'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