Page 1 of Imperial: The Corvidae Family
Chapter
One
Baylyn Andrews.
The sound of conversation blended with the soft clink of crystal glassware as servers weaved between guests. Their trays were balanced. The ballroom was laid, thanks to me. Soft lighting, satin-draped tables, and a string quartet played in the far corner. Everything about tonight had to be perfect, and of course, it was my job to make sure that happened.
I shifted my iPad under my arm as I scanned the room for anything out of place. The Kingston Foundation Gala was one of our biggest events of the season, and my boss, Tae, had spent the past two weeks making sure every detail was locked in. Once she had her vision, it was up to me to ensure it was properlyexecuted. Tonight, I was in charge of making sure none of the VIP guest had a reason to complain.
I moved through the ballroom doing a mental check to make sure things were running smoothly. The guests who attended these functions were always the same. Rich and privileged.
I had to be on my shit because I worked enough high-end events to know that wealth made people feel entitled. If their wine wasn’t the exact vintage they requested or their seats weren’t where they wanted, they would act like the world was ending. My job wasn’t just to make sure the event ran smoothly but to make these people feel important. Anything they had an issue with meant a complaint was sent to my boss and I wasn’t trying to have those type of problems.
While doing my walk through I spotted Cami making a beeline for me from across the room. Like the rest of the staff, her black uniform separated her from the attendees. Cami was one of the few people at work I genuinely liked because she was unfiltered and just as over these kinds of people as I was.
When she approached her voice was low and laced with irritation. “Baylyn, we have an issue at table six.”
I groaned internally because here the fuck we go. “Of course we do. What now?”
Cami grinned sensing that I was just as annoyed. “Entitled guests and misplaced name cards. You know, the usual, ‘y’all can’t get shit right and I paid a lot of money for you not to kiss my ass’ type stuff.”
I followed her through the maze of tables, dodging a server balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres. By the time we reached table six, they were already on ten thousand. A man in a navy suit was throwing his hands in the air and his damn face was tight. As soon as we were close he started going in.
“I specifically requested to be seated near James Morrow, not two tables away. This is completely unacceptable.”
I barely glanced at the name card in front of him before handing him a professional smile. “Mr. Carlton, I understand your concern and I sincerely apologize for the mix-up. If you’ll allow me a moment, I’ll see what adjustments can be made.”
He scowled, clearly unimpressed. He wasn’t necessarily angry but wanted to flex his status by making a scene. Men like him wanted to be seen, catered to, and reassured that they mattered more than everyone else in the room.
I turned to Cami. “Morrow is at table three. Can we switch him with someone at table three? As long as it won’t create a new disaster…”
“Yep, got it covered.” Cami flashed a smile and asked Carlton to follow her.
Crisis averted…for now.
I barely had a second to breathe before the next issue surfaced.
A server passed by, whispering, “Ms. Andrews, we have a guest requesting the 1947 Château Cheval Blanc, but we only have the 1955.”
“I’ll take care of it.” I huffed.
I scanned the room until I found the guest I needed to sweet talk. At table three I located a petite woman in a red dress who hadn’t touched her food but had been blazing through wine all night. She was about ten seconds from tossing everything off the table.
I wish the fuck she would…
I recognized her immediately. Vivian Ellis had been to multiple functions we organized and had a reputation for being entitled and rude. She was always ‘watching her figure’ so her focus was always centered around whatever alcohol was being served.
Drunk ass…
I stepped next to her seat with a neutral expression and suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Ms. Ellis, I understand you requested the 1947 Château Cheval Blanc, and I truly apologize, but our selection tonight only includes the 1955 vintage.”
She looked me up and down with disgust in her expression like I had personally sabotaged her evening. “Unacceptable. Do you have any idea how different the 1955 tastes compared to the 1947?”
I did. But I wasn’t about to get into a wine connoisseur debate with a woman who would probably still drink it if I just lied and told her it was what she requested.
“I completely understand,” I said calmly. “Would you like for our sommelier to bring over an alternate? I’m sure we have something you might enjoy just as much.”
“Yes, and I’ll be sure to reach out to Tae to let her know how disappointed I am.”
