I rushed from the staff area throwing open the old heavy door into the club. I was still trying to adjust the hem of my dress in my haste, and it seemed reluctant to cooperate. I really needed to get a new wardrobe, but the old, borrowed black skater dress with a scoop-neck would have to do for now until I could afford to buy my own LBD.

The door behind me clattered shut as if in disapproval of my hasty treatment of it. The noise echoed across the relatively quiet lounge drawing far too much attention in my direction.

I was perhaps ten minutes late, but the last thing I needed was to announce my arrival. I hadn’t seen Mr. Donatello yet, the rather strict and overbearing bar manager. I could not afford to get into any trouble, I needed this job so badly, and he had quite the opinion on punctuality. He was like a power hungry school principal with nothing else to occupy his time but to travel the halls—or in my case the bars—waiting to pounce on unsuspecting tardy cocktail waitresses.

Rounding the corner to the bar itself, believing I was in the clear, I was confronted with him. Speak of the devil and he’ll appear, I thought with a groan.

He was about to leave through the main doors on his usual prowling inspection of all the hotel’s bars. The Millennium hotel was quite a massive complex with several drinking establishments but of course, it would be my luck that he would start here in the “Little Black Dress”, the most exclusive and elegant of them all.

Maximo Donatello saw me and stopped, turned to me tapping his watch. I cursed, if only I’d been five or fifteen minutes late he may have never even seen me or realized my absence. But my noisy entrance and flustered manner was a dead giveaway.

“Sorry, Mr. Donatello,” I said, quietly pausing in front of him, “it won’t happen again.”

“Let’s see that it doesn’t, Peach. Because this will most certainly be appearing on your appraisal next week. You’re still only a temp remember!”

“I understand, Mr. Donatello.”

I edged my way past him towards the bar. He thankfully seemed content with my capitulation and left without any further remark on the matter. At the bar I was met by my favorite colleague April, she was watching Maximo leave and rolled her eyes as I approached.

“You’ll get your hide tanned if you’re not careful,” she said mockingly.

“I know right? That guy is an asshole.”

“Where have you been anyhow?” she asked.

“Don’t tell anyone, but actually I was downstairs. Did you see the ballroom?” I asked with a giddy whisper.

“Yeah, I guess, there was a massive wedding yesterday, they’re still trying to clear the place up.”

“It looked amazing, I couldn’t resist taking a peek.”

“Wow, you really are obsessed aren’t you? Anything wedding related and you lose your tiny little mind. You’re in the wrong job, kiddo.

“Don’t I know it.”

“I hope you weren’t stealing anything.”

“Oh, I’m not that bad. I’m not a klepto. I just got a little distracted is all.”

The cough from behind the bar broke up our conversation as Mike, tonight’s bartender, slid over two drinks.

“Scotch for table three,” he said to April.

“Thanks, Mike,” said April, before turning to me. “Actually, would you mind? I haven’t had my break yet and I’m dead on my feet. Table four will probably be ready for another round as well, but watch yourself they are getting a little rowdy.”

“No worries, babe,” I replied, picking up a tray and collecting the drinks. It was the least I could do. April had been the one to lend me the work-dress I’d needed as well as get my foot in the door. She was an out of work actress like me, so we stuck together and looked out for each other.

Across the room I could already see the brewing agitation at table four. There were five guys around the small table and their voices were easily the most prominent in the place. The club was generally far more laid back, much like the two men on the table nearby that I was heading for, but it wasn’t like the hotel was going to turn away paying guests.

I arrived with the drinks at table three to hear a conversation that certainly piqued my interest. I carefully deposited the necessary napkins and tumblers with practiced grace and precision while eavesdropping, hoping I could blend into the background and the wouldn’t notice me.

“But all by next week? I’m screwed, how the hell is that going to happen?” said the first customer, who had his back to me but had oddly familiar dark hair. I had the strange sense of déjà-vu as my gaze tumbled over him. Had we met before?

“Give yourself a little credit. It’ll be easy. I’m sure there’s plenty of women who’d jump at the chance. You know what girls are like, they love all that wedding stuff,” remarked his drinking partner.

“I know I totally do,” I found myself blurting out. So much for being discreet. The word “wedding” had caught me like a fishing hook and hurled me out of the waters of professional decorum onto the shore of personal involvement.

“See?” exclaimed his drinking partner before I could excuse or dismiss myself, “here’s a willing participant already. Are you busy next week? My man Ethan is in a bit of a bind. And you look perfect for the role. Fancy being a bride for a day?”

