Honeyeh
My new boss Mr. Stanley stops in front of me, giving me that critical eye like he’s trying to figure out what I’m about. Is he worried I’m lazy? Awkward? I swallow down a lump and attempt to give him a reassuring smile.
I don’t tell him, but I’d do backflips provided he keeps me on the payroll.
He takes his eyes off me to frown down at his clipboard. “How do you pronounce your name?”
“Ummm… Honey, just like what bees make, and then at the end you add an ahh, like in a-ha,” my smile grows bigger, almost manic. One of my college friends Charlotte married some real estate mogul, Mason Kincaid. She convinced her husband to have his company hire me at one of his restaurants as a favor. The pay is great, so much better than my last job, and I will do nearly anything to make certain this position sticks.
“Honeyeh, do you have prior waitressing experience?”
“I was a barista,” I clasp my hands leaning forward. “And I was picked for employee of the month multiple times for my hard work and friendliness.”
He looks up at the ceiling like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “A barista. Great.” Sarcasm drips off the words. Then he adds, in a whisper, “I’ve been stuck with the flavor of the month.”
My brows draw together. What does that mean?
But I don’t ask as he checks a box next to my name. “You can do chair set up for the ceremony. Once it’s done, all the guests will make their way outside for cocktails in the garden. We’ll have to very quickly turn the room over for the reception portion.”
“Right. No problem.”
“I’m sure you know already, but the man getting married is a business partner and family friend of the Kincaids, so everything needs to be perfect today.”
I don’t know why I should know that, but I nod enthusiastically. “Hustle. Perfect. Got it.”
He looks me up and down again, frowning, “You won’t be given special treatment here because you’re a friend of the Kincaids,” he says with a sneer. And then he walks away. I don’t need special treatment, but I have a feeling that he might like me less for being Charlotte’s friend.
Two groups are forming among the staff, and I have no idea which one I should be joining. The first is all women, but the second has three guys and one girl.
“Over here,” a blonde calls to me, the only female with the male group. She gives me a friendly wave. “You’re in the set up and take down crew with us.”
I let out a breath of air, glad someone reached out and made my first day a bit easier. “Thank you.”
“I’m Brittany.”
“Hi. I’m Honeyeh.”
“What a cool name,” Brittany’s brown eyes take in all my details. “You’re gorgeous.”
My mouth opens and closes because I’m not quite sure how to respond. Women can be like that, sometimes, really open and friendly. Then again, they can also have an agenda, and the friendliness is a mask for the cut they’re about to deliver. “Thank you. So are you.”
Brittany preens under my compliment, and the truth is obvious. She did have an agenda, it was to illicit a compliment from me in return. But a girl who just needs her ego fed a bit is totally fine with me, especially since she can help me learn the ropes.
I could use a friend right about now.
“Thanks,” she gives me this exaggerated glam-girl smile. “I moved to Vegas to be a showgirl. I’m still working on it, but I think I’ve got my look almost dialed in.”
I nod, because there isn’t really much else to do. I have no idea what she looked like before. But in her uniform, she looks just like the rest of us. White Oxford, black pants, neatly tied-back hair.
One of the guys standing in the group claps his hands to get our attention. “I’m coordinator tonight. The guest list is small, less than twenty. We’ll set up ten chairs on either side of the arch.”
We start out of the small back room and move into the function space.
I nearly gasp out loud at the arch that’s been erected. It’s covered in bright, exotic flowers that infuse the muted room with bright color and beauty. It’s gorgeous.
Along the walls are giant arrangements of the same flowers.
“I know,” Brittany whispers. “If I don’t make it as a showgirl, I’m marrying the kind of guy who can pay for flowers like these.”
I give Brittany the side eye. Clearly, she’s a woman with a lot of plans. Mine currently aren’t that grand.
My mother, brother, and I moved to the United States ten years ago, after my father disappeared. When she died a few years ago, I became my brother’s caregiver. And when he developed a rare liver disease…
I’m just trying to get him the medical care he needs. “I don’t need flowers. I’d settle for health insurance.”
Brittany laughs. “Girl, with a face and body like yours, you ought to dream big.”
I look down at my fitted Oxford, smoothing the pleats that show off my small waist. I wish she was right. But mostly, I feel like I attract a lot of Mr. Right Now kind of guys.
I date sometimes, but the moment I mention being my brother’s guardian, or heaven forbid, his illness, whatever heat had filled my date’s eyes just disappears.
I get it. I’m a lot.
We set up the chairs, and then ready the tablecloths, plates, and silverware, knowing we’ll only have a few short minutes to change the room over when the ceremony is done.
Waiting discreetly in a small room off the function room, I watch the guests file in. Each man wears a suit that costs more than what I make in a month, all of them handsome.
Some come with a beautiful woman on their arms while others file in alone.
Mason walks in with Charlotte at his side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She catches my eyes and gives me an enthusiastic wave and a thumbs up.
Mr. Stanley tosses me a glare, muttering under his breath.
But his words are drowned out by Brittany as she cranes her neck. “Now see. That’s what I’m talking about. I need a husband like that.”
