Someone Competent

Chapter 7: Dinner Party

You spend the rest of the day being as diligent as possible. You wait on the Baroness' hand and foot, proving you're dedicated to your job. She has you running minor errands constantly. You feel like a decapitated chicken, aimlessly wandering around with no real purpose. You suspect this is the punishment the Baroness promised earlier.

Eventually, the Baroness sends you to the kitchen to fetch her lunch. You catch a glimpse of the tv. Your eyes widen in shock. "The Baroness' competition has gone up in flames. Cruella, a shining star in London's West End fashion scene, has tragically died in a warehouse fire." the male reporter states.

Realization washes over you. The Baroness has a connection to that fire. Why else would she smell like smoke? She refuses to touch cigarettes or cigars. Her servants light candles and fireplaces for her. There is no other reason for her to smell like a bonfire.

A bell dings repeatedly and forces you out of your shock. The chef glares at you, annoyed by your ignorance. You return the stare and take the Baroness' salmon. After inspecting the fish to ensure it's satisfactory, you exit the kitchen.

Arriving at the Baroness' office, you knock three times with your dominant hand. You enter after she acknowledges your presence. You avoid eye contact with the Baroness, not wanting the reveal your suspicions. She raises her eyebrow skeptically but doesn't question your actions.

You place the sliver lunch tray in its designated position. You take your planner and sit on a plush stool. Crossing your knees, you finally make eye contact with the Baroness. Her blue eyes meet yours, narrowing slightly before controlling her expression.

The Baroness needs a filler event before her next ball. You suggested a formal dinner. She hadn't hosted one in a while. You're unsure why she stopped hosting feasts, and she refuses to tell you. You carefully persuade her to host a proper dinner. She hesitates but agrees. Sighing, she begins to plan the details of the occasion.

Writing down fragments of the Baroness' ideas as she spitfires them at you, you get the basics of the plan.
You're excited to dine with the Baroness. Your seat will be directly to her left. In case she has a special request. Apparently, your seat is a position of high honor at formal dinners. You appreciate the privilege. Perhaps she's gotten over your adolescent mentality.

Once you finish double-checking the location and date of the event, you rush off to have invitations created. You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for the printer. The Baroness' short temper is slowly starting to rub off on you. The invitations finish printing, and you deliver them to the Baroness for her to inspect. She approves of the invitations' design and sends you to have them mailed.

The Baroness' driver speeds through the busy London streets to the post office. You exit the vehicle, carrying a mountain of dinner invitations into the building. You stamp all of the envelopes and hand them to the postal worker. He glares at you, irritated that you've given him more work. You raise your hands in mock surrender. "Look, I'm just the Baroness' assistant. Don't shoot the messenger.". The employee's eyes widen, and he nods frantically. You chuckle. It amazes you that the Baroness' hot-headed personality is so illustrious.

On the ride back to Hellman Hall, you lose yourself to your thoughts. You ponder your feelings for the Baroness. How you blush when her soft fingers brush against your skin. How her beauty lures you in, hypnotizing you. You also value how she's opening up to you, revealing parts of herself no one else has ever seen. You're protective of her vulnerability.

The truth hits you like a freight train at a million miles per hour. Knocking the air out of your lungs, it puts your heart on overdrive. Your body flushes, and a smile slowly spreads across your face. You care for the Baroness romantically.