She's One in a Million

Thirty-four

Calm down, Max. These people aren't going to bite you. They're friendly, kind and good people. 

Oh my god. What if they are not? What if they are like those rich people who judge people by their backgrounds? Max thoughts was racing in her mind as they walked inside the mansion. Her hands began to sweat as she nervously played with them.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked Max.

"I'm fine. I'm just really nervous." Max replied, swallowing her throat. She moved closer to Casey and whispered on her ear. "Are they nice?"

Casey chuckled at Max and held her shoulders. "What you see in Ian is also a reflection of his family."

"Oh. OH. That's-that's good."

"Okay? Now. let's go in." Casey held Max's hand as they head towards the ballroom where they saw the guests all wearing black and gold. The room was filled with jazz music, chattering  and laughter. Max noticed that there were men looking at their direction but she knew all along it was Emilia and Casey that they were talking about. She continued to look around-saw some rich men she knew from televisions and even some politicians. 

She continued to roam around, passed through young women given her sneer looks and whispers but she ignored them. She reached the bar area where she found no one and sat there, relieved to have her feet rest for a while. 

"Champagne miss?" one waiter gave her a smile and offered her some champagne. She took one and gave thanks to the waiter before he left her. She watched him until he disappeared through the crowd and remembered her job as a waitress. 

"Where is the bartender here?" one grumpy old man tapped his fingers impatiently. Max looked around and it seemed that the old man's has turned his hands into a fist and so she got up and went by the bar.

"May I serve you with a Scotch whisky sir?" Max smiled sweetly that it made the grumpy old man cleared his throat and finally, released his fist.

"A fine woman like you wouldn't know how to serve-" He began to blush.

"A Dalmore 62 perhaps?" Max said, as she started to pour the whisky.

"Such a refine taste. From what family are you, dear?" the old man asked, sitting on the bar, interested at the young woman.

"The Reeves, sir."

"Reeves? I haven't heard such family-from the Kings Group of Companies?"

"No. The Reeves from the Bronx. I don't have any wealthy background. We're just a simple family living in a simple apartment. But what we are rich of is love. You may wonder why I know such things because we own a simple pub before."

"Really? What's the name of the pub dear?" the old man was now in full attention which Max was greatly surprised that he didn't went away from hearing her background.

"Maxwell's Pub". Max chuckled at the memory of that pub they used to have. "It was the best pub in Bronx, you know. Everyone comes there and relax and enjoyed. My father was friends with everyone in that pub and it was filled with laughter and just-amazing companions."

"What a great man he is."

"Oh yes. He is. You know, back in my younger years...."

20 minutes passed by, Max was already talking to a group of people-both young and old, sharing her life in the past. They enjoyed her very much, laughed at some of her little wild adventures and nodded sincerely when she told them the time when her father passed away.

"That's why I've always wished to have that pub once again. It's a little dream of mine." Max said, looking at her half empty champagne.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen." A voice made the group turned their heads away from Max and into a dashing man in his black tuxedo.