There are five other caterers, two women and three men, and they all wear the same white shirt and thin black tie as I do. My excitement at company wanes when I’m received with wide-eyed stares. Since they’re in pants and tennis shoes, I’m loudly out of place with my legs on display in a skirt and high heels. I’m introduced as a member of the staff, and their patience for my questions and fumbling is short. Nothing I do seems to be right, and my insecurity is heightened by anxiety about what the night will hold.

I’m crossing under the foyer’s magnificent chandelier, balancing in my shoes, when the doorbell rings. It seems to happen in slow motion—Norman appears to greet a couple, and the door lingers open while he takes their coats. The air’s frosty bite is welcome on my bare legs. I don’t remove my eyes from the door, even when Calvin’s unexpected heat warms me from behind and his voice is in my ear.

“Tempting, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say.

“If you’re thinking of flying, Sparrow, know that I will catch you. There is no escape. Fly until your wings fall off, until there's no more sky, but I will find you. I will always find you.”

Norman closes the heavy door, and the guests follow him from the room. I look over my shoulder. Calvin wears a tuxedo, his bowtie near my hair. I meet his eyes behind his glasses. His hand smooths over my backside and under the skirt’s hem. The tip of one finger grazes my opening and slips inside, eliciting my sharp gasp.

“Good little bird,” he praises. “Make sure you’re very attentive to my guests tonight.” He removes his hand and pats my ass before walking past me into the dining room. My heels puncture the room’s quiet as I go to the door. I touch the handle for some time until the doorbell rings, causing me to jump away.

Norman rushes into the room and halts abruptly when he sees me. I take two steps back, staring at him. He shakes his head slowly but doesn’t speak. It’s not until I’m retreating that he lets the guests in.

When most people appear to have arrived, I navigate through the room with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. My mind is in overdrive being in a crowd that feels three times as big as it is. I almost drop my tray when a man touches my shoulder to pass by. His apologetic smile is kind, but I back away.

“Excuse me, Miss?” I turn to an elderly woman with fading red lipstick. “Where can I find the restroom?”

“Um, I . . .” I freeze, my heart racing, until she raises an eyebrow. “The bathroom,” I manage. “It’s just down the hall, second door on the right.”

When she’s on her way, I set my tray on the nearest surface and inhale a deep breath.

“You all right there?”

“A little short of breath,” I say.

“Maybe you should have a seat.”

I look up. The man seems in his early forties, average build with a noticeable beer gut. My immediate thought is that he’s no match for Calvin should I need him to be.

“You ever catered before?” he asks.

There’s a loud noise behind me, and I whirl around, knocking a champagne flute off my tray.

He laughs loudly. “I hope this isn’t your day job.”

“It’s not,” I say, bending awkwardly as I brush the shards into a pile. “This is my first time.”

“Hey, careful,” he says. “You’ll cut yourself. Someone’s coming with a broom.”

I straighten up and catch Rosa signaling to me that she’s on her way. Across the room, I catch Calvin staring at us. His unreadable eyes move between the man and me. He doesn’t seem displeased that I’m socializing, more intrigued. As though he expects it.

“So what do you do?”

“What?” I ask, returning my attention to the man.

“For a living. You said this was your first time.”

“I—” My palms begin to tingle, and there’s a sudden lack of moisture in my mouth. “I can’t say. I’m . . . I work for Mr. Parish.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You work for him, or he hires you?”

“I’m on the staff. I can’t really talk about it.” I’m drowning, sure that Calvin will appear at any moment to whisk me off to the basement.

The man studies me a moment before nodding. “Ah. I see. No, I get it.”

“You do?” I ask.

“Sure. I wouldn’t exactly go around broadcasting it either, but I’ve been down that road a time or two.” He winks. “Though, never with someone like you.”

Could he possibly know the truth about me? The thought that Calvin’s done this before, and that others know about it, puts a strange knot in my chest. “I should really get back to work,” I say.

“You . . . do you work exclusively for Parish?”

“What?”

“You know,” he says. “Catering. Does he hire you just for himself or for others too?” He chuckles. “Like a party favor?”

“I don’t know,” I say, backing away. When I check again, Calvin’s in conversation, no longer watching. My skin prickles fiercely as understanding washes over me. “Do you do business with Mr. Parish?”

He’s looking down at my ankles, but his head snaps up. “What? Oh, sometimes, yes.”

“Excuse me.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need fresh air.”

Fresh air is not a luxury I’m allowed, so I find myself in the bathroom, braced against the counter with outstretched arms. I stare at myself in the mirror, my blue eyes too bright and my hair too silky for all the things that haunt me.

“Don’t wear underwear tonight.”

“Make sure you’re very attentive to my guests.”

“I have a debt that can’t be paid with money.”

I wasn’t wrong in thinking the no-underwear rule meant someone would come for me tonight. It just wouldn’t be Calvin.

30

A knock at the bathroom door is almost expected. I’m still staring at my now pallid face when a male voice asks, “Can I come in?”

“I’ll be out in a few moments.”

The lack of response is a relief. I breathe deeply in and out, attempting to calm myself. It’s been more than two months since I had any normal interaction. I can get through this and when I do, I’ll be rewarded with a day of freedom. After some minutes have passed, I open the door to leave, but the man I was just talking to is there waiting. He puts a hand on my cheek before I can pull away.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He withdraws. “Sorry. What?”

“Why—”

“Did I misread something?”

“What?” I ask, backing away. He looks over his shoulder and steps inside, closing the door behind him.

“You said you weren’t exclusive? Which means . . . you’re available, and . . . don’t worry, I have . . .” He pauses, digging in his pockets. “Protection. Money too. I don’t really do this ever, but it’s been a while and the fact that this is a charity event is, well . . .” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know why, but it’s hot, I guess.”

Betrayal is fire through my veins. Confusion melts into despair and hardens into hatred. How could Calvin do this to me? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my heart pounding.

“Um. I’m sorry. I thought—because Parish—”

“Whatever Calvin told you, I’m not. I can’t.” My knees are knocking together, and I think I’m going to throw up, so I feel behind me for the counter. The man steps closer and catches me by the waist, but his hands are an unbearable intrusion.

“Get off me,” I say as I shove him. I slap him across the face, and he stumbles back into the wall.

“What the? I’m just trying to help—”

I push him again, and he grabs for my wrists but I thrash, my hands making contact anywhere they can. I lunge for the door and catapult into the hallway, almost knocking Norman over. “Cataline, what on Earth?” He looks behind me at the man. “Is everything okay?”

“Norman, take me upstairs,” I beg. “Don’t tell Calvin.”

I’m too late though, because Calvin’s bellowing voice dispatches fear through my system. “What’s going on?”

“Come, Cataline,” Norman says, ushering me to the staircase.