As I opened the door and stepped out, Adrian called again.
“Wait—Number 18. Haven’t we met before?”
I froze, my shoulders tensing.
“Mr. Walker, I don’t understand what you mean. You’re a big boss, and I’m just a new hostess. How could we have met?”
I put on a strong local accent and raised my voice. The lounge fell silent for a moment, but before I could say more, loud voices echoed from the hallway.
“I want her! Who the hell are you to cut in?”
“She’s mine. I picked her first!”
Two guests were fighting over a hostess. In the chaos, I slipped away.
Later, I pretended I had a stomachache and begged Emily Smith to take my place in Adrian’s lounge.
“Fine, but you owe me two days’ worth of fried rice. Yours is too delicious to resist.”
I agreed, watching her enter Adrian’s lounge and not come out again. Finally, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Staring at my reflection in the glass door, I wondered—had he recognized me?
I remembered back at the Bennett estate, when I was still treated as the real daughter. Adrian often came with Mrs. Johnson to work. With him helping, Mrs. Johnson had more time to run her food stand selling fried rice.