by Melinda Minx
“Is it because I’m gay?” James asks, emphasizing the last word. “You think just because I’m gay that I like flowers?”
“I’m sorry, I--”
“It’s true,” he says. “I love the flowers.”
He grabs a bag off the counter and tosses it at me. “Your uniform. Get it on, and get to the party.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, saluting.
I look down at the uniform in my hand, then up at him. “Uh, where can I…”
He points to my left. “There’s a pantry over there. It’s empty.”
I step into the pantry, which is larger than my apartment, and rush to change into the uniform. It definitely is baggy. The shirt is at least a size too big for me, and the slacks in no way accentuate my feminine curves. I frown. The hot bartender guy is not going to be impressed by this outfit.
His image is burned into my mind. I want to see him again, even if I have to make a fool out of myself on the job and walk right over to him. I can’t risk that the night ends and he just disappears and I never see him again. I suppose I could ask James for his number, but that would be a breach of his privacy, and he’d think I was desperate. I have to make it look natural, like I just happen to bump into him. Again. Tonight.
I step out of the pantry, and James points to a tray of wine bottles. “Take these with you, and pop open a few of each kind. These bottles cost over $1,000 each, so be careful.”
One thousand dollars? For a fucking bottle of wine? I’ve been bartending for two years now, and I’ve never served something so stupidly expensive. I’m tempted to sneak a sip from one of the bottles, just to see if I can taste the difference between a $25 bottle and a $1,000 bottle. Could anything really taste $975 better? Doubtful.
I head down the hallway leading away from the kitchen. I notice other uniformed bartenders heading in the same direction, so I follow them. I’m keeping my eye out for my mystery man, but I’m not seeing any sign of him. He was really tall, so I should be able to pick him easily out of the crowd.
The hallway opens out to a huge room. Rich people don’t have regular rooms in their houses like middle-class or poor people do. They don’t just have a “living room” or a “dining room,” and it’s hard to know for sure what exactly this room would be called. Maybe the “entertaining room” or “the parlour”--spelled with a ‘u’ for extra pretentiousness--or something equally snooty.
This room is huge. It has high ceilings, and one wall consists of floor-to-ceiling doors, which open onto a terrace overlooking the lake and the garden. My guess is that I could see the bench I had been sitting on from the terrace, but I don’t have time to sightsee right now. There are a number of little bar stations set up all around the parlour, and I see three bartenders positioned behind each station.
James comes up behind me. “Amber, pick a station that isn’t already full.”
I turn to him, and I feel my face burning red. “I know this is a bit unprofessional, James, but--”
“Don’t ask then,” he snaps.
“There was this really hot bartender that I met earlier tonight,” I say. “Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes…”
“Just because I’m gay, you think I’ll have the same definition of ‘really hot’ as you do?”
“James, come on,” I say, looking at him with a serious expression. “I don’t want to miss out on seeing this guy again. This is important to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Everyone who is working this evening is here already. Do you see him?”
I glance quickly around the room, taking a few extra moments to scope out each bar station.
“That one?” he asks me, pointing to a guy that looks like a super low-rent version of the man from the garden. He’s not nearly as tall, his shoulders are slumped, and his hair is thinning.
“You think that guy is hot?” I snort.
James sighs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, we have very different taste, just like I said. Now get to work!”
I certainly didn’t imagine this man. I spoke to him just a few minutes ago. I can still remember how he smells. So where the hell is he?
I walk up to a station with two other women.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m Amber.”
“Cecy,” one says. “And this is Maria.”
Maria is uncorking a bottle of wine.
“What should I do?” I ask.
“Start pouring out glasses,” Maria says. “The guests are about to be let in.”
“We’ve got to let the wine breathe,” Cecy says, laughing. “Expensive wine has to breathe, apparently.”
I laugh and grab a just-opened bottle of Pinot Noir. I begin pouring the wine carefully into the crystal glasses, conscious that a few drops are worth more than any entire bottle I’ve ever bought.
“Either of you two see a super-hot bartender?” I ask. “Tall, blonde hair, blue eyes--”
They point toward the same guy James did.
I sigh in frustration. Everyone has weird taste. “No, that’s not the one.”
“He’s the only blonde bartender,” Cecy says, popping open another bottle.
I swear to God the man I was talking to in the garden was real.
Suddenly James claps his hands.
“The guests are coming in!” he shouts. “It’s time to put on your nicest smiles!”
5
Liam
“You didn’t go too hard on her?” I ask James.
James takes a drag on his cigarette. “No,” he says. “She asked about you, though.”
I laugh. “Did she?”
He nods and exhales, then extends the cigarette toward me.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I quit smoking. For real this time.”
“Not even on your birthday?” James asks, winking.
“You’re a fucking devil on my shoulder, man.”
“You were just complaining a few hours ago that I was paranoid and too protective, now I’m a devil? Which is it?”
“What did she say about me?” I ask.
