Page 2 of Vows of Blood

Silently, I pray that Rebecca keeps her smart mouth shut.

“Listen carefully,” he says. “Tonight is not a normal service.” He looks each one of us in the eye in turn, emphasizing the seriousness of these final instructions. “You smile, you nod, you do exactly as you’re told. Understood? And not just by me, but by them. Just give them whatever they want, and we’ll all be okay. Any issues, you come to me.”

A murmur of assent ripples through the group, who looks more and more nervous with each passing second.

Rebecca catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ as we’re shooed back to our stations, and the restaurant manager disappears back into the kitchen, shoving the door hard as he passes through, looking like he’s on the verge of a heart attack.

Did he just say we’ll all be okay?

Turning to the entrance where two men in black suits stand with clipboards in hand, I wonder who the hell is about to walk through that door.

“I heard they’ve put thirty grand behind the bar already, and that doesn’t include the wine and champagne that’s stacked up out back,” Rebecca murmurs as we step onto the floor together, smoothing a hand over her already perfect uniform.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm light over mahogany walls and cream marble floors. White roses spill across every table.

“These people are seriously loaded. Not just ski vacations and sports car rich. Like, yacht money rich.”

I didn’t realize Rebecca had created an elaborate tiering system for our guests based on recreational activities. Or maybe, it’s transport-based?

“And?” I ask, as she stands there, hands on hips.

This is one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. Our tables are booked up six months in advance. Everyone who eats here is rich.

“You know what that means?”

I’m not sure I want to.

“That they’re probably assholes?” I grumble, not in the mood tonight for bowing and scraping to rude, elitist diners, or dealing with a manager who’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I already feel that familiar discomfort working somewhere as opulent as this.

I don’t belong here. If these people could see where I live, I doubt they’d even let me touch their plates. Every shift, I tell myself I’m going to get a job in a coffee shop instead, but I need the tips. So here I am, once again.

“No.” My best friend groans, exasperated with me once more. “You’re purposefully missing the point, as always. They’re assholes who might pay your bills for the entire month if you’re lucky. Just be super nice to them. Get your game face on, just for one night, Sienna. Flirt and smile and let those old perverts think they have a chance with a hot, young thing.”

Crates of three-hundred-dollar bottles of champagne line the hallway. And that’s just the cheap stuff to be handed out. Tonight’s guests will knock it back like it's water and keep us busy, I’m certain of that. But if the owner is picking up the tab, and nobody here is paying for their own drinks, we might actually make less money than normal, not more.

Biting my tongue, I don’t dare say that out loud and ruin Rebecca’s night, deciding that it’s kinder to let her dream.

Outside, black luxury cars and SUVs line the curb. Beyond the vast windows that cover one entire wall of the restaurant, a woman steps out of a gleaming Mercedes, silk flashing beneath the lights. Her husband drops his keys into the valet’s hand without breaking conversation, and without even looking at the man taking them.

Everyone else is invisible to these people.

“It’s showtime,” Rebecca says, tilting her head toward the front door where our maître d is making a big fuss over the first arrivals to be allowed inside.

“Ladies.” David appears beside us, spine straight, brown hair slicked back. His gaze dips to my collar, to the open buttons Rebecca insisted on, and lingers a beat too long before lifting back to my face. He doesn’t tell me to close them and is apparently not above enjoying the view.

“I hope you both got lots of sleep last night because this is going to be a late one.”

“Great,” I mutter. There goes my early morning study session in the library.

He fixes his jacket, smoothing a hand over his black tie after straightening the knot, and gives us both a forced smile.

“Rebecca, east side tonight,” he says. Though he’d never admit it, he’s nervous, too. “Sienna, you’ve got the bar.”

Rebecca shoots me an envious look. Though the bar is chaotic at night, it’s also where the best tips are most likely to be when dinner is free.

“Got it,” I say, already reaching for a tray of champagne flutes before David can ask me anything else. Like what I’m doing after work.

The crystal glasses are heavy as I weave into the arriving crowd, smiling and holding out the tray of drinks to everyone who steps inside.