I closed my eyes and drew a long breath.
For thirty-five hundred dollars a month. For survival. What was dignity worth?
I lowered my head, picked up the rag, and leaned toward Vivienne's shoe.
"Not with the rag."
Vivienne's smile was venomous.
"I want you to use your fingers. Pick it off, piece by piece."
The jeering around us swelled louder.
I reached out. My hand was an inch from the shoe when a polished leather oxford swung in from nowhere and kicked my bucket across the floor.
Dirty water erupted in every direction, spattering Vivienne from hem to collar.
"Aah!"
She shrieked and stumbled backward.
"Howard! What the hell!"
Howard looked down at me, his expression utterly blank.
"Clumsy and slow. Watching you work kills my appetite."
He turned to Vivienne, something unreadable shifting behind his eyes.
"Tonight's engagement banquet is short a server for the wine. Send her."
Vivienne blinked. Then a knowing smile crept across her face.
"You always did know how to play. Making her watch us get engaged is so much better than making her scrub shoes."
She bent low, her lips brushing my ear.
"Remember to wear the staff uniform, dear sister. I arranged a little surprise just for you."
Vivienne had the floor supervisor issue me a uniform personally.
It was a black dress with the entire back cut away, the hem barely covering the tops of my thighs. The slightest bend would leave nothing to the imagination.
"Isn't that Stella Graves? She used to act so high and mighty. Now she's selling herself?"
"Got kicked out ages ago. She's just a waitress now."
"God, those legs though. Always thought she was a knockout. If I could get my hands on her for one night..."
Vivienne stood in the center of the grand hall on Howard's arm, basking in congratulations from every guest in the room. Howard remained detached as ever, taking the occasional sip of wine, but his gaze kept drifting, almost involuntarily, toward the corner where I stood.
Every time his eyes swept over me, goosebumps prickled up my spine.
"Hey, waitress. Why is this wine warm?"
A balding middle-aged man stepped into my path. His hand was already reaching for my waist.
I flinched back on instinct.
"Oh, playing hard to get?"
Samuel Lambert's face twisted with irritation, and he seized my wrist.
"Everyone here knows exactly what you are. How much for a night? Name your price."
"Let go."
I tried to wrench free.
"Drop the act! Back when you were the Graves family princess, I wouldn't have dared. But now? You're nothing but yesterday's trash!"
The crowd watched like it was dinner theater. Not a single person stepped forward. Someone let out a long, low whistle.
That was when Vivienne glided over.
"Mr. Lambert, what's the matter? Did this server forget her manners and upset you?"
Samuel's scowl melted into an oily grin.
"Oh, Miss Graves, I just wanted a drink, and this girl couldn't be bothered to serve me."
Vivienne turned to me. Every trace of warmth vanished from her face.
"Stella. Mr. Lambert is one of the Graves family's biggest clients. You think you can give him attitude?"
She snatched an unopened bottle of red wine from a passing attendant and slammed it down on the table.
"Since Mr. Lambert wants a drink, you're going to down this entire bottle. Consider it your apology."
It was a high-proof red. Forget the whole bottle; half of it would be enough to tear a stomach lining apart.
"I'm a server. I don't drink with guests."
Crack.
Vivienne shook out her hand, lip curled in disgust.
"You don't know when to take a gift. Fine. You won't drink? Then get on your knees and lick Mr. Lambert's shoes clean. Do that, and I'll let you go."
Every eye in the room locked onto me, waiting to see how the once-untouchable Stella Graves would be brought to her knees.
Half my face burned like it was on fire.
Howard stood just a few steps away, swirling the wine in his glass.