“Do you really care?” James asks, narrowing his eyebrows at me.
“No,” I lie. “I guess I don’t.”
“Your guests are in,” James says. “Do you really want me to take the night off?”
I sigh. “You know what she said to me?”
“Who?” he asks.
“The girl,” I say. “Shit, I didn’t even get her name.”
“I thought you didn’t care,” James says, smiling. “Her name is Amber.”
Amber. Good name.
“What did she say?” James asks.
“She thought it was ridiculous that I had to pay someone to manage my staff.”
“You’ve got a big staff,” James says, winking.
“Maybe I’m out of touch, though,” I say, ignoring his joke. “I didn’t always have a big staff.”
“You weren’t always filthy rich,” James says.
“It’s not even like, my work staff,” I say. “It’s a household staff. Servants, basically…”
“I am not your servant,” James snaps. “Fuck that. And the bartenders are all one-night hires. You going to vacuum all 18,000 square feet of this place every weekend? Is that a good use of your time? Of course you need a household staff.”
“I guess,” I mutter, still thinking of what Amber said.
“You going to go in?” James asks. “Or you going to drag this late entrance out by an hour?”
I sigh. “Yeah, I guess I shouldn’t put it off any longer.”
6
Amber
“Where is Liam Lions?” I ask. “Isn’t this his birthday party?”
“What says rich asshole more than being late to your own party?” Cecy asks.
Maria elbows her. “Don’t be a bitch; he’s just building tension.”
I roll my eyes. “Like anyone really cares about helping him celebrate his birthday? They probably are just happy to get all this free expensive wine and fancy food.” I point toward the packed parlour
. “You think a guy who works all the time really has this many genuine friends? Most of these people probably just want to kiss his ass so they can get better business deals or whatever.”
Maria shrugs. “Even if that’s the case, they still want to see him and be seen. So he’s building tension.”
It suddenly strikes me that being this rich must be a bit sad and isolating. I look around the room at all the beautiful women and dashing men laughing and drinking together. None of them probably really want to be friends with Liam, and Liam probably knows that. It’s like having all this money has distanced him from the rest of humanity, and this is the closest he can get to human connection--paying through the nose for it.
I suddenly hear the overwhelming buzz of hushed whispers, and notice everyone is staring and pointing discreetly in the same direction. I redirect my attention in the direction of the entranceway in time to see my mystery man walking in with a woman draped on each arm.
I scowl, and then it hits me.
“Is that Liam Lions?” I ask incredulously, tilting my head toward the obvious guest of honor.
“Duh,” Cecy says. “You don’t even know what Mr. Lions looks like?”
Crap! The guy I had been talking to on the bench was Liam Lions? He lied to me! He pretended like he was a bartender, and I talked crap to him about rich people – about him – right to his face!
The women on his arms are twice--maybe three times—hotter-looking than me. I realize he can have any woman in the world that he wants, and he was just toying with me. He really is just an asshole. He probably has already forgotten that I even exist.
The guests all start moving toward him, wanting to get their shot at kissing his ass.
I continue pouring more drinks and collecting more tips as I watch Liam circulate around the room, paying lip service to each of his guests. Faking smiles, forcing laughter--I feel sorry for him, actually. He never knows if anyone likes him for real, or if they just want something from him. He was such an asshole to me, though, so no, I decide that I don’t feel sorry for him. I realize that he even let me be late! And he laughed at me when I finally realized just how late I was.
“Liam resembles the bartender you were describing, Amber,” Maria says. “He’s not the one you were thinking of, was he?”
“No,” I say, anger burning in my gut. “Of course not. It must have been the guy you two were pointing at earlier.”
Liam finishes his drink and puts the empty glass down on a table. I see him lock eyes with me and then start walking right toward me.
Damn it. There are ten bartender stations, and he picks mine. I liked my odds of not ever having to talk to him again.
Liam strides right up to us, and Cecy and Maria snap to attention. “What would you like to drink, sir?”
“Hmm,” Liam says. “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?” He looks right at me.
Maria begins to speak, but he shakes his head. “Her,” he says, nodding in my direction. “I’m asking her.”
He redirects his full attention to me and grins. As mad as I am at him, his smile is captivating.
“Uh…” I mumble.
“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name earlier,” he says. “I’m Liam, by the way.”
“Amber,” I say, glaring at him. “So you’re not a bartender?”
Cecy’s and Maria’s eyes bulge, as they try--and fail--to pretend they aren’t hanging onto every word we say.
“If I had told you otherwise,” he says, “You would have felt obligated to leave, and I could tell you were enjoying the view.”
I scowl at him. I feel like he’s just messing with me. He’s a smooth talker, and I’m not. Anything I say at this point will just make me sound bitter and dejected, so I hold my tongue.
“I’ll have, uh…” he says, pointing at a glass, “that one.”
