Page 236 of Heresy

“Are you lost? Food and beverage services are set up in the back kitchen area. They can give you a uniform there.”

The bartender makes a point to look at the drink I have in hand.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking either. It’s tough being new. We all make mistakes.”

I’m deflated instantly. My self-confidence gone now that he not-so-delicately stated the obvious.

Women like me don’t belong here.

Not unless we’re in uniform serving finger foods and drinks on a silver tray.

I pull my wrist from his hold and refuse to respond.

Stepping away, I look for a spot I might be able to hide better, but with as open as the space is, this narrow side walkway seems like as good a place as any.

Leaning back against the wall, I sip my champagne and watch the crowd of people mingle. Every so often, I get a nasty look. It just forces me to lift my pinky while taking another sip to be their form of proper.

Sometimes I smile.

Most times I smirk.

Only because the husband’s reactions are entirely different from the wives.

I feel sorry for them, really. Only because how boring must your life be to become so preoccupied with one person that doesn’t fit how you see the world?

There aren’t rules in place for every person. And not all of us were shaped from the same mold. I prefer to see a blend of unique style and personality, a rainbow of different people who add flavor to an otherwise unforgiving reality.

Or maybe most of the problem is that the women who scowl in my direction believe I should be on the other side of some imaginary line. Probably washing their dishes or doing their laundry. Not out here among the refined and classy.

All their reactions tell me is that none of them have any taste.

Just as I finish talking myself down from flicking off one prissy bitch in particular, a man rushes by me, his foot just catching mine so that he trips but manages to stay on his feet.

He turns to me and I peek up at him from beneath my lashes, my heart double tapping my ribcage in a hurried jolt because he’s absolutely breathtaking.

I mean that in the literal sense.

My lungs refuse to function for as long as it takes him to stare back at me, his trailing gaze slowing on a few key places in his assessment of my body.

I stare in return and note his brown eyes, and dark hair. The tux he wears is perfectly tailored to a body that is strong in all the right places, and slim where it matters.

Eh, fuck it. I check out the bulge since he stared at my tits, and yep. He’s a definite keeper.

The man flashes me a quick smile and moves along toward the open doors at the back of the mansion, casting one last glance back as he walks outside.

“Good lord,” I whisper under my breath. I’ve counted four hotties, at least, and I haven’t bothered to wander out to where the largest crowd gathers.

Curious, I push away from the wall to do just that. I know Brinley told me not to wander, but I can’t help myself. I need to see just how many gorgeous men are attending this party.

I barely make it two steps before a shoulder bumps into mine.

Turning my head, I expect to meet eyes with some pretentious bitch, her permascowl in place simply at the thought of having touched someone like me. But instead, I’m floored again. Stunned silent and my feet are locked in place.

If the others were simply gorgeous, this one is fashioned by the gods. Most definitely in their likeness. A perfect specimen, despite the minute scars that mark his perfect skin.

His amber gaze peers over at me curiously, his head tilting just enough that I can tell he’s not quite sure about my presence at the party, but doesn’t exactly mind it either.

So infatuated with his eyes, I don’t take the time to glance anywhere but at his face. High cheekbones are blades beneath a hard stare, darkness rolling behind the beautiful color that mimics what I see in my own eyes when looking in the mirror.

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