Page 8 of The Princess and the Fraud

“Sorry for distracting your worker, Brian,” she said, boldly using his first name. When she slid past him, she patted his breast pocket. “I’ll leave you to scold her for chattering on the clock.”

Before she ducked from the room, she winked at me.

I glanced up at the clock that hung on the wall while Mr. Roberts hovered like an anxious bird. “Everything okay?” I regretted the question the second it slid out.

“We have… special guests.”

So Caroline’ssourceswere worth their salt. “The charity figureheads?”

“They showed up unannounced to tour the grounds. Again. Brought some planning team and interior decorators with them.” Mr. Roberts closed his eyes. “Mrs. Conan specifically told them not to come on weekends, that there are parties booked?—”

“Theydoown the place. She can’t really tell them not to do anything.”

The look Mr. Roberts shot me was nothing short ofare you crazy?Just as I had a moment ago, he glanced around, as if he thought Mrs. Conan was going to spawn like some final boss in the corner of the kitchen. “The board is having their meeting in the courtyard,” he fretted. “What if they come by and overhear? And the music hall—after so many times of telling them we can’t find the key, they’ll hire a locksmith. It’s a miracle they haven’t already.”

The Du Ponte Music Hall. It’d been the charity’s main focus ever since the building went into their name. It made sense; they were amusiccharity, after all. They were eager to take their first peek inside, foiling the Alderton-Du Ponte board’s renovation plans. The charity owners seemed too laid-back to purposefully step on anyone’s toes, which I assumed was why they hadn’t forced their way in yet, but it wouldn’t be long until their patience ran out.

Many people hated their bosses, but I didn’t mind Mr. Roberts. He was quite nice compared to the other higher ups at the club. Quirky. Made a bad call here and there—like calling me in to be on set up duty with a serving rotation immediately after—but still a decent guy.

But, good God, he needed to get a grip. “Where are the charity people now?”

“Touring the workout facility.”

The workout facility was on the opposite end of the country club, closer to the golf course. It wasn’t Rhythms of Hope’s first time touring Alderton-Du Ponte, of course, but I suspected it was less about seeing the facility and more about reminding the board of directors of their presence.

“Tell them there’s a private party in the garden, so they can’t tour this area,” I said to Mr. Roberts, topping off the final pour of champagne before beginning to arrange my tray. The excuse of a private party would save them from Mrs. Conan and the potential carnage that’d come from twenty mimosa-drunk elites. “As for the music hall, tell them you’ll hire a locksmith to come out next week.”

Mr. Roberts gave his arms a helpless flap. “Mrs. Conan said that the music hall is off-limits?—”

“It’s a Saturday. When they ask again next week, tell them there wasn’t a locksmith open, and you’dforgottento call on Monday. Wait until they ask again.” I peered at him. “And take a breath. You’re getting shiny.”

He rubbed a hand over where the fluorescent lights reflected off his bald head. “That sort of thinking is what makes you the Staff Princess, you know.”

Staff Princess.Princess of Alderton-Du Ponte.Or, more commonly, just straight upPrincess. The nickname had originated from Caroline, of all people, years ago. Before, the nickname had made me feel important—like even though I was a staff member, I was a special one.

Now, hearing it merely made me tired. It meant more work. It didn’t help that it’d made its way into my coworkers’ vocabulary, though it always dripped with sarcasm.

“Speaking of,” I began slowly, staring at my tray. It held about twenty flutes—plastic, of course, since these ladies in their heels truly struggled with gravity once they were two glasses deep—and I eased it up into the flat of my hand carefully. “Have you had a chance to bring up the Christmas bonuses to the board?”

Every year, Alderton-Du Ponte gave its top employees a Christmas bonus. Every year, I’d always been in the top. I busted my butt to make sure of it.

But since the chaos of Rhythms of Hope taking over the country club, the bonuses had been low on the list of the board’s priorities. Hence why it was March and theystillhadn’t gone out.

“With everything going on, it slipped my mind.” Mr. Roberts rubbed a palm against his forehead, smearing the sweat. “Monday, I’ll bring it up to the board.”

I wondered if he realized he just used the lie I’d told him to use with the charity. Mr. Roberts couldn’t tell a fib to a superior to save his life, but to his staff, he could lie through his teeth.

Tray in hand, I made my way outside, heading out to face the mimosa-hungry music.

Alderton-Du Ponte oozed money. Three pools, three tennis courts, two pickleball courts, an eighteen-hole golf course, a hotel attached to the property. It was a section of Connecticut that left no question whether or not the clubgoers had full pockets. Those who worked here got a snippet of prestige, enough to taste but never to fully indulge.

I could remember my first day, staring at the resort-like property like a country girl seeing the city for the first time. The way the staff moved around like clockwork inside had stunned me further, and I remember thinking, in the midst of my grief and despair,this place is a dream.

The serving tray weighed heavily in my right hand with my fingers splayed along the bottom. My strides were confident and sure, the liquid in the flutes barely even shifting. Though being on serving rotation wasn’t my only duty, the frequency with which Iwasput on the floor made me a good waitress. But I was also a good set-up worker, a good receptionist, and a good lifeguard.

I was the jack of all trades at Alderton-Du Ponte.

Alderton-Du Ponte’s Princess.

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