PART 1/5

The National Archives.

One of the most American, most patriotic buildings in the entirety of the United States.

Home of the Declaration of Independence, Bill of Rights, and the Constitution. The founding documents which made America America, a home to many, but not to me, as I stood in the tall ceiling room feeling more isolated than ever surrounded by wealthy men and women alike.

There were 40 VIPS tops which were the same people our NGSA team staff would be serving.

8 mahogany tables, 5 guests assigned to each.

There were 20 people working as staff , so in total only 60 people were gathered here tonight. The organizers had to keep the number small due to security reasons and liability of outside workers wanting to harm the elites that were attending.

That's why the NGSA figured the best route would be to hire people already in high ranks to the NGSA.

AKA, the students that were well qualified candidates for the once in a lifetime scholarship.

Out of the 20, 16 from the NGSA were working the event. 8 students helping out in the kitchen, and 8 students on floor, serving and interacting with the high-value guests that were dining tonight.

The networth of the families eating here tonight combined would amass to somewhere near 2.5 billion --- according to Ms. Becraft. So no pressure!

The ceiling of the room expanded to great heights. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the arching white ceiling, illuminating the glimmering golden walls and a floor so polished it looked like an iced-over lake. And it wasn't just the ballroom–the women sparkled like a box of jewels, shades of emerald and ruby and amethyst swirling before me, their low chatter accompanying wafts of rose and hyacinth and jasmine. I looked down at my simple uniform.

All the tables in the extravagant room were circular except for one, centering the room.

It had sharp rectangular edges and somehow, I just knew whichever family was seated there was one that held a power like no other. And no surprise- a tent was propped up in the middle of the table with the name 'Whitman' written in embroidered cursive on it.

Fuck.

Tonight was the night I'd finally be meeting Colton's parents. He had told me some silly stories about them, and in my head, they were like a normal middle class suburban family...But as I was looking around the room, looking at the people decked out in Armani and Tom Ford, I think the picture Colton had painted may have been a little under illustrated.

Classical music played throughout the echoey hall and a man in a wheelchair and an ECG cart was rolled out from the entrance.

Following behind him was a woman no younger than 70 standing by his side as another man (who I assumed to be their butler) wheeled him in. After the butler, followed a man with auburn hair and deep black eyes. He was wearing a suit a size too tight, but it's not like it didn't do him justice-- he looked fine. Okay. Average, at best.

But definitely not as magnificent as who followed behind him.

Muscles trapped in dark fabric, his usually bedheadesque hair was gelled into a somehow both sophisticated and unruly manner tonight. And I wasn't sure whether it was the lighting or what, but his electrifyingly blue eyes seemed to glimmer in the reflective lights. Both young and older women around the room could not help but steal glances at the intoxicating man before them.

Colton.

He looked so fucking good, I had to physically tear my eyes off of him.

And following behind him, Brooke.

She looked a little nervous, which was out of character for her, but I understood because I knew this was a big deal. She had nothing to be nervous about though, as she looked absolutely stunning. The silk brown dress she wore reached her shoes that looked to be white Miu Miu pumps.

Then I put the pieces together. Wheelchair guy was Colton's father-- this was Colton's family.

As they passed by, I hid my face with a platter in fear Colton would see me and ask why I was here, of all people. Especially since I said no to his plus one. And not to mention, I was embarrassed.

Embarrassed at how much power they effortlessly exuded, while I was there, only in attendance as the help.

It was demeaning.

As they continued to file in, other high class people began making their way up to them, offering greetings. I overheard his father compliment the music score and made a mental note that that's where Colton probably got his taste in music.

"Look who actually showed up," a sarcastic voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I spun around, spooked, but relaxed when I saw it was Anthony.

Well, 'relax' may have been a overstatement.

"Anthony! You scared me," I laughed nervously, peeking around us. I didn't know why, but I was scared shitless of being spotted by Colton talking to Anthony.

"Me scare you? You're the one who popped up outta nowhere," he put his hands on his hips with a smile. "What changed your mind?"

I took second to think, not really registering what he was saying. All I wanted to do was to find somewhere more secluded, less open, so that I wouldn't be spotted.

