Chapter 1
Butterflies fluttered in Mallory’s stomach as she slowed her car to a stop in front of the huge, intricately crafted wrought iron gates. She jumped slightly at a tapping on her window. A kindly-looking man in a security uniform motioned for her to roll it down.
“ID?” He asked in a routine manner.
“Um, yeah,” Mallory fished her driver’s license out of her purse and handed it to the man. “I’m with the catering company,” she explained, somewhat unnecessarily; she was wearing a white button-down shirt with the Carly’s Catering logo on it. The real guests at this party would be decked out in ball gowns and tuxes.
The guard checked her name off a list and handed back her ID. “Okay, Miss Williams, you can go on in,” he gestured with a smile. The gates before her slowly eased open, admitting her to the exclusive estate. Even in the dimness of twilight, the grounds were impressive. The drive up to the old plantation house was lined with huge Live Oaks, hundreds of years old. Gray, lacy Spanish Moss dripped down from the elegantly curved branches that reached out over the road, creating a canopy of lush greenery that was illuminated by her headlights. Manicured lawns stretched out to either side, the gardens disappearing into the darkness.
Mallory wondered for a moment what it would be like to live here, to have a life like Jake Cleary’s, heir to the Cleary fortune: beautiful homes all over the world; a multi-billion dollar company handed to you by your father; and more money than God. Hell, the guy probably hadn’t worked a day in his life until his father died last year. And even now he probably just sat back and let the board of directors handle everything, throwing fancy parties at his leisure while other people looked after his fortune. He sure as hell had never had to steam lattes for pretentious ass**les to help pay his way through college like Mallory had.
I bet he’s an entitled douchebag, she thought, assuring herself that a hard work ethic and gritty, real world experiences had gained her more character than he would ever have. Then she rounded a corner, and the Cleary mansion came into view, illuminated by warm yellow lights. A douchebag with a nice house, she admitted grudgingly.
The old plantation house was enormous, a sprawling white antebellum manor with dark blue shutters and a jutting, semi-circular porch supported by towering columns. Mallory had visited several plantations on the South Carolina coast, but this one surpassed them all.
She could see two men in white-tie finery, waiting to open the double doors for the first guests. But it was too early for that; no one would arrive for at least another hour. Only the servers would be here now, setting up. With a sigh, Mallory pulled her car around the back of the house, where the catering staff was supposed to enter through the back door.
More like the servant’s entrance, she thought with asperity.
Mallory had been working in the service industry since she was sixteen, saving up money for college. She had nothing but respect for the people who worked hard to earn a living, but this was not what she wanted to do with her life. She had just graduated from the College of Charleston, with honors no less, but she had not been able to find employment in her dream field: Mallory wanted to teach. Thanks to government cut-backs, there weren’t many positions to go around, so even though she had studied hard and ticked all the necessary boxes, she had found herself unemployed four months after graduation. Despite her years of careful scrimping and saving, money was running out, and rejection after rejection for employment was disheartening her.
So when her best friend Sally had cajoled her boss into offering Mallory a job with the catering company that she worked for, Mallory had jumped at the opportunity. Although she had never catered a private party, she had worked plenty of waitressing jobs; How different could this possibly be? Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little nervous her first day on the job.
Swallowing back the butterflies, she turned the engraved brass doorknob on the back door and entered the mansion. She followed the signs left for the service staff and quickly found the kitchen. Although the house was at least three-hundred years old, the kitchen was sleek and modern. Dozens of people bustled around, calling orders to one another, their number filling the large space and making it feel cramped despite its size.
Mallory quickly pulled her long, straight brown hair back into a tight ponytail, tying it with a silky black ribbon, her one personal, feminine accent that she was allowed. Then she waded into the chaos, tying a crisp white apron over her black pencil skirt before entering the fray.
The next hour passed by in a haze of polishing, plating, and pouring. Mallory adroitly zipped around the kitchen, dodging and weaving as she completed her assigned tasks. Before she knew it, a tray of champagne flutes was being thrust into her hands as she was pushed out into the hall.
Mallory walked carefully down the corridor, anxious not to spill a drop of the precious fizzy liquid. As she progressed, she couldn’t help admiring the family portraits that lined the walls, starting with the Cleary patriarch, dead for two generations now, and ending with none other than Jake Cleary, the current holder of the family fortune. Mallory paused at his portrait, undeniably taken in by Jake’s good looks. He had his mother’s deep blue eyes, a shade darker than Mallory’s own, and he had inherited his father’s strong, masculine jaw and midnight-black hair. The man could have made a personal fortune being a male model if he wanted to.
Mallory shook herself. Of course the painting was flattering; the artist had been paid to make the family look good. I bet in real life he has a lazy eye or something. No one should have good enough karma to be that attractive and that rich.
She continued her progress to the ballroom. When she arrived, there was a man in butler’s livery waiting to open the door for her. As she stepped through the doorway and into the cheerily-lit room, she had to stop her jaw from dropping. She stood dumbly for a moment, overwhelmed. The room was massive, with a floor and walls of the same light-hued, polished wood. The wood panels on the walls were exquisitely carved with geometric patterns, the grooves creating bold shadows that stood in contrast to the smooth plains. Light from three crystal chandeliers reflected off the wood and filled the room with a warm, yellow light. Classical music swelled from the corner where the instrumental band was set up, and couples were waltzing elegantly in time on the dance floor.