“It’ll be worth it. Ilovestory time.”
“Fuck off.” She turned sharply and held the door open for me. “Let’s go.”
The dining room was already pulsing with quiet pressure when we hit the floor. Everything gleamed—glasses aligned like soldiers, silverware so polished you could floss with the shine. The atmosphere buzzed like static before a storm.
I slipped behind the bar to start prep work, pretending my stomach wasn’t doing cautious cartwheels.
“Watch your back,” Claire muttered as she passed, cradling a bucket of Bollinger like it was a newborn.
I barely had time to register her warning before I saw Timothy, marching in my direction like an avenging angel who got passed over for a promotion and never let it go. His eyes swept the bar like he expected to find it on fire.
“What can I get you?” I asked, as civil as I could manage.
He ignored the politeness, lips twisted in a sneer. “You’ve been briefed on the guests we’re hosting tonight, yes?”
“I’ve heard a thing or two.” I continued slicing limes, not bothering to meet his glare. “The place looks like it’s hosting royalty.”
He folded his arms. “Elias Ballantyne and his associates are currently out on the fifteenth green. They’ll be dining in the Lake Room.”
“O…kay?” I questioned.
He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something colder. “If you screw this up, it’ll be your last shift. Do you understand me?”
My mouth opened, then shut again. My heartbeat spiked in my ears. I was used to being dismissed and treated like trash by my parents, but his immediate hatred of me rubbed me the wrong way.
“I don’t know what your problem is with me, Timothy, but I’ve done nothing to warrant that threat. I do my job. No complaints, no incidents.”
He smiled, thin and joyless. “I have eyes, Sinclair. I miss nothing. And I’veseenyou. Just remember that.”
Before I could respond, he spun and walked off, the sound of his heels sharp on the floor.
Claire appeared again, grabbing some lemon slices. “What the hell wasthatabout?”
“Honestly? No clue.” But my fingers trembled slightly as I finished prepping the garnish. I didn’t have time to stew.
The doors opened with a soft whoosh, and in walked Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop—two of the oldest and wealthiest members of Brookhaven Ridge, and the only ones who didn’t treat the staff like decorative wallpaper.
They looked exactly how you’d expect: refined, buttoned-up, like they stepped out of a Ralph Lauren campaign for the over-seventy-fives. But they were kind—genuinely so. The type of people who looked you in the eye when they spoke and remembered things you told them weeks ago—small details, like your favorite drink or that your dog was sick.
Most people with that kind of money acted like they were allergic to basic decency. The Winthrops were the exception that disproved the rule.
Thalia smiled at them, her scarlet lips curling into something that almost passed for sincere. She didn’t smile often on shift—not the real kind—but she gave them one now, gliding across the floor like she didn’t want to stab someone.
Mr. Winthrop held his hand out to greet her, shaking hers with a warmth that tugged at something inside me. She exchanged a few pleasantries, showed them to their table, then came back toward the bar with a lightness to her features I hadn’t seen before.
“One bottle of Veuve Clicquot Le Grande for the Winthrops,” she said, grabbing a tray.
“Two glasses?”
“Please. You good to take it? I’m gonna run their order to the kitchen.”
“Yeah, got it.”
I watched her disappear down the corridor, then placed the champagne and two flutes carefully on the tray.
“Lovely to see you again, Sin,” Mrs. Winthrop said as I approached their table near the terrace doors, her voice as elegant as the pearls around her throat. “I see you’ve got your arms out today. What will Timothy say?”
I smirked. “He hasn’t noticed yet. But I’m sure he’ll have a monologue prepared.”
