II

The loud music was about the only thing keeping Reigh awake as she grinded through what was only the first hour of an undoubtedly very long shift.

The club was already packed to the brim, and not for the first time she was thankful for having the luck of standing behind the bar. She couldn't imagine having to push through that crowd with a tray full of glasses. She'd break quite a few, no doubt, and probably a leg with it.

“Aaa... glass of chardonnay, a jack & coke, and two shots please!”

A little hazily Reigh looked up at the stunning blonde that was standing on her tip-toes at the other side of the bar, her voice straining to get the order across over the loud boom-boom of yet another house track.

“Comin’ right up”, Reigh confirmed, just to let her know she’d heard her. “What shots?”

“Surprise me!”

With a nod of her head and a roll of her eyes she turned around, fighting to keep the grimace off her face.

If she had a dime for every time some said that, she wouldn't have had to work for the rest of the month. Truth be told her bartending skills were a little rusty to say the least. She hadn’t made a decent attempt at anything other than a G&T in years, and that had been surprising only in that apparently you weren’t supposed to go fifty-fifty.

“There!“, Dean, another employee that was also working the bar, nudged towards a fridge in the corner as he balanced a full tray of beers. “They’re premixed with edible glitter. Basic bitches go wild for them!”

Reigh reached for the bottle with one hand while grabbing some glasses with the other, mouthing a wordless ‘thank you’ to her colleague.

It was a miracle she'd scored this job in the first place. A position in her field - communications - would have been better, but she hadn't dared seriously going for one of those jobs seeing as her only real work experience was with Thomas's company. She hadn't wanted to take the risk of anyone betraying her location while calling that asshole for a reference.

She had tried to apply without that experience showing on her CV, of course, but as expected a freshly graduated student without an honorable past was worth about as much a high-school drop out, with the exception that the high-school drop out was cheap to hire at least.

It was probably time to accept that she'd worked through all those countless nights studying Hofstede's cultural dimensions theory for nothing.

"Hey, do you know how to work your way around with a tray?!"

Reigh hadn't even noticed Dean was screaming at her again until he tapped her shoulder, drawing her attention away from the wine fridge she'd been staring at dreamily. When she turned her head around she watched him pointing at someone over his shoulder. Another employee stood at the edge of the bar, muttering to Dean in an urgent matter while typing away on his phone.

"Me?" Reigh had to actively suppress the urge to look over her shoulder to see if there was anyone else he could be talking to. "I mean, a little. I worked in a dive bar for a bit during college, but that's about it! Why?"

Dean didn't answer her straight away, instead turning to discuss things with the other colleague for a moment. The guy looked Reigh over before pulling a face, but then nodded with a grimace and a careless movement of his shoulders.

"Great!", Dean shouted, granting her a thumbs up and a fake smile to go along with it. "Follow Derek over there! They're short on staff for the VIP-lounge. He'll update you on your duties!"

Reigh wanted to protest, but if either of them did notice the way her expression had gone from curious and cheerful to pure dread they were choosing not to remark on it. Derek, the one who'd interrupted their work, was gesturing for her to follow.

The nervous energy constricting Reigh's chest grew steadily as they pushed their way through the crowd and towards the stairs that led to the lounge.

There were a multitude of reasons why she made a less than great VIP waitress. Firstly, waitresses were supposed to be naturally charming and sociable; something she excelled in only after having had at least three glasses of wine herself, and actually not even then. And secondly walking around with a tray required steady hands. Reigh had this funny thing where when she got nervous, her hands started to tremble. It was completely natural, but it was a natural response that did not came in handy when carrying shitloads of expensive booze - pun not intended.

"You're working a private party!", Derek screamed over his shoulder as he nodded his greeting to the bouncer. The man wore a single, gold heart pendant through his left ear; a detail that somehow made him look all the more daunting combined with his broad stature and the tattoos that peaked up from above the rim of his shirt.

"Essentially the guests are expected to order their own drinks at the bar, but we need you and the other waitresses to walk around with glasses of champagne and to pick up the glasses that are empty. The crowd upstairs is pretty important, so try to smile and look happy. "

Now that they'd entered the staircase the music from the dancefloor below was muted somewhat, and Reigh could hear her own heartbeat loud and clear in her ears.