Behind us, one of the guys working set up scoffs. “Oh please. We all know you’d end up on your back before the appetizers on the first date were even served.”
“Fuck off, Brian,” Brittany snaps back. “We both know you’re a slutty bottom. Besides, what I do for work and how I date are two totally different things. Mostly.” Then she leans closer to me. “Stay away from Brian. He’s a snarky bitch.”
I don’t know if Brian hears her or not as he quips back, “Good luck explaining your career as a prostitute to your super-rich future husband.”
I look at her in confusion. We work at a restaurant…
Brittany lets out a huff. “To make extra money, I work as an escort on the side.”
My eyes go wide, but I press my lips together to keep them shut. Brittany has been a big help, I don’t want to irritate her.
“The pay is really good, and it helps me learn polish,” she says, her nose lifting in the air. “And I don’t always sleep with the guys. Only when they offer me a really big tip.”
“Oh. Right.” I nod like this is a totally normal thing. I don’t mean to judge, but it’s a career I hope never to explore.
The ceremony begins, and I let out a sigh of relief, glad to have an excuse to end this conversation.
The groom steps up to the arch, his perfect suit in complete contrast to his sharp looks and his tattooed hands. He looks bad ass, despite wearing Armani.
That is until his bride appears. Gorgeous in a mermaid wedding dress, her honey hair done up in a simple but beautiful twist, I look back at him to see his eyes light up, a smile making his entire appearance soften.
Brittany must see it too because we both sigh at the same time.
“The estrogen in here has reached an all-time high,” Brian grouses from behind us. “Is this why women put out at weddings?”
“Pig,” Brittany lobs back, leaning out a little further as the ceremony begins. “The groom. That’s Killian Smith. His oldest brother is a real-life duke in England.”
“A duke?” I gasp.
Brittany nods. “Yeah. You’d think the rest of the family wouldn’t work. But they own this major real estate company with some organized-crime ties. The groom is their enforcer. That’s what I hear.”
Is this common Vegas knowledge? I’m good friends with Charlotte Kincaid and I had no idea.
“And the Smiths are close with the Kincaids?” Charlotte has really moved up in the world. Maybe she could set me up on a date…. I don’t need someone rich, but I’d love a guy who was dependable. Stable. And who had medical benefits. Can I put that on a dating app?
“They do real estate business with Mason Kincaid. And one of them, Gris Smith, is marrying Arabella Kincaid.”
Royalty marrying royalty. That I understand.
Brittany scans the small gathering. “But the biggest fish in the Smith family is Triston Smith, Vegas’s billionaire playboy.” And she points at one of the men sitting on the end of one of the aisles.
I can only see the back of him, but his suit is cut to show off his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His hair is perfectly groomed, the back of his neck holding that slightest bit of tan that makes him look even more attractive. “If he’s a playboy, how come he doesn’t have a date?”
“I don’t know, but I know that Veronica Clairmont has been seen on his arm a lot lately. They’ve been on all the gossip blogs.”
Of course he dates a woman with a name like Veronica. It’s sophisticated and sexy. She’s probably blonde too, tall, model-thin, with the most amazing wardrobe.
I let out a long slow breath, refusing to sigh again. I can’t afford to live in a fantasy about scoring a date with a man like that. I’ll have to leave that to Brittany.
I’ve got to keep my head down and my focus on getting my brother healthy. Maybe after that…
“You may kiss the bride,” the justice of the peace calls across the assembled guests. I snap my head back up, setting my thoughts aside. The bride and groom kiss and I have to hold back another sigh, it’s so romantic.
They make their way down the aisle, the guests following them toward the patio doors.
As soon as the guests step outside, we’ll have to turn over the room.
Most say their hellos to the bride and groom stationed by the door and then move outside where bartenders wait to begin serving them. I see Charlotte standing next to Mason, his arm possessively placed around her waist, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. A stab of jealousy makes my chest tight. It’s not that I wish Mason was mine, I’d just like that kind of support. To be wrapped in a cocoon of strength like that.
A few guests remain in the room as we stand at the ready.
Finally, when there are only two people left, Triston Smith and an older woman, our coordinator takes a step forward. “We’ve only got fifteen minutes. I think we should start.”
We all rush out, folding up the chairs and setting them to the side. I’m careful not to look at Triston Smith or the older woman he’s talking to in quiet tones. I’m not sure if we should have waited, but we can at least give them the illusion of privacy.
But as Brian and I set up one of the tables and I toss the tablecloth over the top, the woman Triston was speaking with flags me by snapping her fingers. They’re covered in gaudy rings that click together as she waves her hand. “You,” she calls over to me, giving me a glare. “Is there anything to drink besides champagne? I’d prefer a Chardonnay.”
Triston looks at me too, our gazes colliding. I feel the color rise in my cheeks. If the back of him is attractive, his face is…just wow. Gorgeous dark brown eyes, strong cheeks and jaw, just enough softness in his lips to make him completely kissable. My whole body responds before I drop my gaze.
