The Unnoticed Billionaire

Chapter One

If only I could escape this depressing shamble of a reality.

Everyone is running around. Some to deliver food and some to find their next dancing partner. Tonight is much busier than I thought. The sound of laughter and hush of whispers have already filled the venue, which is cluttered with at least one hundred guests, all chatting at the same time. Everywhere I look, I see luxury and extravagance. The women are dressed in exquisite and elegant French-made evening gowns, and the men are wearing expensive Armani suits. Seriously, don't they have any other famous brands to wear?

Jewelry is more than a symbol of wealth for these people. It's a symbol of power and authority. Earrings hang from their ears like chandeliers, necklaces drape around their slender necks in rounds of long gold chains, dresses clutch to their bodies like golden leaves. I have never understood glamming up to this extent. I will never understand.

I look down. My champagne tray is empty, so I head back to the kitchen. My last tray lasted for six minutes. That's my new record in my three years of waitering for Golden Services. As ironic as the company's name is, I doubt our service quality matches that of upper-class caterings.

After adjusting my ponytail, I grab a new full tray of refreshments and jump back to the ballroom. Tonight's event is for a newly engaged couple. Frankly, I believe the only reason for all these formalities is for the bride-to-be to show off her infinite-numbered karat diamond ring. I roll my eyes as I walk past her while she shoves her hand and wiggles her ring finger at a couple of people.

The tray starts getting lighter and lighter as guests grab the treats swiftly. Wow, I didn't even get to count how long it took. Passing a floor-to-ceiling mirror, I can't help a quick glance at my reflection. Despite all the negativity I'm trying to paint, being a waitress in a venue-and-catering club comes with a few benefits. One of them is the professional waitering uniform with a long black skirt hanging just below our calves, unlike some diners' unusually revealing outfits. It also comes with matching flats and a decent white blouse. It helps me not stand like a sore thumb in the middle of a crowd full of colors.

I purse my lips. There are dark and visible circles beneath my eyes from lack of sleep. My hair looks like it has been blown in all directions. All that late-night searching for a job in the newspapers has left me sleepless.

As I pick up my last tray for the night before dinner, I see Nick standing at the kitchen entrance, laughing. Too handsome for waitering, Nick is one of the many unfortunate people like me. He's also one of the few people who has been influential in my life. One of the few people who can make me smile in my saddest moments.

"What are you laughing at, Nick?" I ask curiously.

"You see that woman standing there." He points to a woman standing on the far end of the foyer leading to the restrooms. "She was trying to hit on me. Desperately!" He starts to laugh again, and I scoff at his boyish behavior in an attempt to hide my grin.

There was a time when Nick almost lost his animated and enthusiastic personality. Seeing Nick as his real cheerful self again swells my heart. Like many of us, he bears the scars of the past. His parents died when he was only fourteen; therefore, he spent four years in many different foster homes. By the time he could finally stand on his feet, have a good-paying job, afford rent, and pay his bills, life decided to strike him again. And his happiness was ripped away from him.

Our failed attempt at having a relationship led us to become best friends. Since then, he has been an older brother to me. He is the son my mother never had and Dad always wanted. Sometimes, I wonder whether things would have been different if I had been born a boy. I would have been able to find better-paying jobs. That's for sure.