Page 12 of WASP

“Hi, yes, Miss Martin. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I’ve sent several letters about⁠—”

Click.

The car was silent, Max’s thumb still hovering over the end call button as her heart beat rapidly, the rush of her pulse in her ears filling the silence in the moment between the call ending and the music kicking back on. But as soon as it started, the music faded out again as another call came through—those same white letters spelling out UNKNOWN CALLER mocking her.

She would one hundred percent NOT be answering the call this time; she let it ring through to voicemail. Whoever was on the other end of the call tried once more before assuming defeat, something Max was exceptionally grateful for. Logically, she knew she couldn’t keep avoiding these calls forever. She had unfortunately learned that with the letters when they had started showing up six months ago. Every time she’d receive one in the mail, she’d open it, scan it, and promptly chuck it in the trash. But then more would show up. And now the phone calls? That was a new and, frankly, unwelcome piece of communication.

That evening, the dining room at the country club was buzzing with chatter. From the salacious gossip exchange happening between the bridge club ladies to the highly suspicious “it’s not insider trading, it just sounds like insider trading” happening between the gentlemen at table ten, everything was going smoothly. Max even managed to sell a few bottles of their more expensive wines over the course of the evening, which she planned to add to her proposal to Willis Windsor, illustrating that her trial season as the McCallum-Windsor in-house wine expert had been a success.

Compared to the previous year, Max had increased the club’s average bottle purchase from $130 to $450. And while she wasn’t always the best with numbers, she knew that an over two hundred percent revenue increase had to mean something…right?

“Hey, Max, table fifteen is interested in hearing about the wine selections. Can you swing by when you have a sec?” one of the other waitstaff asked on her way past the computer where Max was currently inputting an order.

“Yeah, sure thing. Let me wrap this up.” She tapped a few buttons, straightening her shirt, checking each of the pockets on her dark green apron to make sure she had everything she needed.

Two women were seated at table fifteen and as Max approached, she started preparing her wine recommendations in her head. From sweet to dry, mostly whites, as she had learned were extremely popular with the women who frequented the club’s restaurant.

“Good evening, ladies,” she began, selecting the voice she used with the club patrons, the one that was slightly peppier than her usual tone. Still, she faltered when her gaze landed on a familiar face—more specifically, a familiar shade of blue because who could forget eyes like Annie Dillinger’s. “Oh, it’s you.” Max grinned, but Annie didn’t reciprocate.

The woman sitting opposite Annie—a very pretty, albeit stuffy-looking brunette with perfectly laminated brows, perfectly filled cheeks, and perfectly shaped lips—raised an eyebrow. If one could call the subtle, Botox-restrained movement a raise.

“Max,” Annie finally said, tilting her head in acknowledgment.

Max waited for a moment, unsure if Annie was going to say anything else, but she didn’t, gaze fixed on the menu clutched in her hands.

“What wine, in your opinion, pairs well with deep conversation?” the brunette asked, the slightest hint of a sneer ghosting her facial features, one that instantly made the involuntary wall inside of Max rise up.

But Max didn’t let that get to her. Couldn’t let that get to her. Not when she worked on commission. “We have a few great options. My personal favorite would be the 2018 Pointe Malbec. It’s full-bodied and now that it’s a little chillier out, that peppery bite really settles nicely on your tongue⁠—”

“No reds, what are your white selections?” the brunette said over her.

“You’re being rude, Caroline,” Annie muttered under her breath, eyes still on the menu.

Max looked from Annie to Caroline, taking a breath and continuing. “Absolutely,” she said, feigning upbeatness, her polite smile firmly in place. “We have a really delightful dry riesling⁠—”

“Great. We’ll take a bottle of that one,” Caroline interjected, once again cutting Max off.

Yeah, okay, this girl was rude as fuck.

Annie’s gaze flicked up from the menu, landing on Caroline with a stormy intensity—those centric golden bursts looking like lightning crackling across the summer sky—and Max couldn’t help but wonder what on earth the conversation the two of them were about to have entailed.

“I want a glass of the malbec you were describing. That sounded lovely,” Annie said defiantly, shooting daggers across the table.

Caroline conceded. “Fine, okay. I’ll take a glass of the riesling, but it better be a true dry riesling and none of that sickly sweet dessert wine.”

Max may have outwardly smiled, but the words die bitch looped through her mind as she responded. “Of course. I’ll be right back with those glasses for you ladies.” She nodded, catching Annie’s eye once more before quickly moving towards the bar.

By the time she approached the table again, glasses of malbec and riesling in hand, Caroline and Annie were carrying out a hushed argument that Max only managed to catch a snippet of.

“What do you mean you sold the townhouse? Why would you do that? Why are you back⁠—”

“I have the malbec”—Max placed a delicate wine glass in front of Annie, noticing a pink tinge to her cheeks that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago—“and that riesling.” She placed the white in front of Caroline. “I’ll, uh, swing by in a few to see how you two are enjoying things.” She moved away from the women and headed to the kitchen to check on the food orders for her other tables.

After the food was dropped off at table seventeen and another bottle of wine was sold to table twenty-nine, Max once again found herself nearing the table tucked away by one of the front windows of the upscale dining room.

“A break. Are you fucking for real?” Annie’s voice was louder, carrying an anger that hadn’t been present moments ago. “You’re letting everyone believe we’re on a break when I broke up with you⁠—”

“Are we all good here?” Max said awkwardly, not wanting to stand there too long eavesdropping.