I pick up the glass and hold it out to him. He takes it, his fingers brushing softly against mine. They linger for an extra couple of moments, and his touch feels as if an electric jolt is going right through me. My heart is pounding, and once again he raises his eyes to lock on mine.
His fingers slip away as he takes the glass from me. He reaches a hand out to me, and I dumbly extend mine. He grasps my hand and says, “Pleased to officially meet you, Amber.”
I feel something in his hand, and he leans in closer to me and whispers, “For being dishonest with you.”
His hand slides away, and I realize it’s a thick wad of money. I look down at it in surprise.
“Holy shit!” Cecy says, as Liam walks away.
“How much money did he give you?” Maria asks.
I stuff it into the pockets of my baggy pants, and my face burns red. “I don’t know. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”
I bite my lip. I don’t know whether I should be furious, or charmed. He thinks he can throw money at anything and get whatever he wants? But, on second thought, he did apologize, didn’t he?
7
Liam
I’m talking to Rita Cullerson, an up-and-coming property developer, when James slides up behind me and grabs my arm.
He leans in and whispers into my ear, “Serious emergency.”
I roll my eyes. A serious emergency for James? We’re probably out of Malbec.
He tugs on my arm and his face appears pale. “Cynthia Frost is on her way here.”
I freeze. Rita Cullerson is still talking, but I only see her mouth moving. I don’t hear any words coming out.
My flight-or-fight response kicks in, and I manage to get out, “If you’ll excuse me.”
My heart is pounding, but I project outward calm. I get James to a less crowded area of the party. “What the fuck?” I ask him.
“She’s not dead,” he says. “I just received the intel, and she’s crashing your party.”
Ten Years Ago
I wake up to see Cynthia standing naked in the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. She looks fucking good, I have to admit, but I already regret sleeping with her.
Never mix business and pleasure.
“Rise and shine,” she says, her lips curling into a seductive smile.
“I need to go,” I say, throwing the blankets off and hurriedly looking for my clothes.
“No morning quickie?” she asks, pouting.
I shake my head. “No. I’m about to sign a deal with the devil. I need to get ready.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Rumor has it that you’re going to sell forty percent of your company to Xinfeng.”
I sigh. “I guess since we fucked, and since it’s going to be public knowledge in a few hours, I can confirm to you that it’s true.”
“What if…” Cynthia says, pacing naked back and forth, putting a finger to her lip. “What if I had another way out for you?”
“You going to give me a shitload of money?” I ask.
“You need $800 million, right?”
I laugh. “I know I’m a good fuck, but I doubt I’m worth that much.”
She rolls her eyes.
She’s old money, and I fucked her only after our deal fell through. I figured if I couldn’t get her company to bail us out, I might as well have some fun with her.
“You already turned me down, Cynthia.”
“That was before,” she says. “But hear me out. I have a proposal for you.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
I really don’t want to deal with the Chinese, but up to this point, Xinfeng was my only option.
She takes hold of my arm and presses her naked body up against me. Her hard nipples graze against my arm, and she presses her lips up to my ear. “Marry me.”
I laugh and push her away. “Jesus, Cynthia, I thought you meant a business proposal. Not a proposal.”
She giggles. “I do mean it as a business proposal. I know that Liam-fucking-Lions isn’t going to get married when he’s twenty years old, but what about in ten years?”
“Ten years?”
“Mmhmm,” she sa
ys. “If you agree to marry me in ten years, I will agree to the deal with you.”
“The same deal you turned down a month ago?” I ask.
She nods.
“What if…I meet someone else?”
She laughs. “You know we’re meant for each other, Liam.”
Is she for real? I didn’t feel a fucking thing for her, other than wanting to get my dick wet. Does she seriously think there is any romance or feelings between us? As cold as it is, I’ll exploit any feelings she may have to get out of making this deal with Xinfeng.
“If you are engaged before your thirtieth birthday, then the deal is off,” she says. “You don’t have to marry me, but you do have to pay me back.”
I consider it. If all goes well, paying her back will be no big deal in ten years. And if I’m totally fucked and can’t afford to pay her back, then I have to marry her. It’s ten years from now, so whatever.
“Let’s call our lawyers,” I say.
She squeals. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it. We’re getting married!”
I force a smile. I’ll have to make sure my lawyers make this contract airtight. I am not marrying Cynthia Frost.
Today
Fuck! I look at my watch. It’s still three hours until I turn thirty.
“How the fuck did this happen?” I ask James. “Tell me you still have the--”
James nods. “I do, but Gabriela is in New York.”
“How did I not listen to you? I got so cocky, and now I’m fucked.”
An idea hits me. A stupid one.
“Uh-oh. I know that look,” James says.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “I’ve got a dumb idea, but I’ve got to go for it. Let’s go get the ring.”
8
Amber
Liam holds up his wineglass and hits it with a fork. Everyone quiets down.
“I know I told you all that you’re here to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.” He looks down at his watch. “Which is happening in just over an hour.”
