Page 36 of When She Unravels
This might be an opportunity to show Ras I’d do well as a server. Vilde has been telling me that the servers in the VIP areas get paid really well because they get huge tips. “What time?”
“Now, Romero. You need to get trained first.”
“Jeez, okay. I thought you said it’s not rocket science. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Find Jessa when you arrive. She’ll bring you up to speed. Good luck.”
I doubt I’ll need much luck. Serving drinks to a bunch of partygoers can’t be that hard. Vilde’s been working the upstairs terrace bar since she started, and it’s been smooth sailing for her.
The first words out of Jessa’s mouth when I get to Revolvr make me reconsider. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. You’re about to see some bonkers shit go down.”
She’s a tiny twenty-five-year-old from Canterbury—a small town in England—with a platinum blond bob and expressive dark brows. They move like little caterpillars every time she speaks. “You’ve got to keep your head on straight, all right? The Werners are renting three of the VIP sections, and those Germans love their orgies.”
I must have heard her wrong. “Orgies?Here?”
“Gods, no. We don’t have the right setup.” She waves at the space. “But this is their hunting ground. They invite whoever catches their attention up to the VIP area and then work them for a few hours to see if they’ll come to their yacht for the after-party.”
“And people go?”
“Course they do. Our job is to serve drinks quickly and keep everyone lubricated. I’ll be mixing the drinks, and you and the other two servers will be handing them out. Keep in mind, the Werners drop like a hundred Gs on each of these nights, so we need to make sure everyone’s having a good time.”
I pull at the neck of my T-shirt. “Sure.”
The Werners arrive an hour later with a large entourage, and whatever I imagined them to look like, it’s not this. They’re a stunning couple in their thirties. The woman’s a curvaceous redhead with abundant curly hair, and the man a blond-haired blue-eyed hunk who looks like he starts his days with hours at the gym. There’s an air of decadence around them, from the expensive clothes they both wear, to the glittering jewelry that adorns the woman’s wrists.
“The wife’s name is Esmeralda,” Jessa whispers to me. “She’s an heiress to a massive fortune from her father’s steel empire. Her husband is Tobias. He’s half German half Monegasque.”
“Mone— What?”
“That’s what they call people from Monaco. I don’t know what he does. He never talks about it.”
“You’ve had conversations with them?”
Jessa’s pale skin turns pink. “Some.”
I raise one suspicious brow at her. “You’ve been to their yacht.”
She reddens more. “A few times.”
“How was it?”
“Memorable,” she says, dragging the back of her hand over her brow. “Definitely memorable. But those memories are for me and me only. Off you go.”
I keep my distance from the Werners, allowing the more experienced staff to serve them while I run around getting orders from the other guests that start to trickle in.
Sometime later, De Rossi appears. I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch him cross the VIP area. He’s wearing all black today—black suit, black shirt, black tie—like a shadowy god who’s come down to walk among his disciples. His presence cuts through the room, drawing eyes to him.
A fluttering sensation explodes low inside my belly. I want to pretend like I’m immune to his pull, but every time I look away, my gaze keeps gravitating back to him. The Werners stand up to greet him with warm smiles and take turns embracing him as if they’re old friends.
I wonder how they know each other. Does De Rossi join them on their yacht? Has he slept with Esmeralda?
I shouldn’t care, but I do. I register every glance and touch between him and Esmeralda, and each one feels like the sharp prick of a knife. God, it irritates the hell out of me.
De Rossi sits down and looks over his shoulder. His dark gaze settles on my body and sends a shiver down my spine. Esmeralda and Tobias take note. She raises one elegant hand and waves me over with a flick of her wrist.
Crap.I can’t ignore her, not when I need to show De Rossi how good of a server I could be.
Clutching my tray to my chest, I make my way to the booth.
