Fourteen
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
If Mrs Sanderson wasn’t such a sophisticated woman, I’m sure she would roll her eyes at me. “For the tenth time, I’m absolutely sure I don’t mind. We’re gonna have a great time. Aren’t we, April?”
April nods so many times, she looks like a bobble head. She’s already taken over the prime viewing position on the couch, directly in front of the TV. A plate of homemade cookies and a tall glass of milk sit in front of her on the coffee table. She’s in heaven right now.
“Okay, then. Well, I guess I better go.”
Mrs Sanderson nods and ushers me to the door. “We’ll see you in the morning.”
Part of me feels like I should be offended by just how fine April is with me leaving her for the night, but the other part of me is happy that she’s getting a break from our harsh reality. Besides, I think it’s good for her to spend time with Mrs Sanderson. She needs a motherly figure in her life, and since we can’t have our own, Mrs S is probably the next best thing.
I make the short walk into town, for my first stop of the night. The diner. While I haven’t baked a cake for Hal or followed through on any of the other extravagant ideas I came up with to say thank you, I figure just calling in to tell him won’t hurt. Lucky for him, really. I might know my way around a kitchen, but I don’t think my skills really extend to baked goods.
The bell jingles above the door, making me smile, and it only grows bigger when I spot Hal and Sienna behind the counter. They look over at me, their eyes growing comically wide.
“What in the world?” Sienna gasps.
Hal chuckles. “Well, look at you, son. Where are you headed? Movie premiere?”
I laugh, rolling my eyes at their dramatics. But honestly, that was my reaction too when I first saw my uniform for tonight. When the lady on the phone said that the dress-code was black tie, I hadn’t realized that meant for the servers, too. Luckily, they sourced it all for me and dropped it off at the school. They got my sizes right and everything. Kind of weird, but who am I to complain?
“No premieres tonight, unfortunately,” I say, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “I’ve got a job. That’s why I’m here actually, to thank you.”
“Me?” Hal asks. “What for?”
“The job.” When his confusion doesn’t fade, I add, “The serving gig, over on the rich side of town. You called the agency and gave them my name.”
He shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words. “Oakley, I didn’t give your name to any agency. I called around to cash in on those favors I told you about, but nobody would take you on. I guess your uncle got to them before I could.”
I frown so hard, my head starts to hurt. “Well, if it wasn’t you, then—”
Sienna shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”
“Who the hell was it then?”
Hal pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t know, son. Looks like you’ve got yourself a guardian angel.”
* * *
It takes fifteen minutes to walk across town to the address that the agency sent over.
I’ve never been on this side of town before, never had a reason to, but it’s even more surreal than I imagined. Every house is huge - like, literal mansions - with long, winding driveways and giant wrought-iron gates separating them from the road. And water fountains right in front of the doors. Is that a thing? You reach a certain level of wealth and you have to buy a water fountain?
I absently wonder which one of these monstrosities Asher lives in and what he’s doing in there right now. Probably watching unreleased movies in his home theater or swimming laps in his private pool. Oh, how the other half live.
I follow the directions on the maps app on my phone, stopping when I arrive at the house at the very top of the hill. It’s easily the biggest one on the street, the most ostentatious. It has two water fountains, and looks like it belongs on the cover of Architectural Digest, not in a small town like Leighton Bay.
I swallow hard, taking it all in. Suddenly, I want to call this whole thing off. Just rip off my bow tie and run all the way back home. I don’t belong here, not even to just serve these people food. But, I ignore the urge to escape, tell my insecurities to chill the fuck out. I can’t pass up this opportunity. With the amount of money they’re paying me, I’d be a fool not to accept it.
I can deal with rich assholes for one night. I hope.
There are cars filling the entire driveway, yet when I knock there’s no answer. I wait a couple of minutes then try again, but it’s the same thing. Drawing in a steadying breath, I twist the handle and it opens. When I step inside, taking in the expansive marble-tiled foyer, I have a serious case of imposter syndrome.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing in the vast space.
