“I’m just delivering this to the kitchen,” I said, in as confident a tone as I could muster. I felt like throwing up. The only thing holding me back was the thought of ruining a two thousand dollar cake with puke.
“Right. The kitchen.” The girl rolled her eyes, and Blondie dissolved into giggles. I turned my head to look away from them.
Bad idea. From so high up, the people down on the street looked like ants. The cars looked like tiny Hot Wheels versions of themselves. And I was way, way too high up.
“Scared of heights?”
I looked up to see another one of the supermodels whispering at me. She didn’t look like she was making fun of me, though. Heck, she looked just as green around the gills as I did.
“Yeah,” I said. “A little. You?”
“I’m terrified of heights,” she said. I noticed then that her hands were clutching the rail. Her fingers were white with pressure.
“It’s alright,” I said. “They probably spent a million dollars on this elevator. No way would it ever break and send us all flying down to our deaths. It would be a publicity nightmare. Right?”
Her mouth dropped open. She stared at me in terror. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the most comforting thing ever to say. Fortunately, the elevator stopped just then and the doors opened. I felt my heart rise back up into my chest as I tottered shakily out of the elevator.
“Alright,” I said to myself, trying to get my head back into the game. “Deliver the cake. Deliver the—”
As I walked out into the top-floor penthouse, I forgot all about what I was here to do. My legs stopped working and I just stood there gaping. There really were no words for it, but one of my mom’s old phrases came into my head and so that’s what came out of my mouth.
“Jesus’s jumping jelly beans!”
***
I stared out across a huge room. Every square inch of the place glittered and shone. Crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, sending their glowing light out onto the floor that hummed with hundreds of people, all dressed in evening gowns and tuxedos. Something about it seemed strange to me, but I was too much in awe to figure it out. The art on the walls. The servers gliding through the masses of chatting partygoers.
And the ice sculptures!
Near me, a towering ice sculpture arched over the hallway. It was an angel wrestling with a demon, and their hands were locked together as they stared into each other’s eyes. It was gorgeous, a sculptural masterpiece. It should have been in the museum of contemporary art, but instead here it was, melting in some rich guy’s apartment. Nobody was even looking at it!
Another man in a tuxedo was talking to the supermodels, and when he saw me he motioned me over angrily.
“Sign in here before you go inside,” he said, pointing to another clipboard. “Leave your ID in this case with me. And put on a collar.”
He held out a red leather collar in my direction. I just stared at him. Apart from having both of my hands occupied with holding a cake, I was totally weirded out by his request.
A collar?
That was when I realized what was weird about the party going on. All of the women were wearing collars. I gazed around. Some of the women had thin black bands around their necks. Others had chunky gold collars ornamented with diamond studs. And the supermodels were all fitting collars around their necks, too.
“What the heck?” I murmured. Was this some sort of bondage orgy thing for millionaires? I had no idea what was going on.
The man looked like he wanted to send me back down the elevator, or perhaps throw me off of a balcony to get me away from him sooner. Fortunately, the supermodels spoke up.
“She’s not with us,” the bitchy blond girl interrupted.
“Yeah,” her friend echoed. “She’s going to the kitchen.”
The man frowned at me.
“Cake delivery,” I explained, holding up Steph’s creation.
“Yes, yes,” the man said, clearly irritated at having to deal with me. “Down the hall and to your left. But leave through the servants’ exit, please.”
I didn’t bother asking him where the servants’ exit was. It would be easier to just ask someone once I got to where I was supposed to be going. I turned around and exhaled, thankful that I didn’t have to deal with collars or supermodels anymore.
Me? I was just delivering a cake.
Chapter Four
I wandered off underneath the ice sculpture of the angel and demon. The ice was melting, and water dripped off of the ends of the angel’s wings. Passing through, I continued walking along the outskirts of the party, the cake box clasped in my hand.
The hallway led out of the main room. As I walked away, the noise of the party grew quiet. Here, the hall was paneled with thick oak. Crushed velvet drapes framed sculptures—these ones made out of a more permanent marble—and the ceiling was vaulted with gilded wood ornamentation. Whoever this rich guy was, he had a taste for antique design.