When You're Ready
Authors: Britni Danielle
When You’re Ready
a novel
Britni Danielle
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2014 Britni Danielle
All rights reserved.
This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Books by Britni Danielle
:
Bad Dates & Other Disasters Vol. 1
Bad Dates & Other Disasters Vol. 2
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This book is for all of the hope
ful
romantics. Thank you.
“Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.”
― Rumi
1
Nola
“Oh, hell no.”
I eyed the slinky black dress I was supposed to wear to the waitressing gig Tara hooked me up with. I held it up to my body to do a quick length check and it was dangerously close to my ladyparts. She’d clearly lost her mind.
A bit miffed, I made a face. “What are we going to be serving tonight? Ass?”
“C’mon Nola. At least try it on before you nix the idea. Besides, it pays $150.”
My eyes widened. “For three hours?”
Tara nodded and her wavy blonde hair fell into her eyes.
“Fine,” I relented. “But if anybody tries to grab anything besides food, I’ll be out of there so fast.”
“We’re working at a cocktail party, not a brothel, Nola.”
I rolled my eyes. “So you say.”
I looked at the dress again, wondering if I could wear a blazer or a cardigan, anything to cover up my breasts and keep just a little of my dignity in tact, but it was no use. When Tara first told me about her hookup at the catering company I thought I’d be wearing a crisp white blouse and tailored pants, not looking like an extra in a rap video.
“Well…” Tara said, motioning toward the dress.
“Well, what?”
“Try it on!”
I sighed, already regretting begging Tara to put in a good word for me with her boss. I needed the money, but I didn’t realize I’d have to serve hors d'oeuvres half-naked.
I stepped out of my shorts and pulled my t-shirt over my head, then shimmied into the skintight frock. I felt completely uncomfortable and exposed; every curve of my body seemed amplified under the clingy fabric.
“Holy shit, Nola. You look hot!” Tara said, mouth agape. “Here, put these on!”
She handed me a pair of skyscraper heels, and I made another face. Not only was I going to be dressed like a porn star, I’d have the F-me shoes to complete the look.
Great
.
“My feet are going to hate you in the morning,” I groaned and then slipped on the heels. The shoes made me uneasy. I felt like I’d stepped on a teeter-totter and struggled to get my balance. “And…how am I supposed to walk
and
serve food in these?”
“Very carefully,” Tara quipped. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. They’ll be too distracted by how good you look in that dress!”
I hoped she was right. Even though I was more of a jeans and ballet flats kind of girl, I was willing to humiliate myself for a couple of hours because I needed the money—badly. I still had to come up with $10,000 for my last year at UCLA, on top of the $1000 a month I needed for rent. Between picking up extra waitressing shifts and this catering gig, I was barely scraping by. I couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity, no matter how uncomfortable I felt in the dress.
“We better get ready,” Tara said, breaking into my thoughts. “We have to be there in an hour. Do you want me to do your makeup?”
“Depends. Do we get keep the tips?”
“Yup! And from what I hear, these guys are loaded.”
“Then work your magic. I need all the money I can get.“
Tara’s face broke into a wide grin. She grabbed her makeup bag and started setting up her wares. When she was done, I was amazed at just how many items poured out of the tiny case.
Tara got to work, plucking my eyebrows, rubbing on foundation, and painting my mouth a striking shade of red that turned my pouty lips into pure sex.
“Whatcha think?” she asked, admiring her handy work.
I stared at myself in the mirror, amazed. I looked like an older, sexier, more sophisticated version of myself, complete with blemish-free tawny skin, smoky hazel eyes, and ruby red lips. Made-up Nola could probably score an extra $200 if she smiled wider and flirted harder, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.
“Well?” Tara asked, anxious.
“I look so…”
“Amazing, right?! You might even get a few phone numbers with those tips, girl.”
I shrugged off her suggestion. “I don’t have time for love, Tara.”
“Who said anything about love? You need a little fun and excitement in your life, Nola. All you do is study and go to work. It’s time to play.”
Fun
, that mystical thing people my age were supposed to have all the time didn’t factor into my plans. I took one last glimpse at myself in the mirror, and then I shook my head. “I don’t have time for games, either.”
* * *
When we pulled up to the house, excuse me,
mansion
in the Hollywood Hills my breath hinged in my throat. It looked like it was ripped from a movie set with its cherry wood floors, enormous rooms and gigantic windows. The party took place in the expansive backyard, overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. The view was so magical I could barely pay attention to George, my boss for the evening, while he handed out the assignments.
“Snap out of it,” Tara said. “Did you hear what you’re supposed to do?”
I reluctantly pulled my attention away from the stunning pinkish-purple sky. “Huh? Yeah…I’m stationed by the,” I looked around, “by the bar.”
“Right. Just like I thought. You weren’t listening.”
I stole another glance at the sky.
“Nola!” Tara snapped her fingers in my face. “George wants you working the crowd, so walk slowly, smile big, and bring home those tips!”
“And where exactly am I supposed to put them?”
“Duh, stuff the cash in your bra,” she giggled. “Hell, it’ll make your boobs look even bigger.”
Tara winked and then walked to the other side of the party to collect her tray. We were both instructed to attend to the guests’ every need before they even asked, so I plastered a smile on my face and tried my best to channel Samantha Jones from
Sex & the City.
I wasn’t exactly a prude, okay, maybe I
was
, but Samantha was everything I was too scared to be—sassy, sexy, ultra-confident. She moved through Manhattan like she ran the joint, and everyone else seemed to agree. With my tray in hand, I pretended the super-high heels I teetered in were Manolos, and I was the most self-assured woman in the room.