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll find that for you right away.” Brian huffs out a breath and I’m not sure if he’s irritated with me or her. Was I not supposed to serve her?
I’m in it now so I turn and practically run to the bar. Which is probably for the best.
I have never responded to a man like that, and I don’t welcome the reaction now. All that matters tonight is getting Mr. Stanley to bring me back for another function tomorrow.
I step out to the bar. “A guest inside wants Chardonnay.”
The bartender pours it for me. “This better not be for you.”
My lips part in surprise. “No. I…”
“Just kidding,” he gives me a wink.
First days suck. I rush back inside, looking for the woman who requested it. Instead, Triston Smith stands alone.
I stop dead, my eyes going wide as my tongue swells in my mouth. What do I do now?
“Allow me,” he steps up in front of me. But instead of taking the glass from my hand, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a card. As he takes the glass, he pushes the card into my hand.
“Sir?” I ask, staring down at the card.
He leans close and I get a whiff of his cologne, a light musk that has hints of cedarwood and pine. His voice is low and deep as it reverberates over my skin. “Call me.”
My mouth drops open. He is not asking me out. He can’t be. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t…. Mr. Kincaid has strict policies.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Mason Kincaid step back into the room. I wince. Am I about to be in trouble? I cannot catch a break. “Triston? What’s taking you so long?” he calls across the room.
Then Mason catches sight of me. My shoulders curl. This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be setting up tables. I don’t know Mason very well, but he’s so intimidating and I can feel Mr. Stanley’s glare burning into my back. “Honeyeh, is my business partner giving you trouble?”
“Honeyeh,” Triston repeats. “Interesting name.”
I put his card in my pocket, taking a step back. I need to get back to work before I get in trouble. “It’s Persian. My mother…” My hand flutters as I see Mr. Stanley’s arms cross. Crap. Crap. Crap. “My apologies for dallying, Mr. Kincaid. I will make certain the tables are set very quickly.”
“It isn’t your fault, Honeyeh, I can see Tris was distracting you.” He comes to stand next to me, and my hands clasp together. I’m caught in a trap. I can’t leave this conversation without irritating my benefactor, but I have to get back to work before my direct boss gets really upset.
“Actually, I was about to offer her a job, because I can see she is an excellent employee,” Triston replies before I am able.
My head snaps up, as our gazes collide again. A job? That’s why he wants me to call him?
“She is wonderful. Which is why I can’t allow you to steal her.”
I swallow. Did I think I was caught before? Now I’m stuck between two titans. “Mr. Kincaid has been most accommodating, giving me off-hour shifts,” I murmur. “And thank you for the offer, but I should get back. Mr. Stanley…” I wave my hand back toward the irritated floor manager.
Mason doesn’t notice my hint. “I wish I could do more. I know how difficult the weekend hours are for childcare.”
Mr. Stanley is forgotten. Because the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, Triston Smith, is learning all the intimate details of my life. “My brother is old enough…”
Triston Smith looks at me with an unwavering stare that makes me want to dip my eyes to the floor. It’s filled with something I don’t understand, but it makes me want to squirm. “If flexibility is what you need, I have a position within my house that is very flexible.”
I take another step back, wringing my hands. “There are a great many doctor’s appointments. I—”
I can’t work for Triston Smith. I’d never get any work done. I’d end up making a complete fool of myself. I’d…
“Call me,” he says and then both men are striding off, leaving me standing alone, my hands still clasped together.
I look up to find Brian and Mr. Stanley wearing matching looks of annoyance. My stomach drops.
Mr. Stanley waves me over, his brows drawn together. “What was that?”
“Mr. Smith asked for a glass of wine.” Not true but close enough.
“So you direct him to one of the servers. You don’t stand there chatting while the rest of the crew fills in for you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stanley. It won’t happen again.”
“No. It won’t. I don’t need your help tomorrow night, Honeyeh. And you can take the rest of the night off.”
I feel the tears prick at my eyes. “Are you firing me?”
“No. I can’t fire a Mr. Kincaid hire.” So he’s just not going to give me hours. Inside, frustration kicks at the walls of my stomach.
But there is no point in arguing. With a quick nod, I turn to leave, trying not to cry. His “not firing” me is as bad as just letting me go. I can’t pay medical bills without shifts.
I start for the back room swiping at my eyes. Brittany falls in step next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “Don’t listen to them. They’re both just pissed you’re too hot for them. And the boss-boss paid attention to you. What’s Mason Kincaid like?”
“He’s fine, I guess,” I say, my voice wavering. “I’m more worried about Mr. Stanley. I really need this job.”
Brittany stops. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone.”
I hand it to her, and she types in her name and number. “If you need money, you call me. You could make a killing at my other job.”
I seriously doubt I’d ever take her up on the offer. But I guess if I got desperate enough…
I take the phone back, say goodbye, and collect my stuff.
I just got fired-not-fired. And while I got two other job offers tonight, for entirely different reasons, they are both awful. Rock meet hard place. Which one is worse?
The answer is simple. Call Triston Smith.
My stomach clenches. It’s like jumping from the pan into the fire…