Smile, he'd said? She was willing to try, but she doubted it would look genuine.

"Do I just wear... this?"

Reigh gestured towards her simple black top and jeans, not having missed the way Derek was staring her down earlier. If she'd had any better of a day she'd have told him off because of it.

"Do you have something else to wear?"

If annoyance had a sound of it's own, it existed in the form of Derek's voice. When Reigh shook her head his eyes rolled back, his lips muttering something under his breath.

"That will have to do then, won't it?"

On that cheerful note the door to the VIP-lounge was opened and Reigh was thrust into the world that was expensive cocktails and luxurious amuses.

While she hadn't actually been in this part of the club before, she'd managed to sneak a peek earlier this week when she'd gotten a quick tour of the place before her first shift. As expected the large glass wall to her left offered an excellent view of the dancefloor below. Thanks to the thickness of the glass the house music was muted, though, and instead a more calming low-fi beat echoed through the space here.

All the other walls were covered in expensive looking leather panels, and an assortment of velvet seats and sofa's stood scattered throughout the room. A round bar formed the centerpiece of the space; demanding attention not only because of it's location but also because of the fancy dark oak it was made of.

"Tara there will show you where to find the champagne. Good luck!"

And just like that Derek had turned and was gone again, no doubt to escape the air of tension that hung here. If Reigh had to guess this was a company event; an occasion that wasn't meant to be enjoyed as much as it was meant to be used, for networking and making deals and such.

She'd been at occasions like this many times back with Thomas, but she'd never actually much enjoyed it. All the glitter and glamour just looked exciting. Beneath the façade raged an age-long battle for dominance. It was all about what you were wearing, what you were speaking about, who you'd come with, and most importantly, who you'd left with.

Thomas, of course, had left with about everyone but her. Not that the tabloids would ever dare publish that...

"Hey you there, new girl!"

The one Derek had introduced as Tara - a middle-aged woman with dark hair that was wrapped into a complicated updo -, was snapping her fingers, obviously intent on not wasting any more time than necessary.

"Tonight's event is hosted by Aides Hasapis, the owner of this place, for one of his other business ventures. Tact and class are important tonight. You're covering that portion of the lounge."

As she spoke her hand waved vaguely towards the right corner, where a group of men sat to chat.

"That portion over there" - she pointed towards the large seating area in front of the windows - "is where mister Hasapis himself is seated. Seeing as you have little experience, I'd like you to avoid that bit if possible. Someone else will cover that."

Tara seemed nice enough, albeit a bit pent up, so Reigh nodded obediently. Truth be told she was happy to get the area where she could fuck up the least.

"And would you mind loosening your hair? At the risk of sounding sexist: it makes you look prettier."

That too, Reigh could do. With her hair freed from it's band and cascading down her back in what she hoped were reasonably good-looking waves, she stood, checking out the space anxiously. She hoped this party wouldn't take all that long.

"Go on, then. Trays with champagne are over there. You can just leave empty glasses on the bar, Demy will take care of them."

And just like that Tara had fluttered on to the next, seemingly much more demanding task on her list.

Nervously Reigh made her way towards the table where trays stood at the ready, wondering if it would be deemed unprofessional to use both her hands to grab one. She managed to balance one with just her right hand if she used her left fingers only to stabilize it, and seeing as she had no other choice she started to walk with it.

At the very least rich people tended to tip better. At the rate Reigh was earning at the moment, she would probably have to choose between a warm meal and rent by the end of the month. She could see the irony in her going from being a guest at these kind of events to her being a waitress, but she would be lying if she said she didn't resent it just the tiniest bit.

The group of men sitting in the far corner was about the only group Reigh could notice that actually seemed to be having a good time. Picking them as her first target she made her way towards the guys. They were conversing and laughing so loudly that, when she had reached them, she had to scrape her throat multiple times and then simply yell 'excuse me!' to even get their attention.

Booze had been flowing for at least some time already, than.

Carefully and with slightly trembling fingers she handed out glasses to whoever raised their hands to receive them. Just when Reigh was about to turn around to serve a second group a little further to the left, she heard a voice behind her that caused the hairs in her neck to stand up straight in attendance.

"My, my...", it drawled, alcohol lacing the edges of a tone she knew all too well. "If it isn't Thomas's future wife."