The Billionaire's Wife(8)
“Melissa? Everything okay?” The head caterer nearly tackles me as I reach the top of the stairs.
“Oh, yes, sorry. I was just looking for some extra bottles of champagne in case we need them later.” She rolls her eyes. “Let me tell you, Melissa. These people drink champagne as if it came from a water fountain.”
“Tell me about it,” I lean in and lower my voice “last time I was here I had to go down to the basement and get extras. I just figured tonight I’d be prepared.”
“Oh, was that last week?”
“Yeah, although all these events seem to be the exact same thing for different charities and causes. Same people, same decorations, same food…” The middle aged woman flashes me a smile.
“Honey, last week was a little something special, this week they’re on a tighter budget.” Tighter budget or not it is still more than I can imagine having in my bank account, spent on one night of indulgence.
“Wait, special? Why was it special?”
“You didn’t see Mr. Lambert? He doesn’t usually attend these kinds of things, too busy with his big corporation and all that, you see. Last week though he made an appearance, it was something to do with a business contract or so I heard. Gotta put in an appearance, you know how that stuff works.” I don’t actually know how that stuff works but I have a feeling that she thinks I’m much older than I actually am.
“Oh, so he’s not here tonight?” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice; I can only hope that she doesn’t notice.
“No, he’s off on his private jet or in his big office down in the city,” she starts laughing a laugh that I find somewhat distasteful considering what she says next, “probably counting his money or something.” I smile a half-hearted smile and decide that if I can’t find my new obsession by “accident” then I will damn well seek him out.
“Hah, yeah, probably. Where is his office anyway? I bet it’s a huge building if this place is anything to go by.” She raises her eyebrow at me with a smirk.
“Going to go track him down are you?”
“Yeah, and ask him to marry me!” I laugh to emphasize that I’m obviously kidding and she joins me.
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“It’s only the biggest building in the city darlin’, you’d never miss it.” She starts walking back towards the oven before turning back to me, “Just keep me in mind when you get in on those billions of dollars.”
I want to walk out of the door, get in my car and drive down to the biggest building in the city right now. I want to tell Gideon Lambert that I was expecting to see him again when one of his representatives called and offered me the job. He had to be the reason that I got the job anyway, I mean, huge estate representatives don’t call to offer charity server positions. But if he knew he wouldn’t be there then why the hell would he go to the trouble of setting that up? I make a mental note to ask him when I finally do track him down again, and I start trying to come up with a reason as to why he set me up with the job. I bet that righteous bastard felt sorry for me. I feel anger beginning to rise. How dare he feel sorry for me. Besides, what the hell kind of contacts did he think these stiffs were going to be? They didn’t give me the time of day the last time I was here. My hands start to shake and my jaw is clenched so hard it hurts. I will not stay at this charity charity job to give him the satisfaction of handing me work.
Reaching in to my pocket I grab my car keys and walk out of the back door.
Chapter Six
The caterer sure wasn’t kidding when she said that it was the tallest building in the city. Covered in huge glass panels the building stands at least ten floors above every other building and it even has its own valet, who only looked too happy to take my car as soon as I pulled up. The main foyer has the biggest receptionist’s desk I have ever seen with a wall of televisions behind it, all broadcasting news from around the world.
“Can I help you, Miss?” Something about the way the receptionist said “miss” made me want to slap her, as though she was talking to a schoolgirl.
“Yes,” I look at her name badge, a shiny silver oval with her name ‘Olivia’ topped with the word’s “Lambert Enterprises” in bold blue letters, “Olivia, you can help me. I would like to see Mr. Lambert.” I try to sound firm and confident but it’s obvious that she’s not buying it.
“Well, would you have an appointment?” My nerves are now completely been replaced by sheer irritation.