“Oh. Oh God, I’m doing it, aren’t I? Talking too fast, about too many things all at once?”
“Uh …” I start, not wanting to agree and make her feel bad. “You’re just a little more … enthusiastic than I’m used to.”
“The chefs’ are always giving me crap for talking too much,” she says, rolling her eyes. “The French guy, Pierre, is the worst. He mutters all those fancy swear words under his breath, as if I can’t hear him. Ugh. He’s so infuriating. Of course, he’s also handsome, but that’s beside the point. Doing it again. Dang. Okay. I’m going to take a breath, and you can ask any questions you have.”
She takes in a very theatrical breath, holds it for a few seconds and blows it back out slowly.
“I don’t think I have any questions. I mean, besides wondering if you have a crush on the French chef?”
She laughs. “What? No. No way.”
I’m not sure if that’s a flush of color in her cheeks or if I’m imagining it, but I’m certain she’s protesting a little too hard. She bites her lip for a fraction of a second and then lets it go.
“So, you don’t have any questions?”
“Nothing so far.”
She lets out a relaxed breath. “Okay. Good. We’re off to the right kind of start.”
“Seems like it.”
“I should show you the ballroom!”
And she’s off again, swift feet taking off in the direction of a set of double doors, while she starts talking again. “If you remember nothing else tonight, just keep in mind that we have dedicated bar staff. So, if anyone asks for a drink, ask one of them to get it. We don’t deal with the alcohol, thankfully.”
She stops at the doors as I catch up, smiling brightly. “These are the doors we’ll be coming in and out of all night, so get used to the sight of them. Come on, I’ll show you the bar.”
She pushes the left door with a tiny grunt of effort, and then steps forward, holding it open for me. I follow her into the ballroom, noting the door is heavier than it looks when she lets go and my hand is all that’s keeping it open.
I attempt to let it close gracefully, only stumbling slightly as I move out of the way.
“Oh, you get used to the doors,” Katie goes on, waving a hand at them. “They’re a pain in the behind, but once you get into a flow you won’t even notice.”
I kind of doubt that at the moment, but I don’t voice the concern.
If a heavy door is the worst part of my new job, I have nothing to worry about.
“First thing to note is the lighting will be different in a little while. That’s why I came to get you early. It can feel a bit dingy because of the moody old décor in here so I thought it would be good for you to see where everything is before the lights are lower. The layout is pretty simple, as you can see.”
She gestures to the rows of tables to the right. “Obviously, this is where we’ll be bringing food to, and that’s the bar across the room. Like I said, it’s not our job to serve drinks. That includes soda, by the way. I think I forgot to mention that. Who drinks soda at a party, right?”
I laugh because it feels like I’m supposed to.
I don’t tell her I wouldn’t know, because I’ve literally only ever been present at a party as a server. Beyond the single sip of champagne I stole from a full glass after a party was over, I don’t really know what alcohol tastes like, either.
She lives in such a different world.
It’s like we’re not even from the same planet.
“Anyway,” she goes on, shaking her head. “Uh, where was I … Oh, yeah! We don’t serve drinks, but we do clear the tables, and that includes glass-catching. Glasses go back to the bar area. Plates and silverware go back to the kitchen. Only clear the table when it’s vacant, or when a couple or group ask you to. We’re not supposed to interrupt since it can be a whole thing when Omegas and Alphas meet.”
A whole thing? Oh …
“You’ve been around when an Omega has perfumed?”
I’m shocked enough to let the question out before I realize it’s probably kind of rude.
I don’t want her to think I’m interested in Omegas or something.
