The Club (Ruby Rose fanfic)

THREE

One hour later I'm back at my office, I've had a quick shower and I've finished sorting out invoices. It's 8 p.m. but tonight we don't have a party scheduled and none of our most demanding members has booked a private room so they won't probably need me here anymore and I could go home earlier today. In any case, if someone orders a bottle of our finest and most expensive champagne, for example, the Sommelier could call me to get my approval... It would be great to be back home, put my pyjamas on and watch a movie while eating an ice-cream tub for the first time in months... The ringing of the phone snaps me back to reality again. Fuck, it was too good to be true.

"Well, now what's the matter?"

"Excuse me, Lady, we have a problem and we need you in the main hall."

"I'll be there in 5 minutes."

I hang up the phone, rub the palms of my hands against my face and I leave my chair to run to the walk-in-closet. They all know that I never come immediately when they call me, most of them think that I'm a very busy boss and I always ask for those 5 or 10 minutes of grace period to finish a call or an email that I must send... the truth is that I need them to change my clothes: I can't go to the main hall wearing a shirt with pink flamingos printed... unless we're holding a Miami beach themed party, of course.

"Come on, time flies..." I whisper to myself and pick out something simple: black skinny Armani jeans, a black turtleneck and black stilettos. I put my hair up in a high ponytail and I fix my natural make-up adding thick eyeliner for a dramatic touch. I took me 8 minutes to get ready instead of 5 but they'll forgive me, I'm the boss here and they forgive me everything. I hold back a smile and look at my reflection from head to toe for the last time, if I were wearing horn-rimmed black glasses I'd look like one of those 60s French intellectual girls. I walk to the elevator whistling La Marseillaise but my mood for jokes vanishes when I reach the ground floor. It's time to wear my armour: I take a deep breath, relax my face muscles and I adopt a dignified air but kind at the same time, with a faint smile on my lips like a Spanish Mona Lisa. I walk through the door...

The hall is crowded at this hour: some members are having a glass of wine after work, some others are ordering their dinner and those who have spent the whole evening in the Club aren't ready to go home yet. I walk with firm steps to the bar counter keeping my chin up but not making eye contact with anyone, I'm trying to make them think that I'm busy and that's why I'm not stopping to talk, but out of the corner of my eye I can see the regulars: few politicians and a lot of actors, singers and models. This is Los Angeles after all, isn't it? Oh look, the famous family with the reality show gathered around a table and arguing for a change, don't these guys know how to spend some time on their own without mummy? A rap singer and his group of friends are walking towards the smoking room, I make a sign to the security guard and he follows them to make sure they haven't smuggled marihuana, I hate when the room reeks of weed.

"What's going on?" My head waiter smiles back at me from the other side of the bar counter, Brandon is one of my most trusted employees and his work load has nothing to envy to mine: he's in charge of this bar and restaurant, the rooftop snack bar and all the waiters every time we organize a special party. We spend together one evening per week to draw up the list of drinks we need to restock the bar and food for the walk-in-fridge in the kitchen. Also, he has to deal with a hot-tempered Italian chef, a French pastry chef and an Asian chef that's in charge of our vegan menu.

"Beth is waiting for you at the entrance hall." He points at the main door, through the glass I can see my head housekeeper, whose job is very similar to the one Brandon does but she's in charge of the cleaning staff. I nod at the counter and look up to turn around when I see her reflected in the mirror behind some bottles of vodka... Ruby Rose is sitting at a table with two models, her white shirt contrasting with the red velvet armchair on the background, drinking a glass of ice tea and having a lively talk, laughing happily without a hint of dominant attitude in sight... at least that's what it seems till she looks up frowning as if she feels being watched. I avert my eyes from the mirror and smile at my head waiter before walking to the entrance hall, keeping my head up and shoulders straight, resisting the temptation to look back at her. I think I haven't been caught before and I don't want to press my luck.