02

Ten minutes later, Ashleigh had asked Muse, Can you pick that up for me ? Muse had reached down to grab a fallen carrot off the floor, and Ashleigh had spilled a five-hundred dollar bottle of wine on her head.

Not only did Muse not get the tip from the table she’d nearly finished serving, but she had to pay for the bottle of wine out of her paycheck. Ashleigh had somehow spun the story in her own favour by telling Julie about it first, and Muse couldn’t contradict her, because she was new and she’d seem like a liar. She couldn’t afford to lose this job.

Ashleigh shrugged now. « Your loss. Maybe you want to tie your pants around that, though ? Just a tip. »

She moved past Muse, smelling of lavender, rosemary and pure evil. At least her stupid tip had been somewhat helpful.

Now, Muse had no choice but to go out into the common area of the restaurant―where at least fifty very rich, very powerful people were currently eating―with a pair of pants wrapped on top of her pants, all to hide the period blood currently staining the stupid, bright white fabric. What kind of sadist chose an all-white uniform for waiters ?

Muse was completely unprepared, and it wasn’t even her fault. Her period was two weeks early. Two weeks. She’d only had this job for a month, and while it was the best-paying job she’d ever had, it was driving her up the wall with stress. There was no winning, was there ?

Walk confidently, she instructed herself. She tied the pants around her waist a little more tightly, praying they wouldn’t fall, and she hurried into the common area. Fernando, hovering at a table nearby, noticed her and smirked. Muse felt her face flame. A few ladies snickered as she walked by.

The ladies’ bathroom wasn’t empty. A woman wearing a black tuxedo leaned over the sink, her hands gripping the counter. Muse had time only to notice the heavy silver rings bejeweling each of her fingers before she locked herself in one of the stalls.

Could she get fired for abandoning her post with dirty dishes ? Probably.

The thought made her hands shake as she stripped out of her bloodstained pants. Shit. Maybe she should have taken the tampon from Ashleigh. But then she’d have felt like she owed her, and Muse hated being in debt to anyone. Besides, there had to be some in a small dispenser nearby. Only . . . to reach those, Muse would have to exit the stall in her underwear. And that woman hadn’t left yet―Muse hadn’t heard the door open or close.

Okay. Think. Muse could put on the white pair of pants she’d stolen, but that was at the risk of bleeding into those, too. When Muse bled, she bled hard. There would be no break to this flow. And her underwear was soaked now, too.

Solution : she could stuff the extra pair of pants full of toilet paper. It would only take a couple seconds to grab a tampon from the dispenser. Surely she wouldn’t leak in that time.

On the verge of tears, Muse realized there was no toilet paper in this stall.

There had been twelve stalls. Of all the ones she could have picked, this one had no damn toilet paper. Stupid evil little girl from the chain mail message, cursing her. At this point, Muse would take being murdered in her sleep.

It could be worse, Muse assured herself. At least there was only one woman in here, not several. Several very rich, very influential women would have been worse. The likelihood of someone complaining would have increased substantially. But Muse had to risk it : Maybe this woman had a heart.

Before she could think better of it, she called out, « Hello ? »

A pause. Maybe the woman was trying to figure out if Muse was talking to her.

« Yes ? » The voice was . . . rich. Feminine, but dark at the same time, as if she was aware of all the power she held.

« Do you, um, have a tampon ? If you don’t, there’s some in the dispenser nearby. »

Muse’s heartrate ratcheted up. There was no response. Maybe the woman had decided to leave. Maybe she was going to leave a detailed review about how she’d been harassed in the bathroom by one of the waitresses.

This was it. Muse would have to start looking for a new job.

But a bad reputation from a high-end restaurant like this one would follow her. She’d have to work at minimum wage again. She could barely afford living in New York City now. She’d either have to leave the city altogether, or resort to odd-end jobs for shady men.

A single knock on the door of her stall.

A pink-wrapped tampon slid underneath.

