Page 29

TWENTY-EIGHT

NATALIE

When I walk out onto the terrace, I spot Geoffrey Rosenberg right away. He stands at the front of the crowd, and everyone’s eyes are on the giant screen.

A woman in an elegant white suit picks up a microphone and sashays toward the screen, which is now brightly lit with the IxResearch logo.

“I’m very excited that all of you are here!” she announces, gracefully smiling at the crowd gathered in a semi-circle in front of her. “At this beautiful house, with none other than the Man of the Year himself, Geoffrey Rosenberg, the CEO of IxResearch and the mastermind behind the most successful cryptocurrency exchange.”

The crowd applauds. The older men and women in suits and dresses raise their champagne glasses. The younger guests in casual clothes whistle and clap with their hands raised above their heads.

The crowd slightly parts, letting Rosenberg step to the front, like he’s Jesus. He’s acting cool like he didn’t just slam a cupful of straight whiskey. He presses his palm to his heart, bowing gracefully with a slightly condescending half-smile.

“You all know,” the woman continues as the screen changes to stock market graphs, “that IxResearch is set to go public in two days! Which means this will be an unprecedented”—she ticks her chin up—“most powerful”—she surveys the crowd with pride—“crypto exchange venture in the history of crypto!”

The crowd bursts into more applause, mixed with whistles.

A couple of faces in the crowd are familiar—I’ve seen them on TV. There’s a guy who owns a popular social media platform. Another one just made a splash in politics.

I thought it would be a party for the almighty figures of the digital world. And it very well might be. But it looks like the almighty are a generation in their twenties. That makes me feel old. It also makes me feel like a loser, working bartending jobs while these guys rake in millions. The Scarecrow’s line comes to mind. “I wish I had a brain.”

The woman keeps talking as I scan the gathering and spot Nick. He stands at the back of the crowd, his eyes fixed on the speaker.

Of course, he’s here. No staff is allowed, but Nick is.

I walk up to him and offer a cocktail.

He shakes his head. “I’m good. I don’t drink.”

Admirable. I rarely drink, either. I’ve seen enough embarrassing behaviors of customers at work, the usual gradual spiral out of control after a number of drinks. It sort of turns you off from hard drinking.

“Non-alcoholic,” I say, motioning to the tray in my hand.

“I’m good,” he quips, barely looking at me, his eyes boring into the men in the front row.

I hate when people drool over celebrities or rich people they don’t know and are only fascinated with because they are filthy rich. I shift to stand next to Nick, studying the crowd. “Rosenberg doesn’t mind that you hang out with the guests?”

Nick snaps his head toward me, his gaze confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, staff aren’t allowed to mingle, right?”

I can tell I hurt his ego a little.

He shrugs. “I’m not just a driver,” he says, slightly hostile. “I’m his assistant. I’m his butler. His right-hand man. He’d fall apart without me.”

I bet you shine. That’s a lot of credit to take. “The guy is a millionaire, and you work for him.”

“The richest people are not necessarily the smartest. I make sure that guy stays in check. If it weren’t for me, he’d be broke, or in jail, or dead.”

“Whoa. That’s ambitious.”

Rosenberg’s loud laughter at the front jerks Nick’s head in his direction.

Rosenberg is exchanging pleasantries with the woman in the white suit. I look between him and Nick and can’t figure out if Nick is envious or too dedicated to his boss. He looks like a pet that is upset because he doesn’t get enough attention from his master.

“He’s a genius,” I repeat the words I read in an article. “Mr. Rosenberg,” I clarify.

“He’s a closet alcoholic and a womanizer,” Nick says unusually sharply.

“Harsh.”

“If it weren’t for IxResearch and this”—he motions to the mansion—“you’d never give him a second look. Am I wrong?”

He turns to me, his gaze burning.

Is he upset? Angry? Envious? I don’t blame him. It’s disheartening to put everything you have into serving others, whether an employer or a business, and not get any credit for it. I feel like he needs approval.

“Well,” I say, intentionally batting my eyelashes at him. “That’s why I saved your life.”

Nick’s expression softens, and he bursts into a hushed chuckle.

I smile back. I bet he tries hard to make it in this big world, just like me, whatever the cost. Except, knowing that Rosenberg might be a dangerous man, I’m starting to wonder what the cost is for Nick.

I scan the terrace and catch sight of Julien. He stands in the shadows, out of sight, and he’s staring at me.

“Dammit,” I mutter. “Julien is watching me like a hawk.”

Nick snorts. “Staff patrol is on. You should get back to work,” he says, his attention back on the front of the crowd.

I wish I could hang out with Nick—not in my staff uniform, but as a guest. I’ve served plenty celebrities, but I’ve never hung out with any, except for off-Broadway stars in the small theaters Cara used to work back in the day.

I start walking among the guests, deliberately making my way toward Julien. His eyes track my movements. I step up to him and offer a drink.

His gaze hardens. “You are not paid for fraternizing with the staff,” he says coldly.

I fake a smile. “Understood.”

I keep the graceful pose, my arm bent behind my back as I walk away, the fake smile plastered on my face as I offer drinks to the guests.

I return to the kitchen for another tray. Rosalie is preoccupied with opening bottles of juice. Meanwhile, I study the bottles of booze lined up on the counter. Whiskey—bingo! I take one of the tall glasses we use for sodas and iced tea and fill it with ice, then fill it to the brim with whiskey. I push a lemon slice onto the rim and stick a straw in. I place the glass on the tray with the other tall glasses, close to me, so that no one takes it, and make my way back to the terrace.

This time, I have a clear destination—Rosenberg.

At your service, sir , I say to myself, and this time, my smile is genuine.