Chapter 2
I t’s just my fucking luck that the annual company banquet is tonight.
All I want to do is hole up in my house and knock back a few strong drinks in front of the television.
But instead, I have to put on a happy face—what a joke—and play nice while stuffed into a penguin suit.
I own one suit, and it’s for shit like this.
It’s too tight and could use an ironing, which I won’t be doing.
The collar of the shirt and jacket are going to chafe my neck like a bitch, so I’d better remember to prep my skin ahead of time or I’m not going to last an hour at the party. I don’t own any dress shoes, so my old cowboy boots will have to do.
A few hours later, I'm standing in the grand ballroom of the Cascade Hotel. The Cascade is the property that cemented my dad’s success.
He renovated it from the ground up and took it from town hovel to an influencer’s wet dream.
The place is gorgeous, an elegant blend of modern aesthetic and Western charm, but its luster has long since faded for me.
I’m here to show a united front and keep my parents off my back.
Apparently, I can’t hide out and avoid civilization for the rest of my life.
I don’t see why not, but mom and dad disagree.
I'm two drinks deep, third in hand, when I turn away from the bar and collide with a wall that squeals as it falls to the ground.
I stand there like a dick and do nothing but look down at a heap of a girl.
She scrambles to her feet and smooths out her pants.
Her crumpled shirt is splattered with the remainder of my bourbon.
Most of the women here are dressed to the nines in cocktail dresses, but not her. Weird. Looking around at the similarly dressed staff mingling around the room, I realize that she must be one of the waitresses. She must’ve been heading back to the bar to pick up someone’s order when we collided.
Once she's back on her feet, she raises her head to meet my eyes, furious. Why is she pissed? She spilled my drink, and I needed it to get through till dinner. I’m a big guy, so there’s no way she didn’t see me. Plus, I’m not in the mood to socialize.
She tilts her head to the side, and my eyes drink her in.
Taller than I expected, she comes up to my nose.
She has ice blonde straight hair cut bluntly at her chin.
Her eyes are a striking pale blue, obstructed by heavy black eye makeup and a pair of pastel pink cat-eye glasses.
She has a tiny jewel pierced in each nostril.
Plump raspberry-pink lips are pursed, and one eyebrow is raised in unspoken challenge.
Her skin’s retained a faint glow as summer bleeds into fall.
Hard to see her figure beneath the button-up shirt and slacks, but a cursory glance is enough to tell me she’s a knockout.
I must’ve been gawking because she clears her throat and juts her head towards me waiting for me to speak. I drain the remaining drops of my bourbon and hold it out for her to take. She looks from my hand to my face, back to my hand, and a deep blush starts to color her cheeks.
Irritated, I huff, “Are you going to take my glass or what?”
Her eyes jump back to mine and holy shit they pierce through me. The icy blue of her eyes might as well be molten because she looks pissed.
She retorts, “Are you going to apologize for knocking me over?” Why does her talking back turn me on?
I blink a couple of times and furrow my brow. “Listen, it's no big deal, just take my glass and get going.”
“Wh-what? Why would I take your glass? You have hands.” Indignation flashes across her frigid stare.
The fuck? “Because it's your job?” I wave my hand up and down her body gesturing at her clothes. Her cheeks burn deeper.
“I don’t work here. I mean, I work here but not here-here . I work for Swift Property Management. I guess all the staff here work for the company, even the hotel staff, but I mean, I'm not a waitress. I was invited tonight.”
Her stammering doesn’t match how pissed she was a minute ago, but it goes just fine with the blush she's sporting. I don’t have the time or patience for this. I don’t give a fuck where she works. I just need this interaction to be over.
I drop the hand holding the spilled bourbon to my side and widen my stance. “Good for you. Now can you move out of my way?”
Incredulous, she says, “You’re not going to apologize for knocking me over?”
“No, I’m not. You ran right into me. I see you didn’t forget your glasses so you could clearly see me standing here. I’m a big dude, hard to miss.” I try to walk around her to get away from the bar, but she blocks my path.
“I was just coming to get something to drink when you whipped around and barreled me over. I’m covered in whatever you had in that glass, and I'm meeting the owners tonight!”
“Again, good for you.” I’m over this. Heat is rising up my neck from her looking directly at my face.
I wish I wore a hat to hide behind, but this is a classy fucking affair.
This fucking collar is rubbing the skin on my neck raw, and I need to sit down at the head table before dad makes the opening speech.
I move around her, taking a wide berth so I don’t “knock her over” again.
I leave the girl standing at the bar and stew as I take my seat and exhale a pent-up breath of irritation. Who is that girl anyway? I haven’t heard of any new hires this season. I’ll have to ask mom later. I catch a glimpse of the girl slipping through a door towards the kitchen.
She’s got an ass on her, that’s for sure. I wonder how big her tits are. Can’t be too big, but that terrible shirt could have been hiding them. I rub a hand across my forehead and down my face.
This is going to be a long night.