Played For A Fool? Not Me.

The spilled champagne soaked the carpet, and Tara Lawrence's voice cut through the lounge like a knife.

"On your knees. Clean it up with a napkin, you little bitch."

I stood my ground, my tray balanced perfectly.

I refused, knowing it meant losing my job.

To my shock, Caleb Scott, the casino empire' s heir, didn't fire me.

Instead, he summoned me to a penthouse with a bizarre proposition: "Be my girlfriend."

It made no sense. Why would a man like him want a cocktail waitress, especially after I publicly defied his friend?