"Who cares about me, let's talk about you!" I grinned, grabbing his arm. "Over there!" I said pointing to a backroom looking area that looked to be the entrance for the kitchen.

We needed to move. Fast. Colton's family was being escorted by an usher to be seated at their table, and Anthony and I were standing no less than 2 feet away from it.

It wasn't long until we were in the kitchen, filled with stressed yet extremely professional chefs slaving away at what looked to be Italian, Japanese, and Mongolian dishes. Wow. Looked like there was a lot on the menu tonight, far from the standard Americanized Thanksgiving meal.

"Is this your Ratatouille arc?" I teased, pointing to the chef hat i now noticed was sitting on his head.

He touched it, a blush rising on his cheeks. "I figured taking it up in the kitchen would be easier than chatting it up with a bunch of out of touch rich people."

"I think you may have bargained too hard," I commented, observing the fast paced environment that the kitchen currently was.

The sounds of knives and gas stoves being switched on and disordered yelling surrounded us entirely.

Some random man began shouting very loudly, and very harshly at some poor student who was not-- according to him-- "cutting the asparagus right".

Was this the famous Arturo?

"Ratatouille or not, that doesn't explain why you're here, Daniels."

I sighed, "Ms. Becraft emailed me last minute begging me to fill in for Helena. Couldn't say no to her and her big glasses."

"Wow, your heart is made of gold," he clasped his heart.

Through the small glass window where the kitchen provided an outlook to the rest of the ballroom, I saw Colton conversing with a couple of business men. They all looked serious. Friendly.

Until they begun to laugh, and I swear to god, when he smiled, it seemed almost magical.

"ASHA FUCKING DANIELS WHAT ON GODS EARTH ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?!" Some voice began to scream. My attention whipped back to Anthony, who had a confused look on his face, then to where the sound was coming from-- a 4'11 red head with a clipboard glued to her hands.

"Um, sorry, do I know you?" I asked, trying not be rude.

The kitchen began to quiet down and some other students I recognized from the NGSA began to line up next to me, and a couple more rushed into the kitchen in a single file .

"Mara Sainsbury," she stuck out a firm hand for me to shake but before i could grab it she grabbed mine and squeezed. "Mrs. Becraft assigned me to be the coordinator of the NGSA volunteers tonight, and I do not plan on getting any demerits."

Ahhh, this made sense now. Some uptight bitch who was obssessed with proving herself to Mrs. Becraft and after one taste of power, she went rogue.

"You're supposed to be oncall! Here, take this platter," she shoved some random silver plate into my hand with tiny assorted caviar on it, "Now go walk around and offer the complimentary starters to any and everybody. And I swear to god, Asha, if you screw this up for us, I will use that platter to bash your head in myself!" she exclaimed, huffing away.

The crowd of students dispersed.

I was shocked, to say the least. This night was really bringing out the worst in people. I guess that just meant I had to bring out my best.

Escorting myself out of the kitchen, I made my way back to the main floor.

Fumbling with the silver platter balanced on my hand, it tumbled to the ground and made a loud crashing sound that rang throughout the entire hall. Alarmed eyes fell on me and I felt a rush to my cheeks as rich people from all over the country stared me down for ruining their peace and quiet.

I was a worker here. I needed to be silent. Invisible to them.

And I fucked that up the first thirty minutes here. Great.

My eyes locked with Colton who was mid taking a sip of liquor when his eyes froze. In them was a look of pure attraction, that soon turned to confusion as he most likely realized I was here even though I said no to his invite.

He was currently in the middle of a conversation with (what it looked to be) a D.C senator.

I needed to stay away from him and so trying my best, I ignored him, heading to the other side of the ballroom.

Everyone was chatting and mingling and I began messing with the plates in front of me out of nervous habit, but it wasn't long until I felt his unmistakable presence next to me. It was like the atoms and molecules in the air just got heavier where I was standing, like where I was, I couldn't breathe because he was there. Standing. Silent. Brooding.

"You're here." he finally spoke.

Shit.

