Page 1 of Our Forbidden Romance 1

“Noneof you better mess up tonight or I swear to God I will fire you in front of everyone,” Colin, our boss, warns us.

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, and I am sure I am not the only one. My boss is an asshole! I need to keep myself in check because I can’t afford to lose my job. Most of us are in the same position. We are catering some fancy event, and I am part of the waiting staff. Tonight’s event is the engagement of some wealthy couple, a couple I’ve seen in business magazines and tabloids. The woman is a socialite and the guy is some businessman and the son of one of the richest families in America. Needless to say, it’s going to be busy. I hate working events like these. The people are always so damn rude and arrogant, well, at least 90% of them anyway.

Colin barks his orders at everyone, “Alana, Lucy, and Damon, you are in charge of the champagne for now, but after the meal it will change.”

No! It’s the worst thing for me to be doing because I can be pretty clumsy. “Yes, boss,” I reply sweetly, even if I feel like punching the son-of-a-bitch in the face.

I remind myself I only need to put up with his shit for another year until I can finish my degree in business management. And when I find a position in that sort of environment, I refuse to become an asshole like most of them.

“Get to it!” Colin snaps, clapping his hands at us.

The three of us grab a tray of champagne. Damon heads out first with Lucy and I behind him.

“God, he is such a fucking asshole!” she groans. I wholeheartedly nod in agreement.

We enter the grand ballroom. It has a patterned oak floor. The ceiling is rather high, with a massive chandelier that looks like an upside-down tiered cake. On the off-white walls are glass lights, making it brighter too. The tables are arranged with floral centre pieces, it looks so soft and understated. The cutlery, china and glassware are already set, with fancy napkins holding names of guests. I can only imagine how much it cost to rent this room for the night. Some serious money there I'd say.

Everyone is dressed up. The men are wearing tailored suits and the women are in beautiful designer dresses with their hair and make-up flawlessly done, and diamonds dripping from their perfumed necks and ears.

“See you on the other side if we survive the night.” Lucy laughs as we head in separate directions.

While working the room I smile politely as I offer drinks, some guests take one yet don’t have the decency to say thank you. Rude fuckers. I recognise some of them from tabloids, business magazines, and online sites.

“Excuse me. I will take one,” I hear an emotionless voice say from behind me.

“Sure, sir,” I say as I turn. When I come face-to-face with who the voice belongs to, I swallow hard. He is so handsome. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, slicked back dark-brown hair, and bright, blue eyes. A perfectly sculpted jaw, lips that are amazingly symmetrical, and not to mention look incredibly kissable. A fitted black suit covers his muscular body, a crisp white shirt is underneath with a blue tie and matching pocket square, and gold cuff links. This man screams wealth.

“Has no one ever told you it is rude to stare?” he says sharply, snapping me out of the trance I had fallen into. I try to make eye contact with him, only to find he is looking me up and down.

“Sorry, sir,” I reply. I’m so embarrassed I was caught staring and feel my cheeks and neck heat up.

He doesn’t say anything, instead he turns his back on me. “Just like it’s rude not to say thank you,” I mutter under my breath as I walk away. Douche! A sexy one, but a douche all the same.

I do the rounds until the tray has nothing but empty glasses. I take it back to the kitchen, then lift another one with more champagne. I will probably do this at least twenty times or more tonight. My feet will be throbbing by the time I arrive home.

“Waitress,” I hear a snotty voice from behind me, snapping her fingers at me. Seriously? Who does that? I roll my eyes before turning to her.

“Yes?” I ask sweetly. I don’t know who she is, but she is glaring at me.

“I want a different drink. Get me a Manhattan,” she demands, clicking her fingers at me.

“Sorry, I am only serving champagne. If you want a different drink you need to get it from the bar.” I am not a damn personal barmaid.

“It is your job to cater to the guests, so get to it.” Oh, hell no! She didn’t just talk to me like that.

“As I said, miss, it isn’t my job to fetch you a drink,” I reply through gritted teeth, clenching my jaw and trying my best not to snap at her. She huffs, stomping her foot like a child. God, she is pathetic.

“Is there an issue here?” a familiar voice asks. Oh my God! The man from earlier has just joined us and is resting his hand on the small of the blonde’s back.

“Yes. I want a drink, andshewon’t get it for me,” she complains, her voice seething with venom when she refers to me.

“I am not a barmaid. If you want another drink, you can get it from the bar,” I repeat for what feels like the tenth time.

“Ezra! Are you going to let her talk to me in such a manner,” she whines. I shudder. Her voice sounds like nails scraping down a chalkboard.

Ezra glances up at me, and I prepare myself for whatever is coming my way. “Bella, she can only serve what she is instructed to serve.” I am taken back by his response because I thought he was going to go off at me.

“You are taking her side? Screw you, Ezra,” Bella complains before she storms off.

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