Serving my ex 

 I knew he was coming the second I saw the guest list.

 Zane fucking Hawthorne.

 My stomach twisted the moment I read his name. I almost called in sick. Almost.

 All night I kept my distance — hiding in the kitchen, swapping stations with Clara twice, keeping my eyes on the floor like a good little maid. The black and white uniform they made us wear was too tight, too short, the apron barely covering anything. Every time I moved, I could feel the hem riding up my thighs. I told myself I was being professional. I told myself I was over him.

 But Zane was never...