« It’s from the dispenser, » said the woman, almost apologetically. « I have an IUD, so I don’t usually carry any. »

Reaching for the tampon, Muse couldn’t help but notice the woman’s shoes. Black stilettos with a red sole. They had to have cost a fortune. Which meant this woman was one the wealthier customers of the Cayenne steakhouse, and if she wanted to, she could pull some strings and get Muse fired.

« Thank you, » Muse said. « Thank you so much, I―um, I’m really sorry about this. I’d appreciate your discretion. » Please don’t get me fired.

Muse swore she could hear a smile in the woman’s voice. « Of course. I understand, you know. What’s your name ? »

Muse nearly banged her head against the door.

The woman was going to leave a detailed complaint. What else could she want Muse’s name for ? Muse knew for a fact how easy it would be for the restaurant to replace her : she’d seen five people in the past month get fired, all for silly mistakes, like bringing a man medium-rare steak instead of well-done. The Cayenne steakhouse demanded the best service of their staff, and anything less was answered with immediate termination. Muse’s fears weren’t unwarranted. If this woman told the manager she’d run into the customers’ washroom and begged for a tampon, Julie would get rid of her. If it came to either protecting the waiters or pleasing the customers, they’d take a five-star review over Muse’s job any day.

Well, there was nothing to do about it. Lying would be worse.

« Muse. » Pure resignation. « Gardner. And yours ? » At least she’d know the name of the woman who’d gotten her fired.

« Adrien Vitale. »

« Um, nice to meet you. »

There had to be a smile there. Muse could hear it. Maybe she was delighting in the fact that Muse would soon be unemployed ? « Nice to meet you, too. »

The door opened, closed, and Muse was left alone. Balanced on the toilet, unwrapping a tampon with shaky hands, and completely unaware that in twenty minutes, she would be responsible for the disaster of the century.

THE PANTS WERE too big. But that was the least of Muse’s problems. When she got back to the kitchen, red-faced and eyes lowered, Julie was waiting for her at the sink.

She’s going to give me a lecture for an unpaid break. Muse didn’t have any hope left anyway. As soon as Adrien complained, with her name and a detailed description of her face, she’d be out of here. In the corner of her eye, she noted Fernando and Ashleigh watching her.

Ashleigh had it in for her, because Ashleigh hated women. It was just a fact. Muse had experienced and observed a lot of internalized misogyny, but Ashleigh took the cake. She liked male validation more than anything else, including basic human kindness.

Fernando, on the other hand, hated Muse because three weeks ago, she’d rejected him. It had been Friday, her first five days on the job done, and Fernando had walked her to her croaky, half-dead Chevrolet. He’d nervously twisted his fingers together. He’d even bitten his lip as he’d asked her : « Do you want to go on a date with me ? »

There had been nothing but warmth, earnestness, in his eyes. The question had hung in the air between them. The parking lot was empty, but in the heart of New York City, they were far from alone. Muse felt safe enough to say, « I’m so sorry, Fernando, but . . . »

That tone of voice alone had been enough to shake him out of the reverie. Immediately, with blindsiding swiftness, he’d hardened. « Stuck-up bitch. » He’d spat over his shoulder. « I should’ve listened when they called you a prude. »

A prude. Muse laughed at that later, the irony of it. She’d spent two years in the prostitution industry, but now she was being called a prude by an invisible them. Her coworkers, who she’d known for less than a week. But Muse had expected it. No matter how high-end, or expensive, or classy a job was, the people were always the same. They just happened to hide it better the more they got paid.

Still. Muse’s desire for the job outweighed all else. Living in an apartment in New York City was running her bank account dry, but she still wanted it.

This was home.

No matter how much everyone hated her. And it was really only Fernando and Ashleigh who did. Nobody else knew her well enough. Muse didn’t let people in―she smiled, and she was friendly, and she could charm anyone she wanted. But she didn’t tell them anything about herself, and the rules of friendship required that. Required being vulnerable.