Chapter 3 - The Aftermath
The music didn't return. The party was effectively over. Within ten minutes, the three hundred elite guests had quietly trickled out of the ballroom, desperate to escape the blast radius of a Moretti family scandal.
I stood near the shattered glass of my dropped serving tray, clutching my empty tray against my apron, wondering if I should pack my things and sneak out through the kitchen before security remembered I was still there.
“You.”
I jumped, turning around to find Lorenzo Moretti standing just a few feet away. Up close, his presence was overwhelming. His dark eyes possessed an intensity that felt as though he could read every secret I had ever kept.
“Yes?” I managed, keeping my chin up despite my racing heart.
“You stood between her and Vanessa,” Lorenzo noted, his tone neutral, neither praising nor condemning. “Knowing you’re a waitress working the catering staff. Knowing what kind of people attend these galas.”
“I didn't care who she was,” I replied honestly. “Nobody deserves to be humiliated like that, especially by someone who thinks money gives them the right to treat human beings like dirt.”
Eleanor Moretti stepped up beside her son, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. She looked at me with warm, glistening eyes. “Thank you, my dear. You saved an old woman from a very public embarrassment.”
“It was nothing, Mrs. Moretti,” I said softly.
Lorenzo pulled a sleek black business card from his breast pocket and held it out toward me. Between his fingers, the heavy cardstock gleamed with embossed silver lettering: Lorenzo Moretti – Managing Director, Moretti Capital Holdings.
“Take it,” he instructed.
“Mr. Moretti, I don't need a tip, and I’m not looking for charity—”
“It’s not charity,” Lorenzo interrupted, his voice dropping into a smooth, hypnotic register. “It’s an interview. Report to my office on Park Avenue tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp. Don't be late.”
May you like
Before I could formulate a single protest, he turned, offered his arm to his mother, and walked out of the ballroom through a private exit, leaving me standing alone among the sparkling shards of broken glass.
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