Page 12 of Chosen By a Billionaire (Rags to Romance #24)

The Shalimar building fit in perfectly with the enormous skyscrapers that populated the luxurious Midtown Manhattan street. They didn’t call it Billionaire’s Row for the hell of it, Jayda thought. Every time she was in that area, she understood the name.

She had to park her e-bike nearly a block away, but the walk did her good.

They didn’t mention any dress code, but she was going to be prepared just in case.

She wasn’t stepping up into a place like The Shalimar in jeans and a t-shirt even if she was going to be a server.

She wore a pair of dark, skinny-legged slacks, a tucked in sleeveless peach-colored blouse, and a dark blazer: the style she used to sport when she worked as an executive assistant.

If they had a uniform waiting for her, that would be fine too.

But just because she was going in as a waitress, that didn’t mean she had to look the part.

The African-American doorman recognized her from all those days she rode by on her bike, and he smiled at her when she walked up. “I thought that bike was attached to you,” he said and they both laughed. “How you doing, little lady?”

“I’m good. How are you?”

“My feet killing me. But what do they care, right?”

“You know it.” She was waiting for him to open the door.

When he realized she was waiting, he was surprised. “You going in?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh no. No no. They don’t allow outside deliveries in this here building.

Somebody gave you wrong information.” He was looking down at her hands and was confused, she could tell, when he didn’t see some sort of bag or package in her hand: Just her oversized shoulder bag with its strap slanted across her chest.

But she didn’t blame him. He knew what she was.

But Raymond warned her not to go around to the servants’ entrance since that was reserved, he claimed, for the on-the-payroll workers employed by the various households inside that building.

She was to go to the front desk and say just two words and the staff would take it from there.

He never mentioned she would need to say those two words to the doorman too.

“I’m expected,” she said to the doorman.

At first he looked at her as if she was joking.

Then he realized she wasn’t. “Oh!” And just like that his look changed, and she wasn’t the little lady he enjoyed waving at anymore.

He quickly opened the door for her. “Have a nice evening, madam,” he said to her with a slight bow the way he said to all those other “ladies” that walked through that door.

Jayda should have felt good that he was at least respectful.

But she didn’t. She felt bad for him. He always viewed her as beneath him.

As just a nobody gig worker while he had a real, steady, stable job with benefits.

And he was more than twice her age on top of it.

But yet he, undoubtedly, had never been “expected” before.

She could see that bitterness in his eyes as she walked past him and went inside.

Once she walked in, it felt as if she was stepping into a dream.

It was even more grand than she had imagined.

She couldn’t stop looking up at the beautiful ceiling and chandeliers and all the pure richness inside that lobby.

She tried not to look out of place, but she realized at once she automatically did. The lady at the front desk proved it.

First Jayda had to stand in line as two other people were waited on. Both gave their names, the woman looked them up on the computer, and then she motioned toward the elevators and they headed in that direction. Jayda hoped she would be given such an easy pass too.

“May I help you?” the desk clerk asked.

It wasn’t her tone. That was pleasant enough. And she even had a smile on her face when she spoke. But her eyes gave her away.

But Jayda could be a firebrand herself. She wasn’t about to let that woman’s bad manners get her down. “Yes, ma’am, you can certainly help me. I have a---” She caught herself. She almost said gig. “I’m expected,” she remembered to say.

The woman at first seemed as if she knew she was in the wrong entrance.

As if she desperately wanted to tell Jayda that she needed to go back out of those doors, hook a left, and go down to the servants’ entrance.

To go down . But Jayda had a look about her too.

A look that told non-street-savvy ladies like that desk clerk that she was not to be trifled with.

“Your name?” the woman ultimately said.

“Jayda with a y .”

The woman frowned. “Jaday?”

Jayda wanted to roll her eyes. “No ma’am. Jayda. J-A-Y-D-A. My last name is Robinson.”

The woman exhaled as if it was such a bother to her, and then she began pressing buttons on her computer and looking at a screen Jayda couldn’t see.

