“Oh?” she asks.
“It was Dom,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“Dominic. My boss.”
“Your boss? Oh my god. That boss?”
I nod.
“Silver fox boss?”
I keep nodding.
“What did he say? What did he do?” She asks, settling onto the floor next to me, as we forget all about the wine for a minute.
“Well, for starters, he didn’t recognize me,” I sigh.
“Really? All because of the wig?” she asks.
“All because he never truly looks at me. He’s made it very clear that I am just his housekeeper. Hismaid,as he refers to me,” I mutter as I pull at a loose string on my apron, wrapping it around my finger to yank it free. Niko expects perfection. It seems to be a pattern in my life.
“But he still saved you,” she smiles. “What happened after that?”
“Well…after changing back into his gym clothes, I may have put ice on his cut,” I say with a smirk.
“He was bleeding?” she gasps. “That is so hot.”
I laugh. “Then he offered to give me a ride home.”
“Did you let him?” she asks.
“I had no other choice. He was insistent,” I answer.
“That’s so romantic,” Lainey sighs.
“I feel like it was a little on the demanding side,” I say, finding another stray string.
“That’s also kind of hot, and he still didn’t recognize you?” she asks.
“He thought he did, but he never put it together,” I say.
“Do you think he’ll come looking for you?” she asks eagerly, but I just laugh.
“He wouldn’t have to look far,” I snort.
But Lainey is too busy gazing through rose-colored glasses to see the reality of the situation. “God it’s like Cinderella. Except you literally work in the castle!”
“Something like that,” I say, and the door to the cellar opens.
“There you two are,” Niko says. “I’m not paying you to admire wine labels. Doors are opening.”
“Already? We still have twenty minutes,” Lainey says as we get up off the floor.
“Yeah, well, a line started outside and they’re thirsty, which means you are on the clock. Let’s go,” he snaps.
Lainey sighs as she makes her way to the floor, and I take my place behind the bar. I smile at the way Lainey seems to think my life is some kind of fairy tale. When my first customer, a guy with a handlebar mustache and a faded trucker hat, orders a beer and calls me pussycat, I’m wondering where my fairy godmother is at.
