can handle a couple of hours. My hands go from shaky to earthquaky in a matter of seconds and I can’t imagine how pissed Mrs. Goodwin will be if I drop this glass pitcher on her hardwood floor.
“You’re friends with your servants?” Marcus asks, raising his eyebrows. His eyes are red and hazy. “My servants clean my toilet.”
Jack grabs Marcus’s elbow. “C’mon, we’ve got a great bourbon collection you should see.”
A minute later, Jack reappears by my side and takes the water pitcher from my hands.
“Did Marcus hurt you?” he murmurs, placing the pitcher on a sideboard.
I hate that Marcus questioned whether Jack could be friends with a servant like me. And all I can think about is how Jack looked at me today when he found out I’m not going to college. Like I’m this pathetic little bee, swarming around, with no thoughts and dreams of my own. Marcus Winchester and his I’m-a-rich-person-so-I-can-do-whatever-I-want attitude reminds me of horrible Mr. Cates.
“Why would you invite such a Neanderthal to dinner?” I ask.
“Dad’s working on a business deal with his father.” Jack pulls a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and dabs it on my face, and I cover his hand with mine, searching his eyes. It feels nice being comforted by him, and I wish I could stay in this moment, but I can’t. I’m pissed.
“So it’s okay if Marcus humiliates me because your dad does business with his father? That sucks.”
Jack’s face drops and he furrows his eyebrows. He takes his hand off my face then walks around the table and finishes pouring water into each glass. Him taking over my chore is a nice concession, but can that really make up for what happened?
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know,” Jack replies. “But Dad’s always harping on me about how I should learn to do stuff for myself before college starts.”
“Is that why he tried to teach you how to do laundry?”
“You heard about that, huh?” He leans around the flower arrangement to grin at me.
“I hear everything,” I say, sniffling into his handkerchief. It smells like him. “The maids gossip about you all the time in Hillcrest.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“I heard about the walk through the rose garden with the country singer and you picking thorns out of your—”
“I’ve been looking for you, son.” Mr. Goodwin appears in the dining room wearing a gray suit like Jack’s. “I want you to talk to George about business school—” He gazes from me to the water pitcher in Jack’s hands. “What’s going on here?”
I hold my breath and bite down on the handkerchief.
Jack lays a hand on his father’s shoulder and speaks quietly to him. I hear the words “Marcus” and “dickhead.”
“Are you okay?” Mr. Goodwin asks me.
“Yes, sir.” I nod quickly.
“Do you wish to be relieved? I’m sure we can find someone else to serve us.”
“No, sir. I’m fine.” Cindy needs the money.
“Good. Why don’t you head back into the kitchen to see if Jodi needs anything.”
It’s not like I expected Mr. Goodwin to throw Marcus out of the house, not with a big business deal with Marcus’s father on the line, but I can’t help feeling a tiny bit betrayed anyway. But this is how our world works—rich people like Marcus and Jack can do as they want, while people like me serve them coffee and hope they will treat us nicely.
I leave the dining room and hide in the same cranny I did this morning to calm down, but also to hear what else they say in case they mention selling Star again.
“I see the way you look at Savannah,” I hear Mr. Goodwin saying quietly.
What?! How does Jack look at me?
Mr. Goodwin goes on, “You better not do that tonight during dinner. You know how much I want this deal with Winchester…and I’d rather you not piss off his daughter by being more interested in Savannah than her.”
“I know Dad…Savannah and I…we’ve just been working on a school project
“You’re friends with your servants?” Marcus asks, raising his eyebrows. His eyes are red and hazy. “My servants clean my toilet.”
Jack grabs Marcus’s elbow. “C’mon, we’ve got a great bourbon collection you should see.”
A minute later, Jack reappears by my side and takes the water pitcher from my hands.
“Did Marcus hurt you?” he murmurs, placing the pitcher on a sideboard.
I hate that Marcus questioned whether Jack could be friends with a servant like me. And all I can think about is how Jack looked at me today when he found out I’m not going to college. Like I’m this pathetic little bee, swarming around, with no thoughts and dreams of my own. Marcus Winchester and his I’m-a-rich-person-so-I-can-do-whatever-I-want attitude reminds me of horrible Mr. Cates.
“Why would you invite such a Neanderthal to dinner?” I ask.
“Dad’s working on a business deal with his father.” Jack pulls a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and dabs it on my face, and I cover his hand with mine, searching his eyes. It feels nice being comforted by him, and I wish I could stay in this moment, but I can’t. I’m pissed.
“So it’s okay if Marcus humiliates me because your dad does business with his father? That sucks.”
Jack’s face drops and he furrows his eyebrows. He takes his hand off my face then walks around the table and finishes pouring water into each glass. Him taking over my chore is a nice concession, but can that really make up for what happened?
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I know,” Jack replies. “But Dad’s always harping on me about how I should learn to do stuff for myself before college starts.”
“Is that why he tried to teach you how to do laundry?”
“You heard about that, huh?” He leans around the flower arrangement to grin at me.
“I hear everything,” I say, sniffling into his handkerchief. It smells like him. “The maids gossip about you all the time in Hillcrest.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“I heard about the walk through the rose garden with the country singer and you picking thorns out of your—”
“I’ve been looking for you, son.” Mr. Goodwin appears in the dining room wearing a gray suit like Jack’s. “I want you to talk to George about business school—” He gazes from me to the water pitcher in Jack’s hands. “What’s going on here?”
I hold my breath and bite down on the handkerchief.
Jack lays a hand on his father’s shoulder and speaks quietly to him. I hear the words “Marcus” and “dickhead.”
“Are you okay?” Mr. Goodwin asks me.
“Yes, sir.” I nod quickly.
“Do you wish to be relieved? I’m sure we can find someone else to serve us.”
“No, sir. I’m fine.” Cindy needs the money.
“Good. Why don’t you head back into the kitchen to see if Jodi needs anything.”
It’s not like I expected Mr. Goodwin to throw Marcus out of the house, not with a big business deal with Marcus’s father on the line, but I can’t help feeling a tiny bit betrayed anyway. But this is how our world works—rich people like Marcus and Jack can do as they want, while people like me serve them coffee and hope they will treat us nicely.
I leave the dining room and hide in the same cranny I did this morning to calm down, but also to hear what else they say in case they mention selling Star again.
“I see the way you look at Savannah,” I hear Mr. Goodwin saying quietly.
What?! How does Jack look at me?
Mr. Goodwin goes on, “You better not do that tonight during dinner. You know how much I want this deal with Winchester…and I’d rather you not piss off his daughter by being more interested in Savannah than her.”
“I know Dad…Savannah and I…we’ve just been working on a school project
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