The Rules of the Red - 2nd Edition |✓|

Chapter One, Part One - Lone Wolf

Darlings, I hope you understand.

This was never meant to be a love story.

La Maison de Champagne doubled as the most expensive restaurant and the most luxurious hotel within a hundred mile radius of Harbor Village. It was a stately structure of wine-colored brick, with its name scrawled in fancy script across the front. It had three floors, each with several balconied windows. Out front, two smartly dressed, but rather generic doormen framed the tall double doors that marked the entrance. They were waiting, motionless, beneath a tall awning when my taxi arrived, and within seconds one of them opened the door of my cab and extended his arm.

I thanked him and with his help, stepped onto the pavement. Next, I turned to address the cabby-an unshaven, portly man who reeked of cigarettes and cold salami. "Sir, here's a hundred for you to keep my bags in the trunk." I handed the driver a bright, crisp note. "You'll get another two-plus fare-if you come back in an hour with all my stuff."

Without hesitation he nodded, leaving the doormen to escort me to the threshold of the hotel. As the double doors opened, I was immediately enveloped in a thick fragrance of countless perfumes and tobaccos, all dispersed by perfectly regulated air conditioning. You could almost see the dollar signs floating on the air.

Before approaching the front desk, I noticed a door directly to my left. Through it wafted a lulling hum of quiet conversation and polite laughter, dotted by the clinking of fine china and silver. The glitter of expensive jewels and watches shimmered around the room. Just being in such an opulently beautiful setting, one couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't just a bitter lie that all the rich are unhappy.

In stark contrast to the smiles and bubbly conversation of the guests, the servers were stone-faced and impeccable. To please their patrons, these men and women sported expensive black suits or sophisticated black frocks with shiny shoes and all-white gloves.

It was all of these details combined that gave the restaurant its allure. It implied that money-spinning business and gossip of the sophisticated kind was held here. It could either be a place of professional work or private debauchery, but no matter what, the Maison would always remain tasteful.

I approached the long, spacious counter that served as the check-in point for the hotel. A sharply dressed employee with a thin, horse-like face stood behind the counter. She had disdainful, brown eyes set above a sharp nose, and thin lips that were now pinched at the sight of me. With squared shoulders, she stood before a heavy wooden door as if guarding it from view of the public. I smiled, but that did little to break the ice. "Um, hi," I said.

She returned the greeting, but only after giving me an extremely noticeable once-over. I could tell from her scowl that she disapproved of my outfit. While travel-worn jeans and a sweat-shirt might have cut it at Applebee's, it was made quite clear that here, attire was everything. She couldn't have known that I was just an eighteen-year-old girl, straight out of the foster care system, who hadn't had time for a shopping spree. But even if she had known, it wouldn't have made a difference.

"Hi. Welcome to The Maison." She offered a cold smile. "I'm truly sorry, but we aren't accepting job applications at the moment..."

Had I not experienced this type of reaction from others who had also thought that they were my superiors, I might have faltered or even had my feelings hurt. Fortunately, I was sharper than I looked.