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I resorted to the professionalism script Ms. Becraft had specifically instructed us to abide by. "Good evening, Mr. Whitman. Is there anything I can help you with?"

I watched as his eyes darted across the room, vigilant, then became private when they reached mine. "Seriously? Mr. Whitman?"

I dropped his gaze but could tell he wanted me to look up at him. To look him straight in the eye, and tell him the truth.

There was a pause.

"Hey," he said with a hushed tone. I looked up at him and in his eyes was concern. "Talk to me."

God curse those penetrating eyes.

Annoyed, yet needing to conceal it, I flashed a smile at him. "I'm working tonight. If you need anything, just let me know, Mr. Whitman." I began walking away when he grabbed my arm forcefully.

I stopped dead in my tracks, feeling the pure rush between our connected bodies.

I looked down to his hand still wrapped around my arm, and he followed my gaze.

Then his aggressiveness dawned on him, and he loosened his grip, eyes faltering.

"I'm sorry. I just," he sighed, "I'd rather you not ignore me tonight, Asha."

"I hate to break it to you, but it's not a necessity for me to tell you every single thing going on in my life," I clipped.

I watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched.

On the table was an unopened bottle of Macallan and he popped it open and began pouring himself a glass.

I watched him slowly. Carefully. Wearily.

"So nothing new has been going on?" he asked.

I didn't answer. Cause he knew the answer. So instead, I changed the topic.

"You shouldn't be drinking tonight. Your speech," I advised. Later tonight, Colton was required to make a speech as part of the process of initiation.

It was quiet for a moment, until it dawned on me that I had done exactly what he had asked me not to do; ignore him.

"You love fucking with me, don't you?" he chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.

"I'm not fucking with you. I just don't want you to screw up and get hurt," I whispered, trying not to draw attention.

It was quiet for a few moments, but I felt his eyes on me.

I didn't want to look up, but I did anyway, and when I did, his eyes shifted. Distant.

"You look nice," he finally said quietly, scotch in hand, as he took a step closer.

My attention immediately snapped to the rest of the room, worried about how we looked to the ordinary eye. Was he too close?

"I'm wearing a uniform, Colton," I sighed.

"I know."

More heavy silence ensued, and I had to shake it off.

He took another step forward, and I took a slight step back.

"Colton, could you not?"

He paused for a second, taking in all of me. His eyes flickered to my lips, but then to the ground, as he nodded, respecting my boundaries.

"I listened to what you said about Brooke," he offered, sipping his drink.

My eyes found their way to Brooke who was across the ballroom, chatting with Colton's mother. Her presence was confirmation that Colton had actually listened to my request; he actually invited her to the banquet.

My eyes fell back to him.

I crossed my arms, "You don't look too happy about it."

He set his drink down, and lowered his voice. His eyebrow furrowed in deep thought, "Brooke she's.. she's a great girl, but I just--"

"A withering attraction to me shouldn't be the driving force of the end of your relationship with Brooke," I cut him off before he could say something he would regret.

"I wouldn't really call it just an attraction," he rebuttled.

Bemused, I folded my arms, deciding to take the bait, "So then what would you call it?"

There was a fire that loomed in his pale eyes.

"Obsession."

I took a shaky breath, realizing he was serious.

I wiped my hands that were beginning to sweat on my apron, shaking my head, "Colton, we really can't do this tonight." We were only 40 minutes into the night and he was already throwing me off my game. I didn't need any type of distractions tonight, and neither did he.

"Do what?" He knew what. He was just acting as if nothing was wrong.

I turned to him sharply, "For one, this is one of the biggest nights of your life and I'm not gonna ruin that. And two, Brooke and half of your entire family are 10 feet away from us right now and I'd rather not be introduced as the slut who fucked Colton Whitman while being friends with his lovely girlfriend."

There was a pause.

A silence.

Until, he picked up his scotch again.

"We haven't fucked yet. I'd remember," he stated calmly, walking away towards a senator who was calling him over.

I watched in disbelief as he threw on a smile, perfectly molding himself back into high society. The switch was not only shocking, but also impressive.

I was left at a loss for words; and was mad that he was the cause of them.