After an hour and a half on my feet though, I waddled through the crowd, trying to keep the grimace off my face. In the first hour of the party I’d managed to earn an extra hundred bucks in tips, but Sam Jones had officially left the building. My feet were aching, and I was tired of trying to pass off my painful limp as a seductive strut.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” I confessed to Tara just as she handed me a tray of champagne. “My feet are on fire, and I think my toes are going numb.”
“Here, drink this.” She passed me a glass of bubbly before swiping one for herself. Tara downed the glass in two quick gulps and I followed suit, anything to make the pain go away. “Now, drink another.”
We clinked the crystal flutes and enjoyed a second glass. I waited for the sparking liquid to take effect and kicked off one of my shoes.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tara warned. “You’ll never get them back on.”
“I just need five minutes,” I held up my hand, “five.”
She shook her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Tara downed another glass of champagne, then carried her tray to the other side of the party. I wiggled out of my other shoe and walked to the side of the house, enjoying the way the damp grass felt between my toes. My feet burned like I’d been walking on hot coals all evening, but the coolness of the ground offered some relief.
I watched the city twinkle at the bottom of the hill and wondered what it was like to live in such a beautiful house, not worrying about how to keep the lights on or pay the bills.
I never had such freedom. My mom and I bounced around from city to city whenever she hooked up with a new loser boyfriend who couldn’t keep a job for longer than a few months. Somehow, I managed to keep my grades up and win a partial scholarship to UCLA, but things were never easy. The drinking, the fights, the heartache—I promised myself I would never fall into the same trap as my mother, but here I was, broke, unhappy, and barely hanging on.
I needed a damn break, and perhaps a little fun, but I couldn’t chance it. I was too close to finishing college and
finally
overcoming the family curse to blow it now.
“Hey, do you have a light?” a man asked from behind me.
“No, sorry I don’t smoke.”
“This party is kinda crazy, right? I didn’t expect so many people to show up.”
I shrugged, but didn’t take my eyes off the city’s skyline.
“Not having a good time?”
“Huh?” I asked, confused for a second. “Oh, no. I mean, yes. I mean…I’m working. I just needed a break. My feet were killing me.” I held up my shoes as evidence.
He chuckled. “I don’t know why girls wear those things. They seem to be torture.”
“Oh believe me, I don’t either. I’m only wearing them because I have to.”
“I see…” he said, letting the words trail off into the night air.
We stood for several minutes in silence, until I heard Tara’s voice calling my name.
“I guess that’s my cue.” I slid on one of my shoes and immediately yelped. “Shit!”
Tara was right. My toes rebelled and I cursed myself for removing them in the first place. I slid on the other one and lost my balance, nearly toppling over from the instant rush of pain.
“Whoa.” The man caught my waist and helped me regain my footing, and I looked at him for the first time. Dark hair, smoldering brown eyes, and the hint of a goatee made him look like a movie star, especially under the glimmer of moonlight.
I grabbed his arm to steady myself and noticed the muscles bulging beneath his starched white shirt.
“Uh, thanks. Thank you, for, uh,” I stammered, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He smelled of patchouli and Haitian vetiver, like he’d just gone for a swim in the ocean. “Thanks for catching me.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled, exposing all of his brilliant white teeth. “Why don’t you stay a little while longer and keep me company?”
My knees wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t because of my shoes. The man was sexy as hell and I could feel my face turning hot the longer I gazed into his gleaming eyes. I wanted to get lost in them, and trace my finger along the small scar on his forehead. But I resisted.
“I…I can’t. Work,” I sputtered. “I have to get back to work. This is my first day and I can’t afford to mess it up.”
“You’re that dedicated to your job, huh?”
I gave him a sheepish grin. “No, but I’m dedicated to paying the rent.”
I tipped back toward the party, kicking myself for not leaving the stranger with a flirty line, or at least something funny to remember me by.
I spent the remaining hour delivering champagne, fake-smiling at guests, and counting down the minutes until it was time to leave. By the time Tara and I were getting ready to go, I had to admit the evening didn’t turn out as bad as I thought it would. I managed to sidestep one attempted groping, and aside from being propositioned over the tuna tartare, everyone at the party was on their best behavior.
I kicked off my shoes for the last time and counted my tips while the cleaning crew put the oversized yard back together.
“Looks like you did alright for yourself,” the stranger reappeared, motioning toward my bills.
“Yeah, thankfully. I wasn’t sure about this gig, but it turned out to be okay. Had some free champagne, took in a beautiful view, it could’ve been worse.”
“I guess you’re right,” he bobbed his head. “The night is still young, though. What are you up to next?”
“I have a date,” I grinned, thinking about all the rom-coms I planned to watch when I got home.
“Beautiful girl like you? It makes sense.”
I turned to see if he was being serious or if he was just making small talk. Me? Beautiful? His face was relaxed and unreadable, but held a hint of a grin. I chalked his comment up to general politeness.
“Where’s he taking you? Someplace nice, I hope.” He smiled and I watched his lips, transfixed.
“He?” I scrunched up my face, momentarily confused. “Oh, right. No…I mean, I have a date with Netflix. Or maybe a book.” I shrugged. “Either way, I’m staying off my feet for the next few hours.”
He shook his head, and then smirked. “I can think of better ways to keep you off your feet.”
I met his gaze and the heat rose in my cheeks. I couldn’t tell if he was flirting with
me
or if he was just a flirtatious person, but I knew guys who looked like him only dated girls who were actresses or models, or both.
I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say anything Tara honked her horn.
“Well, it was nice meeting you—“
“Scout,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it.
“Scout? That’s…different.”
“My mom was kind of obsessed with
To Kill A Mockingbird.”
“Oh. Well. Look on the bright side,” I chuckled, “you could’ve been named Boo Radley.”
