JESSA
I stand gaping at Eloise for far too long. Part of me expects her to bust out laughing, because this has to be a joke.
But she’s stone-faced.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
Eloise sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you. The client made a request, and I couldn’t say no. I mean, c’mon, Jessa—this is The Plaza.”
“Exactly! How can The Plaza be short-staffed?” I demand. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she says, pushing a new uniform into my hands. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re waitressing tonight. I’m sorry. My hands are tied.”
She pulled me to a back corner of the massive kitchen to give me the news, but the entire staff is still watching. People who work in food and bev are the nosiest people on the planet.
Penny and Craig are the only two I’m actually friends with, so they’re the only ones who look concerned. The others just look curious. Like gawking at a car crash while you drive by.
“Hold on…” I say as something occurs to me. “Did the client ask for me specifically?”
“He asked for the sous chef, yes. And I agree it’s odd, but maybe it’s a compliment.”
“Excuse me? Which part is a compliment?”
“Parties like this are all about appearances. He obviously thought you were the prettiest member of the staff to wait tables for his hoity-toity friends.”
I shake my head. “Trust me, this is not about my looks.”
“Whatever it is, you’ll still earn the same paycheck, so stop complaining and get changed.”
Eloise turns and strides away. I’m left standing there holding my new uniform.
Everything in me wants to fight, but I can’t really see a way out of this. I could walk out, but I need this job. Maybe Anton can afford to do whatever he wants, consequences be damned, but I sure as hell can’t.
And he knows that very, very well.
“You okay?” Penny is looking at the uniform in my hand with a sympathetic expression. “We overheard.”
“Who didn’t?” I mutter.
“It’s not gonna be so bad,” Penny says, patting my shoulder. “At least you’ll get to ogle Mr. Eye Candy all night.”
I laugh inwardly. Penny wouldn’t understand, but ogling Mr. Eye Candy is the last thing I want to do. I’d rather stab Mr. Eye Candy.
“I should get changed,” I say, moving into the dressing room. I’m tired of everyone staring at me like I have the plague.
Taking off my sous chef jacket feels like shedding my skin. It’s uncomfortable. Painful, even.
But not nearly as painful as putting on my new uniform.
The tight-fitted black skirt hits me mid-thigh. And the black shirt and vest, also tight-fitted, cuts in a ridiculously low V across my chest. I also have to swap out my comfy kitchen clogs for a pair of worn-looking black pumps that just so happen to be in my size.
“Fucking bastard,” I mutter every few seconds.
I’ve just finished changing when Eloise walks into the dressing room. She nods with satisfaction and gives me the once-over.
“You look great.”
“Hurray,” I say sarcastically.