Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I nodded, my mind already in work mode as I made my way to the ballroom.
The Godwins were like royalty on this island. They might as well have been wearing crowns since they actually owned all the land and everyone on the island were merely renters. They were our landlords… or our captors depending on who you asked.
Troy Godwin was the living patriarch and an asshole. His adult children weren’t all that bad—again, depending on who you asked—but they still scared the shit out of me.
They were haunted. No question about it. Something dark lurked inside each one of them. Apollo, Ares, and their sister Athena were three people I had no intention of ever getting to know. Something about them whispered of death and mayhem. Not that they’d ever want to become friends with the likes of me.
Heathens Hollow residents were mere peasants to them.
Unless you were one of the rich. And there were also plenty of rich who lived on this island. The rich, the famous, the powerful all mingled at these parties, and I had learned how to serve them just the way they all expected.
The room was alive with the chatter of the elite, their expensive attire and sparkling jewelry glimmering under the chandeliers. Flashes of laughter and the clinking of glasses created an atmosphere of carefree indulgence, a stark contrast to the struggles faced by my fellow islanders just beyond these gilded walls. I moved through the crowd with ease, my training as a waitress not failing me now.
As I made my way to the center of the room, I saw him. Damn.
Locke Hartwell.
My father’s best friend, and my honorary guardian since his death. Locke’s constant oversight wasn’t something I necessarily wanted or had asked for, but it had been forced upon me whether I liked it or not.
He leaned against the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand. He was dressed in a designer suit, his chiseled jaw tightening the minute he saw me. His eyes followed me through the room, before finally locking with mine. I quickly looked away and continued my service, my heart pounding in my chest.
He was a handsome man, but a stern one. His dark hair was peppered on the sides with gray, giving him a distinguished look that commanded respect. He had a presence that filled the entire ballroom, and I could feel his gaze on me the entire time I worked. I tried to ignore him, but every time I glanced in his direction, he seemed to be watching me intently with those dark brown eyes of his.
We exchanged pleasantries as we passed by each other throughout the night, but there was an unmistakable tension between us. Finally, after hours of catering to the guests’ every whim, it was time for me to go home.
Cleaning up the last of the trays, I made my way toward the kitchen when Locke called out to me.
“Storee,” he said in a low voice.
I stopped in my tracks and turned around to face him. He stood in front of me, his arms folded across his chest in a casual stance. There was something about how he looked at me that made my heart flutter and my stomach tighten up in knots.
I was in trouble.
I’d known he’d be pissed. He was always angry when I worked these events and he’d caught me. He thought the job was beneath me, and he also hated me mingling with ‘these people.’ Even though he was one of them and mingled with all.
“Hello, Locke.” I placed the tray of old hors d’oeuvres down on the bar.
Locke was well into middle age but showed absolutely no signs of either an encroaching paunch or a rapidly surrendering hairline. If anything, he was looking leaner and meaner than ever since my father’s death. I was beginning to think he lived on hot black coffee or whiskey and not much else.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” His piercing brown eyes stared at me, and I could feel the weight of his concern as he watched. There was something both comforting and intimidating about his presence; a sense of authority that demanded obedience but also promised protection.
I shook my head and sighed. “I need the money, Locke. We’ve had this discussion a million times.”
“That’s no reason to slave away for these people,” he replied, his face looking more aged than before. He wasn’t the type to mince words. “You’ve got a trust fund. You don’t need this.”
“I’m not taking your money,” I shot back.
“It was your father’s.”
I rolled my eyes and patted his arm, eager to move on to the next topic. “We both know that’s a lie.” His eyes burned into me as if he could read my mind. I gave him a weak smile. “This is a good job.”