She was
perfect for the part, and when the shoot was over he offered her
a glass of International Foods' own brand of vodka over ice. She
accepted the drink, warning him that she would become woozy if
she drank it straight on the rocks. She poured Orange Fresh into
the glass and took a sip. She said she liked it better that way,
sweet. At that very instant, unknown to either of them, she had
single-handedly invented a multimillion dollar market segment for
International Foods, for which Matthew would later garner
considerable praise.
Marie entered the kitchen. Forgetting discretion, the servant
allowed her critical gaze to rest for a moment too long on the
open bottle of champagne in Greta's hand. Bad move.
Greta placed the bottle on the granite counter, set down her
glass and, walking toward the long, sweeping kitchen windows,
removed the glove from her right hand. "Marie," she called.
Marie, who had gone back to her business, faced her employer. She
brushed her hand across her blinking eyes, which showed the
effects of ammonia vapors.
"I think these need cleaning too," Greta said, running her index
finger along the windows. She smirked.
"Of course, Mrs. Locke."
"And don't forget the outside," Greta added, picking up her
drink. She gulped down half of it, then poured the remainder of
the champagne into her glass.
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