Trapped In The Billionaire's Bed

8. After All These Years

The next day.

"Sorry, I'm late," Belinda announced as soon as she arrived at the venue. Dropping her tote bag inside their catering van and grabbing the next available tray that was filled.

"Where have you been?" Molly whisper yelled. Poking out her head from the catering van. "I can't believe you're late."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry. And I promise I have a very good reason."

Her friend gave her a stern look.

"Sorry," Belinda winced as she drew past Molly. And she could swear she saw her friend's lips slowly curve to the side.

No matter how hard, Molly tried to appear stern or angry at Belinda. She could never be truly master the expression.

Technically, Molly was Belinda's boss, and the owner of the catering business where she worked part-time, but the woman was also her best friend, and had been so for the last seven years.

Against her will, Belinda let out a chuckle as when remembered Molly's attempt at a stern expression. Her beautiful face stretching into a smile as she stepped into the party, which was taking place a good five kilometers away from where they had packed their van.

It was an exclusive outdoor party in the home of Billionaire tycoon Greyson Rodriguez.

Lights shimmered from all angles. Giving off a romantic setting.

Soft, soothing music played in the background. While the guests stood around in groups, munching on fancy appetizers, and drinking expensive wines and champagne. Conversations in the air.

Belinda felt out of place and at the same time as though she belonged there. It still felt like it was only yesterday that she had been attending parties likes this.

She could easily imagine herself in a Louis Vuitton gown, and perhaps she'd be wearing her Jimmy Choo heels and curled up in one corner, casually sipping her champagne.

Blinking to take that memory out of focus, Belinda cursed herself instantly for going down that memory lane. She should quit thinking like this. About that life. It was over.

White teeth sank into her bottom lips, and Belinda looked down at her black waiter's uniform. At how unflattering it was on her body. And a heavy expression came upon her face. She may be as poor as a church mouse, but she was happy, and that was all that mattered.

With that in mind, Belinda focused on her task. Refilling glasses. Bringing appetizers. Serving drinks and going back and forth, simply catering to the needs of the guests.

Twenty minutes into her job, Belinda was carrying a fresh set of filled glasses when a hand lifted and signaled for her to come.

This group was sitting behind a table, and they were about five or six men on it. All in Tuxedos, and dripping of money, judging by the cut of their tuxes. And simply by that arrogant way, rich men carried themselves. After asking her the type of drink she had to offer on her tray.

One of the men, a scowling bearded man, grabbed a glass and lifted it to his lips. The others took a glass too, except for one of them.

The Blondie who was sitting directly opposite Belinda who couldn't reach the tray without Belinda coming over to the other side where he was sitting to serve him, but the space was cramped.

The blond man must have known this because he said to his friend, "Don't be such an asshole, Hugo, and pass me a glass."

Without appearing that he might have heard, Hugo muttered, "Take it yourself if you want one."