Weight in Gold [MOVING TO GALATEA]

“Could you zip me up?” I asked, glancing awkwardly over my shoulder to catch my reflection in the mirror.

Sarah reached over and zipped my dress, then turned around so I could do the same for her.

“I’m only doing this once,” I warned, “next time, ask Eliza.”

“I did,” Sarah drawled, “she had plans. I swear, it’s just this once.”

I sighed. “I look ridiculous,” I muttered, tugging at the seam of my off-the-shoulder black dress. “I can’t even lift my arms.”

Sarah wore the same dress, and so would all the other girls working with us tonight.

“It’s not that bad,” Sarah said dismissively. “They made us wear harlequin costumes once.”

I grimaced. “Again, I’m only doing this once.”

“Iris, stop being so dramatic,” Sarah sighed. “This’ll be fun! Plus, there’ll be rich men. You should find yourself a sugar daddy.”

I laughed. “Oh God, no. I can’t think of anything creepier. Besides, I don’t have time for that.”

Sarah shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you know you could use the money.”

Once we were ready, Sarah drove us to the party. We went inside to get briefed. After we had put our purses in lockers, all of the—identically dressed—girls were assigned specific tasks and areas to serve.

My area stretched from the fountain to the hedges at the very back of the lush garden the party would be held in. I was expected to serve hors d’oeuvres and a variety of drinks all throughout the evening, and specifically, serve champagne every hour on the hour. Sarah had warned me about how particular her dad could be about his instructions, and how it was best to follow them to a tee.

I sighed uncomfortably, and straightened out my dress. It was too short, too tight, and far more revealing than I liked. When Sarah had come to me to ask me to step in for one of the girls that had called in sick, I’d had my reservations from the get-go. Waitressing just wasn’t in my blood — I wasn’t graceful enough, was bad at balancing trays while I handed out the drinks, and didn’t even want to think about having to do the whole thing in heels too.

And the fact that my area was mostly made up of white pebble paths was just adding insult to injury.

It didn’t take long for guests to arrive. Most were older, sharply dressed men, and only a few had brought dates—presumably their wives. I glanced around for Sarah, but she was nowhere in sight. Carefully, I made my way to the bar, where four young men in white dress shirts and black slacks were mixing drinks. I grabbed one of the trays they’d set on the bar and started walking back to my area.

The walk back was horrendous—I must’ve looked like Bambi on ice, my heels sinking into the pebbles as I struggled to balance the tray without spilling anything. I silently cursed my decision to help Sarah, though I kept smiling kindly at the guests as I passed.

After a few rounds, I got the hang of it and started to relax. My trays were emptied quickly by careless hands; I didn’t even have to offer anything. Most guests didn’t bother thanking me, some of them didn’t so much as spare me a glance or halt their conversation as they took drinks or horse d’oeuvres from my tray.

I scanned the area for a clock, but none were in sight. I tried to sneak a glance at one guest’s watch, but they moved too quickly to catch the time. How was I supposed to know when to serve the champagne? I went back inside, and when I finally found a clock, I saw there were still about fifteen minutes left.

Grabbing an empty tray from the bar, I headed back out to gather the empty glasses scattered… everywhere. I cleared the cocktail tables from the fountain to the hedges, leaving only the small nook on the far side of the garden. With another tray in hand, I made my way over.

I was about to load the glasses onto my tray when I suddenly remembered the champagne. Crap, what time was it? I looked around, but there was no way to tell. I could go back to the bar, but that would waste precious time, and I was sure Sarah’s dad would notice the empty glasses I’d leave behind.

Then I remembered the clocktower we’d passed earlier. Maybe I could see it if I just… I glanced around, and seeing no one watching, I stepped onto the edge of a large stone planter and hoisted myself up to peer over the hedge.

“Plotting your escape?” a low voice called from behind, startling me so badly I lost my footing.

A pair of strong hands grabbed my waist, stopping me from falling. I whipped around to find one of the bartenders holding me, one eyebrow raised.

My breath caught as I took in his face. How had I not noticed him before? This had to be the most handsome guy I’d seen in years, maybe ever. His dark hair was casually pushed back, he had a straight nose, and the kind of lips you couldn’t help but notice, set on a clean-shaven, angular jaw. I cleared my throat awkwardly and gently pried his hands from my waist, stepping down carefully. “Just checking the time,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He gave me a long look, his eyes drifting to the planter and back to me, clearly thinking I was losing it.

“The clocktower,” I explained, “I thought I could see it from here.”

He nodded, then took off his watch and fastened it around my wrist.

“So you don’t break your neck,” he mumbled. “Careful, though, it’s expensive. Bring it back by the end of the night.”

I glanced at the watch. It didn’t look particularly expensive. Sure, the dial was intricate, maybe even vintage, but the band was leather, and I didn’t recognize the brand. It definitely wasn’t a Rolex, that much was obvious.

“What’s your name?” I asked, sliding the watch further up my arm so it fit better. “Conrad,” he said. “Thanks, Conrad. I’ll grab you some champagne. Wait—no, you’re probably not allowed to drink on the job, right?” His expression flickered with confusion for a moment.

“I think one should be fine,” he replied, tilting his head back slightly as he looked down at me. I quickly turned to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks and hurried inside to get the champagne.