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Weekly Contest #347
“Is there anything else I can get you?”I shook my head at the butler in front of me. His posture was intimidatingly straight.“No, thank you,” I said as sweetly as I could. What was I supposed to call him? Mr. Jones? Samuel? I felt bad for him; he didn’t need to wait on me hand and foot. Enough years with my parents had done wonders for my independence.“Dinner will be at six o’clock, cocktail attire.”“Every night?”Samuel nodded. “Indeed.”“I don’t have enough clothes for that,” I said, nudging my backpack with my foot. It had everything I owne...
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