“Quit it, Nick. I can’t just go around asking any random woman, no offense,” Ethan said, interrupting his friend and turned to apologize to me, however he paused when our eyes met.

We had met before.

It was the man from outside. I’d only glanced at him earlier, but his unmistakable eyes provided immediate recognition, and also stole one beat of my heart.

“Please don’t pay any attention to my soon to be ex-friend here, I apologize for his remarks,” he said with sincerity.

“Not to worry, though it does sound like something that I would be very interested in,” I replied with an accommodating smile. “Weddings are kinda my thing.”

“Your thing?” he asked as he studied me thoughtfully for a moment longer and appeared to be about to say something when there was a call from table four behind me.

“Hey cutie! How about a little service here?”

“Sorry, duty calls.” I grimaced and turned to deal with the other customers. “What can I get for you gentlemen?” I asked politely through clenched teeth.

“How about champagne, you guys want champagne?” the man, and obvious ringleader, asked around the table. “We’re celebrating you see, clinched a big deal today, worth millions!” he added, apparently for my benefit. Maybe if I played my cards right, a nice tip would be headed my way, so I pinned a smile to my face and waited for his order.

It was clear they’d been celebrating, there was already the hint of a slur in his voice and his friends were mostly talking and drinking, paying little attention.

“Guys how about it, champagne?” he asked louder which drew most eyes around the table to him with varying looks of distracted confusion.

The drinker close by to my left however seemed suddenly more interested in the hem of my black dress that would not stay down, no matter how many times I’d tried to iron it or smooth it.

“Yep, millions. Imagine what we could do with that kind of money. How about it, honey? Want a taste of the action? We’ll make it worth your while,” he insinuated, fluffing the hem of my dress a little so that it fluttered higher with the breeze he was creating.

“Sir, stop. And please keep your hands to yourself,” I exclaimed patting the dress back down and shifting to my right. “This is not that kind of place.”

Unfortunately my protests did little to dissuade his attentions, and he became far more intent on seeing up my skirt before I could move out of reach. He tipped his seat and leaned out with both hands, and threw up my skirt again.

“Oh! You kinky-bitch! What do we have here? What’s this?” he asked. He then grabbed at my leg and with the other hand wrapped a finger under the secret garter I wore. It was just a silly little thing I did, something that made me feel special, like all those brides that got the chance to wear the special garment. But now, wearing it was coming back to haunt me.

“Get off!” I demanded, trying to escape his clutches.

As I retreated, his seat slammed back to the ground, the garter did not escape his grip but instead pinged off with a ripping snap. He landed back in his seat laughing. Anger overcame my embarrassment and I was about to find a drink to throw at him, if not a chair, when the stranger from table three, Ethan appeared between us.

“Alright guys, that’s enough. How about you apologize to the nice lady. I think you’re forgetting how easily they revoke membership around here. Let’s have a little respect shall we?” he said, his quiet sincere manner now surprisingly confident and commanding.

Oh great, now I’m the damsel in distress.

“Sir, please go back to your table. I’ve got this, I don’t need saving,” I directed at Ethan, “and as for you guys, you have crossed the line, you’re cut off. You’re not going to be served anymore tonight. I suggest you leave before there are greater ramifications.”

There was a few murmurs, then an agreement around the table that it was their time to move on. And with suggestions of strippers and gambling that awaited them elsewhere they stumbled their way out.

“Looks like you did have it,” Ethan said, “but erm, I think this is yours?” he added, handing over my poor satin garter, the greatest victim in the encounter.

“Thanks,” I said, taking it back without meeting his eyes, hoping my makeup disguised my rosy cheeks. I was not sure if it was something I should explain, the white lace and blue satin was not exactly everyday attire.

“Is this something borrowed or something blue?” he asked with a cheeky grin. “Perhaps we should talk? I’m Ethan by the way.”

“Peach,” I replied automatically. “But why do we need to talk? You’re not going to report me to the manager are you? Wearing a wedding garter is not against any dress-code that I know of.”

“No, nothing like that. But from the little I know of you, I think maybe you’ll find what I have to say interesting.”

“Erm, well, I finish at six but there is something I usually do after work.”

“What if that something is me taking you for a drink? You won’t regret it, Peach.” The way he said my name, like it was the tastiest word he’d ever uttered made me throw caution to the wind.

“Okay. Sure. But as long as it’s not in the hotel, Maximo won’t stand for that,” I replied, unable to resist those dreamy eyes for long.