Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
THEA
Anxiety swirls in my gut when I walk through the entrance and immediately spot security in the lobby patting a few people down before they’re allowed through the main doors to the ballroom.
These security guards are certainly not normal ones, nor are they pretending to be anything other than the imposing giants they are.
If I didn’t know the reality of the underlying goal of the event, I’d think it strange and might be second guessing if I wanted to participate.
Granted, there are likely several high profile individuals inside, so then again maybe it would make sense to the normal eye, but not for the reasons they’d assume.
I step forward and I can feel their scrutinizing gazes on me.
I’m to tell them I’m a volunteer for the event and provide my “badge” as proof—the badge that we bought off another volunteer for an offer higher than what she was promised she would make working.
They wave a wand over my form before doing a pat down where one of them gets a little too handsy.
I clench my jaw together even though what I really want to do is knee him in his groin.
But then I definitely wouldn’t be let in, and this isn’t just about me.
They’re not just checking for what they’ve labeled as prohibited items for tonight, they’re ensuring that anyone who doesn’t belong doesn’t get inside.
The guard checking me stares at my necklace for a few seconds longer than necessary and I worry that he has x-ray vision and can see what it doubles as.
One wrong move, and the whole thing could fall apart.
“Do you know where I’m supposed to go once I get inside?” I say, hoping to distract him.
“Did you not review the instructions?” the other guard asks, his voice annoyed.
Instructions? What instructions?
“Erm—I did, I’m just nervous because this is the first kind of event like this that I’ve worked and I really need the money, and I tend to forget things when I’m nervous even though I look over things twelve times over. I—” My rambling must work because the guard interrupts me.
“Okay, okay. All volunteers are meeting in the kitchen. Straight back, and there is a door to the left side of the stage that you’ll enter.
You better hurry, though, otherwise the event coordinator isn’t going to be happy.
” He steps out of the way to let me pass and I offer him a shy smile.
As I’m walking away, I swear I can hear him mutter something about women being too emotional while the other one responds with something I can’t hear at all.
But when I look back over my shoulder, I can see his eyes slide up and down my form. Gross.
As I walk through the main ballroom, there are a few stragglers who have arrived early that are sitting at what must be reserved tables while several other volunteers bustle toward the back, me close on their heels.
I can’t help but admire the decor—it certainly will have the public deluded.
Above the stage is a large projector screen that has Beyond Boundaries splayed across the front, and the irony isn’t lost on me.
The lighting, while low, isn’t completely dim.
Soft blues and purples help to add to the ambiance.
The tables are all circular with six to eight chairs around each and are covered in a simple white cloth.
Bouquets are placed in the center surrounded by fake tea lights.
There are glass bottled waters at each spot and I can’t help but wonder how much that cost alone.
I shake my head and just as I’m entering through the door I was directed to, someone else is exiting, and we crash into each other. “I am so sorry,” I immediately say while I make sure that nothing was knocked from their hands or spilled all over them. When I raise my eyes, my blood runs cold.
“That’s quite alright, dear. I tend to make habits of pushing through doors rather abruptly without assessing my surroundings. I fully accept the blame.” Harrison Clark is staring back at me and I realize he is cradling my elbows. I pull myself from his grasp and straighten out.
“I was admittedly distracted observing the decor. I’m volunteering for the event tonight.”
He smirks, his eyes dragging down my form before straightening his tie. “Ah, well we’re happy to have you…”
“Addison.” My answer is quick, abrupt. Hardly believable based off of the way he raises his eyebrow.
“Addison. That’s a pretty name for a pretty woman. I don’t want to keep you, though. I believe the girls are getting their instructions now. Find me later, would you?” In his dreams.
I dip my chin and walk around him, pushing through the door and coming face to face with about fifteen to twenty others as we stare at each other.
“Sorry if I’m late, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.
I ran into the man himself out there.” Most of the women seem pleased with this answer since he just came from here, not needing me to elaborate on who the man is.
Over the next thirty minutes we’re given explicit directions as to serving, tips, etiquette, and breaks.
We are each going to be assigned to a designated section and are only to interact with the crowd while serving drinks and food.
We are allowed a ten minute break every hour and any tips that we might receive we are to hold onto until the end of the night where they will go into a bowl to be divided evenly amongst the workers.
Of course, I already know that it’s bullshit so when several gasps and scoffs are exchanged throughout the room, I don’t react.
“Any questions?”
One woman, particularly snarky I’ve noticed, complains more, then asks, “Why do we have to split our tips? Why is it our fault if one of us isn’t as good as another?”
The room suddenly falls into awkward silence and all eyes turn to her when another voice, not belonging to the coordinator, responds to her.
“Because that doesn’t matter when tonight’s event is tailored toward helping the greater good.
Unless, of course, you’re not here because you care about the children and only came to collect a paycheck out of your own greed knowing that the wealthy and elite would be sponsoring it.
” His smile is calculated and the hypocrisy in his statement makes me sick.
No wonder the public is so endeared to him—Harrison Clark is a master manipulator.
“If you’d like to discuss this further, I’m sure we can have a conversation once the event concludes for the evening.
Otherwise, it’s time to get in your places, ladies.
” His eyes inspect each of us before they land on me again, lingering for longer than I’d like before he turns and exits the room once more.
I have no doubt that if something happens with one of us tonight, he will be the first to hear about it.
I remember what Claire said about everyone being in his pocket here tonight. I need to tread carefully.
We quickly review where we’re assigned before we’re ushered out of the kitchen with a tray that we’re to take to the bar to collect the champagne flutes that have been prepared.
People are already mingling as they wait for the event to start, the room much fuller than it was when I initially entered.
We line up along the bar and once we collect our champagne flutes we go to our designated places and begin serving the guests.
As I walk past the men and women in my section, there is no conversation citing information that I might want to try to stick around for.
This isn’t going to do us any good if I can’t get closer to Clark’s inner circle. Unfortunately, I wasn’t assigned his area and I need to figure out a way to rectify that. I’m close but not close enough.
When I spot the server who is assigned to his area, I weigh the decision as to whether or not I want to sabotage her in order to take her spot.
It doesn’t feel right, not when it could cost her a lot more than a payday, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Could I convince her to swap with me under the impression she’s been reassigned?
It might work, but if it doesn’t then I risk the same fate.
Or you could just ask if she’s willing to switch with you.
It’s the simplest, less risky solution, but only if it works.
When I see her heading back in the direction of the bar, I intercept her. “Hey, I have a question.”
She raises a skeptical, neatly-shaped brow at me. “Well, what is it?” Her tone is sharp and I realize that maybe this wasn’t the best course of action.
“Is there any way you’d be willing to switch sections with me?” I glance toward my own area over my shoulder. “I know someone in my section, and…well, I’d rather not risk running into them. It’s complicated and I really need to keep tonight uncomplicated, because—well, it doesn’t matter.”
She continues to scrutinize me with wary eyes. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’m willing to give you part of my split on the tips. Hell, I’ll give you all of it.” Once again, no skin off of my back since we’re not going to be keeping them anyway. But she doesn’t need to know that I know that.
“It means that much to you?” She lets her tray drop to her side as she places a hand on her hip.
I cast another hesitant glance back over my table to a random stranger to sell the illusion. “It really does.”
Silence hangs between us as she weighs her options.
I have no doubts that the “tips” she’s receiving from Clark’s section are plentiful but I’m hoping the prospect of not only getting to earn her own and part of mine, too, is enough to convince her to agree.
“Alright then. Hard to beat an offer like that.”