na T

years

e ragged all day; now he expects me to orchestrate his parties, do

a damn

parking? I don't want any bottlenec

to him. Taking a deep breath, I plaster on

ired for each wing of the parking area, and they have clear

ust locked away, refusing to let him see how r

re high-caliber; they exp

imself a generous glass, the amber liquid well above a standard

thing

and on sch

k, and his eyes rake over me befo

nus. Surely you can afford a decent wardrobe, yet you insist on

o I bite my tongue before answering. He knows this is how I always

any's dress code. Tonight, I'll be behind the scenes, managing the staff. There's

ears turning in his head as he lists all the reasons I n

w that. He doesn'

asses?" he insists. He looks like i

ssistant, sir." I hide the sma

about his friend having a particular distaste for baggy clothes and thick-rimmed glasses. And since I have no desire to

e I can confirm it. He takes another drink and ad

u call

irm, swallowing the bile that rises in my

ce do I have?

ng is perfect. Once about fifty guests have arriv

ut I have to endure it. I need this job. I fought too hard for this p

he back of my hand. It's not that I've been here long-Milo only moved to Boston a week ago-but

me busy. It's kept me from dwelling on the fact that I'm back in the

r, my mind buzzing with last-minute orders and checks. Everything is

the doors, and none in the parking area. I made sure every detail was covered so I could handle the cate

. Standing next to her, a wave of inferiority threatens to wash over me, but I remind mysel

a. Welcome. If you'll

is just another woman passing through Milo's life. I can't even say I like her; I'd be lying. Every woman I've me

he asks, her voice

ng for you before he

couple of my friends in, can'

swer, "I could, but only w

to have in your circle. Very influential, among the richest in the city

on. I don't give a damn what s

to the upper floors, and I press

." I extend my hand, gesturing for her to enter

ustration at her inability to order me around. She stalks past me, heels clacking, hips swayin

en at the top of that list. An

I'm not left exposed to her while

slap in the face, c

too conceited to rub elbows with someone who would be his competition. I convinced myself o

o, makes a knot tighten in my throat. But I tell myself it's over. It c

the kitchens. A cold sweat breaks out acro

Marissa's words from my mind, especially the

e to have in y

k Google search is overwhelming, but I fight it down. I can't fall into that trap.

m the kitchens. An hour later, I'm sweating f

to the kitchens lookin

'm doing this for a reason, I rem

he kitchen entrance. The last person on earth I

il Al

oment her eyes land on me, when she realizes who

er eyes rake over me, taking in every detail,

s smile spreads

urge to use both my words a

like a sewer rat?" she mocks, crossing her arms a

e, sweetheart. And I'm not one of them," I r

a questioni

re, left with nothing-just like you deserved-I didn't think you'd dare sho

ring that up-the divorce, Shane d

Are you the person who was sent to the kitche

venom, she grimaces, but she presses

?" She looks at me with disgust. "You don't even look the part. You just look... pitiful. Why did y

ise me; I expected no

e one that always appeared whenever I was around. And I take advantage of it. He may have che

e. Crawl back to Shane? Why would I want to do that? You ca

ays should have been," she announces, and though a pa

e news that my ex-husband is marryi