A contract with Mr. Fitzwilliams

“You’re late again”. Esmée closed her eyes and took in a deep breath before closing the door to her dressing room locker. Her manager didn’t even look up from his clipboard. Rainwater dripped quietly from the ends of her fiery curls onto the marble floor while she tried her best to not heave after having to run three blocks under the pouring rain because she couldn’t find a parking spot close enough to the restaurant. “I know”, she said carefully. “I’m sorry”. Mr. Collin finally teared his gaze away from his clipboard to look at her, exhaustion written all over his face. “That makes six times this month”. Esmée gulped and tightened her grip on her apron. “My grandfather had an appointment this morning and—“ “And last week?” He cut her off sharply. “And the week before that?” Because lupus treatment wasn’t optional. Because hospital waiting rooms took forever. Because her grandfather’s hands shook too badly to drive himself anymore. Because there was nobody else to help him out. But she knew Mr. Collin hated explanations that sounded like excuses. So, instead she swallowed everything and quietly said, “It won’t happen again”. The lie tasted bitter. Her manager sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. “Esmée you’re a hard worker and a dedicated employee. Customers like you. Staff likes you. But this is a luxury establishment and a popular one at that, not a charity organization”. The words stung more than she expected. “I understand”. “No, I don’t think you do”. He pointed towards the lounge room outside the office. “Tonight is one of the biggest nights this restaurant has had all year. Billionaires, politicians, and executives are dinning here tonight— people paying more for one dinner than you probably make in months”. Esmée stayed silent. “If you’re late again”, he continued coldly, “don’t bother coming back”. Her stomach tightened, and she could feel her throat close up. “Understood”. She croaked out. “Good. Now fix yourself up and get to work”. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Four hours later, Esmée balanced silver trays across crowded tables while wealthy guests laughed beneath glowing chandeliers. It felt like an entirely different universe from hospital corridors and overdue bills. “Table twelve”, Another server whispered urgently. “VIP section”. Esmée nodded and picked up a tray of champagne flutes. Her feet ached badly from being in heels for four hours. She barely slept lately between work shifts and hospital visits. Her grandfather’s condition had worsened over the past month, and even though he kept apologizing for “being a burden”, she refused to let him face treatments on his own. Still… Exhaustion made her hands slower tonight and her steps heavier. As she approached the VIP table, flashes from cameras lit the room. Business reporters. Important people. Then she saw him. Tall. Black suit. Cold expression. Ozbert Fitzwilliams. Even she recognized the billionaire CEO immediately. Everyone did. The man looked like he was carved from money and bad decisions. One of the richest men in the country. Young. Powerful. Cold. Untouchable. He barely glanced at her while continuing a conversation with another executive. Then, someone bumped her shoulder from behind… hard. The tray slipped. Time slowed. Champagne crashed directly onto Ozbert Fitzwilliams’ suit. The whole room went silent. Fuck me. Esmée stared in horror as expensive champagne dripped slowly down the front of his black jacket. Nobody dared to move. Not the reporters. Not the guests. Not the servers. Not even the musicians. “I am so sorr–“, Thwack! She felt her lip split open and tasted metallic liquid in her mouth as someone’s palm landed on her cheek, snapping her head in the other direction. It was him. Ozbert looked down at the stain before slowly looking at her. His face revealed absolutely nothing. Which somehow made it worse. In the distance, she could hear her manager’s voice say “she’s so done for”. Esmée grabbed napkins quickly. “I can clean it—“ “Don’t”. His voice was calm. Quiet. Controlled. The kind of voice that didn’t need to get louder to sound intimidating. Esmée froze before her hands could touch his suit. Her manager appeared seconds later, a vein bulging on his head looking like he might collapse from anger and stress laced with fear. “Mr. Fitzwilliams, I deeply apologize”. “It was an accident”, Esmée interrupted quickly. Mr. Collin forced an anxious laugh. “Forgive me sir. I’ll have this handled immediately”. His eyes landed on Esmée. And she already knew. The warning from earlier replayed in her head. “Esmée…, my office now”. Oh God.