by Mia Belle
Why are rich people always good-looking? So unfair.
Declan’s head suddenly snaps to mine. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”
I catch my boss Andy eye-signaling me to get my ass away from there. As a server, my job is to serve. Not to stare at the heir to the Worthington Empire.
Tossing Declan and the older man another million-watt smile, I scurry away, careful not to lose hold of the tray, which, by the way, is still full of hors d’oeuvres.
“What was that?” Andy hisses, catching the tray before it splatters to the floor. His eyes flick behind me, and when I spin around I catch Declan’s striking blue eyes on mine. For a second only. I bet he thought I’d trip and fall, providing entertainment for this bummer of a party. Sure the people are eating and dancing, but no one really seems to want to be here.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “I’m here to work.”
“You bet you are. Get back out there.”
I do my rounds, steering clear of the guy of the hour and exchanging smiles with the other servers, whom haven’t either worked in such a setting. Some of the guests are thankful for the food so they don’t have to stand there bored out of their minds. A part of me feels a little sorry for the guy. Are all his birthday parties like this? Where are his friends?
After an hour, a man with graying hair who looks like he’s in his mid-forties raises a glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”
Finally, I get a break. But Andy keeps me busy preparing more hors d’oeuvres, so I only catch bits and pieces of the toast, and then his speech. From what I gather, the man works for Asher Worthington and is speaking on his behalf. Craning my neck, I manage a glimpse at Declan, who stands straight with his hands to his sides, not a crease in his suit, his russet hair still falling over his eyes in that perfect bad-boy manner, looking ever so composed. That’s got to be an act What kid isn’t hurt by his father’s absence on his own birthday?
“Danica!” Andy scolds.
I snap back in and gather the newly-loaded tray. The man is still droning on about Declan’s accomplishments as I strut back into the ballroom. I steal another glance at him—no emotion in his eyes. He might as well be watching a mouse chasing a piece of cheese. No, even that would be more interesting than that dry speech.
Most of the guests aren’t interested in more food, and my feet are on fire from all this parading around. The trays of the other severs are full, too. I’m about to return to the kitchen and tell Andy not to bother preparing any more food, when I catch sight of a man dressed in black from head to toe standing at the far left of the massive ballroom. I don’t know why he caught my attention, maybe because of the way he’s lurking in the shadows all alone or the way he’s stealthily reaching into his pocket and producing a—
Holy shit. A gun.
And it’s pointed directly at Declan Worthington.
I push through the throngs of people. “Look out!” Launching myself at Declan, I shove him and myself to the ground as the gunshot echoes in my ears. I hit the floor with such a blow that the wind gets knocked out of me. The left side of my body throbs.
Guests gasp, yell, and flee. It’s total chaos. Amidst people nearly trampling me to death, I catch four men tackling the shooter to the floor. The bullet is lodged into the wall behind us.
Declan shifts from underneath me. My eyes snap to him, finding his mesmerizing blue ones locked on mine. I finally see an emotion peeking out from his hard eyes: fear.
The shooter yells over the panicked crowd as the four security guards drag him away. I can’t make out the words, but it’s definitely a threat. Staff members usher the guests out of the house. Andy and my coworkers escape, not giving me a second glance.
The party has officially ended.
“Mr. Worthington.” A hand extends toward Declan. “Are you all right?” It’s the guy who made the speech, eyes bulging with worry. A handful of security guards surround us.
I look at the young master crushed beneath me. The fear is still there, though it’s nearly masked now.
“Sir?”
Declan blinks, the fear completely vanishing from his eyes. He shoves me aside and stands, slapping the dirt off his pants.
“Get her out of here.”
“Sir?”
“Get her out of here.”
Gray Hair gives me an apologetic look as he holds out his arm. “Miss, may I escort you out?”
I let him lead me out of the room, but not before catching one more look at Declan. His hard gaze is dead-set on mine.
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