's worse than
e champagne to people who probably
but on me? It clung in all the wrong places and rode up whenever I breathed. I looked lik
ng, no spilling, no smart-mouthing rich people. Just smile, serve, and may
ghtened at
g more. I didn't cry, not in front of them, at least. But every day, I visited, talked, told her about my shift, about
ht? Was
isor snapped. "Cha
tray with a dramatic flair and internally p
ty lights. Everything smelled like roses and money. I wove through the crowd, pas
lashing a customer-servic
it ha
hand jerked. A flute of deep red wine flew through the air like it had a vendetta an
rs. Me? I froze. Ey
ou have a napkin? Should I find one? Should I l
wn at his drenched shirt... and t
jerks always seemed to have. Jet-black hair. Jaw like he bites diamonds
our shirt!" I babbled, fanning him awkwardly with my hand. "I'm not
ebrow like I was something sticky o
is shirt, only to realize I was basically patting his chest. I froze, horrifi
mooth and cold like iced w
ke that...
ad dropped into my stomach like a brick. Somewhere behind me, I heard my s
rly. You just spilled your w
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