept my fate. I make my way to the door. Cautiously, I step out. Ducking and covering my face, I try to make my way out. Might as well call me a ninja at this point.
Just as I let out a sigh of relief, convinced I’ve successfully evaded detection, a voice stops me in my tracks.