But when it took longer than a few seconds, Jayda began to get worried.

It was two weeks ago when she was invited to work this party.

Maybe they forgot, or forgot to tell the front desk.

Maybe they changed their minds and they had enough servers after all.

What if she would have gone to all of this trouble, taking the night off from the restaurant, and would make no money at all?

She’d already cashed that advance check, but she was determined not to touch of dime of it until after tonight.

But if they canceled on her and tried to demand that money back when it wasn’t her fault that they didn’t want her anymore, she was going to lose it. That just might become the straw that would break it for Jayda.

Then the woman began typing. “They have your first name spelled without the y.” Then she looked at Jayda. “May I see some identification, please?”

Jayda knew she hadn’t asked the others to produce their papers, but she produced them anyway. She had too much to lose to get into some tiff with a clerk. She pulled out her driver’s license and showed it to the woman. The woman then nodded. “Thank you, Miss Robinson. You may go up.”

Jayda started to ask go up where, but she didn’t want to give that woman the satisfaction. But she would never let her pride get in the way of her common sense. She had no earthly idea where she was going. “Which apartment, ma’am?” she asked the woman.

But the clerk only motioned toward the elevator again. “Have a nice evening,” she said and looked past Jayda at the man standing behind her.

Jayda wanted to lash out. She wanted to tell that heifer about herself. But she wasn’t about to put on a show for anybody that night.

She clutched her big shoulder bag tighter against her small frame and walked over to the elevator the woman had motioned toward.

As soon as she got to the elevator, the door opened and a very serious-looking man, the elevator operator, motioned for her to come onboard.

“Good evening, Miss Robinson,” he said with a slight bow.

Jayda was shocked to hear him say her name, but given where she was, she should not have been shocked at all.

Her name was on that computer that somehow the elevator operator, probably through some P.A.

system or some other communicative device, could tap into too. This was how the rich folks rolled!

“I’m not sure which floor,” she said to him after she got onboard, but he ignored her the way the desk clerk had ignored her and he pressed the button that closed the doors.

And just like that she not only felt nervous, but insignificant too.

Invisible again. She wanted to shrink into herself.

She could have bought in to how they saw her too, but she didn’t.

Something inside of her wouldn’t let her.

She stood straight-back and looked ahead.

He knew her name, surely he knew her floor too.

She was going to shut up and enjoy the ride.

But that wasn’t her style either.

“ They not like us,” she joked out loud as they rode up. She was certain that the operator, another older black man, wasn’t about to get the joke. But when he glanced back at her and smiled, and then nodded his agreement, she laughed.

And even though he turned back around and got serious again, that little gesture let her know how to approach that night: not with fear and nervousness.

Not giving in to intimidation either. Because whether they liked it or not, she was going to be her authentic self.

She wasn’t going to do any shrinking away.

She wasn’t going to minimize herself just to make a much-needed buck.

She was going to do the work and get it done to the very best of her abilities, but she wasn’t compromising her values in the process.

She reclaimed her power and felt better already.

But as the elevator took her and its operator all the way up to what she saw on the buttons was the penthouse apartment, all of her big thoughts of reclaiming power and not giving into fear crashed back down to earth.

The penthouse ? This dinner party was going to be held at the most exclusive residence in that entire exclusive building?

And they wanted her as a server? She could hardly believe it.

But it apparently was true. But the penthouse ? That got to her. She couldn’t lie. She was already feeling intimidated.

When the elevator doors opened again, the operator motioned for her to get off. All she saw was a long corridor that led to gigantic double doors. She headed for the doors.

But before she could ring the bell, the doors were opened by Allan, Harrison’s house manager. “Welcome, Miss Robinson,” he said. “Please enter.” He stepped aside to allow her passage through.

Jayda looked down at the doormat to wipe her feet, a normal habit she had before entering people’s houses, but there were no doormats in that world. She walked on in.