She was raised to be refined. Educated, well read and groomed for life in first class. Instead, she turned into a spoiled little rich girl. She'd often look down her nose at those who didn't have the same upbringing and had no problem telling those people who she felt were beneath her what she thought. She was stuck up at best and had no real discipline to speak of. Her fiancée put up with her, largely in part because he would inherit a huge dowry if they could just get to the wedding day. He was expected to smile, and agree with her and offer a simple, "yes dear" if he didn't.
While she was gorgeous, with raven hair that fell in between her shoulder blades, dark eyes and naturally colored red rose lips (as she would call them), sex was boring, predictable and infrequent as the act was almost always done on her whim which proved to not be very often. On many nights like tonight, at a charity dinner her father was funding, her fiancée would scan the room, imaging what it might be like to have one of the other women who were there, but settling for his betrothed because he knew if he cheated on her, he would ultimately be cheating himself out of his financial dreams. He had his favorites though, one being a young blonde in the corner sipping her wine, playing with the rim of her glass then slowly dipping her finger into the juice before placing her finger in her mouth sucking off the remnants. He would feel himself growing in his pants knowing his only relief would come well into the night, likely alone.
They sat at a round table, big enough to seat 8, adorned with white linens and dined on the finest china money could buy. Tonight, she was exceptionally beautiful, raising her hair up in a loose twist, with small strands hanging around her face. The dress she chose fitted tightly around her waist allowing the bodice to fit snugly pushing her breasts up causing them to rim the top of it. She wore her make up dark, and accentuated her lips with a deep shade of crimson so when she pouted, the whiteness of her teeth would shine.
The dishes were cleared and the waiter approached. He was tall, young and incredibly handsome in his rented tuxedo. Probably working his way through school, she thought. She had ignored him most of the evening because as decedent as he might be, she would never lower her standards to a mere food server. He carried with him a dessert tray, full of the most incredible delicacies one could imagine. As he slowly brought the tray down to show her, she reached up to wave at an acquaintance and knocked his hands and the tray, causing all of its contents to come tumbling down into her lap. The room fell silent, her gasp being the only sound that filled the air.
"You idiot!" She screamed at him.
"I am so sorry." He held his laughter and reached for a napkin to hand to her. She snatched it from him and clutched it in her fist.
"You're sorry? You stupid ass. You think this napkin will clean this? You idiot moron. I am sure you've never had anything nice in your life so you wouldn't know. You're absolutely fired."
"You don't employ me." His words were quiet, yet firm.
She looked up and sneered at him.
"I don't employ you? I pretty much own you, you injudicious fool."
"You do realize you just called me a fool twice."
"Excuse me?"
"Injudicious is just a fancy word for fool."
"Are you really going to let him talk to me this way?" She implored her fiancé for help.
He stood, taking a weak stance.
"Look, this is just a misunderstanding..."
Her heart pounded and her blood pressure soared. Her skin was on fire matching the shade of her lips. She jolted from her chair, threw her napkin at the waiter and cursed her fiancé for being a wimp. She darted out of the room and into the kitchen, falling apart as she reached the sink. Angry tears streamed down her face. The kitchen staff all but stared at her, unaware of what had just transpired.
"Get out! All of you...get out!"
The chef and his crew quickly poured out of the kitchen leaving her alone. By now her hair had fallen from its bun, but just in small places, becoming disheveled. The muffled music in the main hall had started again and the clanking of glasses also resumed. She had been humiliated and she was furious.
The door opened, shoving the sounds of laughter into the room, then quieted when it closed behind him. The waiter stood, silently waiting to duck from her arsenal if needed. He walked slowly to her.
"What are you doing in here?" She snapped.
"Look, I'm sorry. My name is Mark. I didn't mean to – well, get in the way of your hand."
"My hand? You're blaming me?"
"Well you were the one who reached up."
"I – you should have been watching."
"You should have, too."
"Really? Who do you think you are?"
"Honestly, I'm just a guy trying to make some money. Yes, some of us actually get money from jobs and not handed to us."
"Oh please. Handed to me? I work."
He laughed. "You work?"
"Yes. I am involved in numerous charities, including the one we're raising money for here tonight. My father helps me financially so I can do so."
"So...you get an allowance?"
"I supposed you could say that."
"How old are you? 8 year olds get allowances."