Nothing.
Huffing, I edge further inside, eyes darting left and right. This doesn’t even seem like a real house. It’s more like a museum, or a country club. Statues and figurines sit atop a console table opposite the door, and I go to pick one up but think better of it when my brain mentally calculates how much it probably cost. Framed photographs line the wall beside the curved staircase. Keeping my footsteps light, I pad over in that direction to look at them. I know nothing about the client we’re catering for tonight, and it can’t hurt to get a little intel.
It’s obviously a couple who lives here, a family, and each photo seems to be an important moment in their lives. A milestone in their love story. The first is of their wedding day, gazing at each other as they cut their two-tiered cake. They look so happy, truly in love. The next is of them on a beach - I’m guessing their honeymoon - arms wrapped around each other, the sea and sunset making the perfect background. After that, there’s a picture of just her, cradling her swollen belly and then both of them sat together in a hospital bed, each wearing beaming smiles as they show their newborn bundle to the camera. Then, it’s mainly shots of the child as he grows up. Him as a toddler, him sitting under a Christmas tree surrounded by piles of presents, him blowing out candles on a birthday cake. As he gets older, he starts to get more… familiar. Those moss-green eyes, the unruly dark-blonde hair. I recognize him, but it’s not until I see the picture of him at what appears to be his first ever football practice that it really clicks. He’s holding his helmet, wearing a jersey that looks two sizes too big for him and grinning so hard that the dimple in his right cheek is popping.
Holy shit.
This is Asher’s house. These are Asher’s family memories that I’m looking at.
I scan the rest of the pictures, seeing Asher grow from a young boy to a teenager and then finally to the man I know him as today.
I’m… speechless. Shocked beyond belief. But, it doesn’t escape my notice that as they get older in each photo, their happiness begins to fade, too. Jesus, in the latest one - the three of them together at some sort of function - none of them are even smiling. They’re just standing together, faces solemn as they look at the camera. If what Asher’s told me about his family is true, then this is definitely not a happy home I’ve just walked into.
And then it hits me. That’s why I’m here. Asher’s the one who got me this job.
“What are you doing out here?”
I whirl around at the sound of the strong, commanding voice, hand to my chest, and come face to face with the man from the photographs. Asher’s father. He’s just as tall and intimidating in person.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Staff are supposed to be in the kitchen,” he interrupts, his hard eyes assessing me from head to toe. And then, as if the way he just spoke to me wasn’t enough to make me shrivel, his lip pulls back in a sneer.
I’ve never wished for the ground to open up and swallow me whole more than I do in this moment. And, I have to say, it takes some serious restraint not to tell him he can shove this job up his ass and walk right out of here with my head held high. But, again… I need the money.
So, I cool my features, paste on my politest smile and suck up to the jackass. “I’m sorry, sir. I got lost. Could you please point me to the kitchen?”
He jerks his chin toward a doorway to the left. “Through there. And this better not happen again, otherwise I’ll start docking pay. I don’t throw these kinds of functions just to have morons like you wandering around my home.”
Motherfu—
“Of course, sir.”
Trying to ignore the mortified flush creeping up my neck, I move past him and through the doorway he indicated, feeling his eyes burning a hole in my back the whole way.
Spotting movement out of the corner of my eye, I turn and my heart lurches inside my chest. Asher’s standing there, tucked away in a little alcove just off of the dining room. He’s dressed similar to me, though his shirt’s a light gray color and is unbuttoned at the collar. Normally, I’d be salivating over seeing him in something like this. But, not right now. I’m too fucking angry. And what makes it worse is, judging by the guilty look on his face, he just heard that entire run-in with his father.
“Oakley,” he murmurs, reaching a hand out toward me.
I take a step back, shake my head and walk away.
I’m here for one thing tonight and one thing only: to do my fucking job. And neither Asher or his father are gonna ruin that.