Weight in Gold
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Vivienne Wren
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When Iris loses a stranger’s luxury watch, she never expects it to belong to a ruthless CEO. But Conrad isn’t just powerful—he’s precise, disciplined, and suddenly very interested in her. Faced with an impossible choice—repay him in cash or work off the debt—Iris becomes his temporary assistant. Her plan? Survive the chaos. His plan? Keep control. But between late-night banter, stolen glances, and one too many almost-kisses, control starts slipping fast. As Iris turns his ordered world upside down, the question lingers—who’s really in charge now?
Chapter 1: Borrowed Time
“I swear I’m not usually this uncoordinated.”
The hors d’oeuvres wobbled on my tray as I tried to keep my footing. The guest didn’t hear me, or pretended not to, so I tightened my fingers around the tray, staggering back to the tiled area near the fountain.
It took actual effort not to give in to the urge to toss the entire tray into the water and bolt. In my defense, none of this was my idea. Sarah had dragged me into it.
Her dad’s company was down one waitress for a very prestigious party, and her usual stand-in, our friend Eliza, was unavailable tonight. So here we were.
Three minutes after arriving, I was herded inside, shoved into a too-tight dress, and given a crash course in “serving rich people.” My purse was locked in some mysterious back room, identically dressed girls were assigned their routes with army-like efficiency, and mine, of course, was the longest one.
From the fountain all the way to the hedges. And the path was made up entirely of white pebbles. I’d be spending the night serving hors d’oeuvres and drinks. And, of course, I had been assigned the sacred champagne service: every hour, on the hour.
Sarah warned me her dad was particular about those instructions. “Best to follow them to a T,” she’d warned me.
Terrifying. And with no phone or watch, that was a hard rule to keep. I’d already gone back inside four times to check the time, but it mostly just cost me precious minutes I could’ve spent collecting empty glasses and serving ungrateful senators and their overly-botoxed wives.
Most guests didn’t so much as spare me a glance or halt their conversation as they took drinks or hors d’oeuvres from my tray.
I wobbled my way to the bar, where four guys in white shirts and black slacks were mixing drinks and loading them onto trays. The clock above the kitchen doors told me it was seven thirty, so I had about twenty-five minutes until I needed to be back here to pick up my next round of champagne.
Grabbing an empty tray from the bar, I headed back out to gather the empty glasses scattered everywhere. I cleared the cocktail tables from the fountain to the hedges, leaving only the small nook on the far side of the garden.
I went back to turn in the empty glasses and headed for the hedges in the very back of the venue. I was about to load the glasses onto my tray when I suddenly remembered the champagne.
Shit. What time was it? I remembered the clock tower Sarah and I had passed on our way here. Maybe I could see it if I just…
I glanced around, and when I had made sure there were no eyes on me, I stepped onto the edge of a large stone planter and hoisted myself up to peer over the hedge.
“Plotting your escape?” a low voice came from behind.
I startled so violently I lost my footing. Strong hands grabbed my waist and steadied me. I spun around to find one of the bartenders, one eyebrow raised, hands still on me. My breath caught as I took in his face.
How had I not noticed him before? This had to be the most handsome guy I’d seen in years, maybe ever. His dark hair was casually pushed back, his jaw clean-shaven and angular, and lips you simply couldn’t ignore.
I cleared my throat awkwardly and gently pried his hands from my waist, stepping down carefully.
“Just checking the time,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He gave me a long look, his eyes drifting to the planter and back to me, clearly judging my sanity.
“The clocktower,” I explained. “I thought I could see it from here.”
He nodded slowly, then took off his watch and fastened it around my wrist, his fingers lingering just a second too long. “So you don’t break your neck,” he mumbled. “Bring it back by the end of the night.”
I glanced at the watch. It didn’t look particularly expensive. Sure, the dial was intricate, maybe even vintage, but the band was leather, and I didn’t recognize the brand. It definitely wasn’t a Rolex; that much was obvious.
“What’s your name?” I asked, sliding the watch farther up my arm so it fit better.
“Conrad,” he said.
“Thanks, Conrad.” I checked the time. “I need to get the champagne, but if you wait here, I’ll bring you a glass. Wait—can you even drink while you’re working?”
He frowned slightly, then tipped his head back. “I think one should be fine.”
I quickly turned to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks and hurried to get the champagne. Back inside the bar, I picked up a tray of champagne and carefully made my way back to my section.
As I offered a glass to a silver-haired woman in a navy dress, her husband suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre watch?” he asked, twisting my arm to get a better look. I nearly dropped the tray but forced a polite smile as I tugged my arm free.
“Good taste,” he muttered, already turning back to his wife.
I moved on, sneaking a glance at the watch myself. Jaeger-LeCoultre… Never heard of it. By the time I made it back to Conrad, I’d received at least three more compliments.
“Your watch is a real eye-catcher,” I told him, handing over a glass. “All the rich people seem to love it.”
Conrad chuckled. “Is that so?” he asked, taking a sip without breaking eye contact. It did something unwelcome to my pulse.
“Shouldn’t you get back to work?” I asked, nodding toward the bar like I wasn’t the one staring.
He followed my glance and nodded. “Yeah, break’s over. See you around.”
I watched him walk away: broad shoulders, easy stride, muscles shifting beneath a crisp white shirt. I snapped back to reality and finished my round.
Two more hours dragged by, and I was amazed at how much alcohol these wealthy people could drink without breaking a sweat. I spotted Sarah only once; she seemed to be doing great, probably because her section had normal pavement instead of stupid ankle-breaking pebbles.
Every time I came back to the bar, I peeked around for Conrad but never saw him again. He must’ve been working the other bar.
As I collected glasses, another waitress appeared beside me.
“Are you Iris?” she asked, eyes wide with concern.
I nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“Your friend Sarah had a little accident. She’s asking for you.”
My stomach dropped. I set my tray down and followed her as quickly as my stupid heels allowed. I found Sarah perched on a barstool, pressing a towel to her hand as blood trickled down her arm.
“Hold your arm up,” I instructed. “Let me see.”
She extended her hand, and I quickly inspected the wound. “You need stitches,” I said, eyeing the deep gash on her palm. “What happened?”
“I was picking up broken glass,” Sarah gritted out through clenched teeth. “Can you drive me to urgent care?”
I nodded, hurried to the lockers, grabbed our purses, and got her to the car. Her father didn’t look thrilled to be losing two waitresses, but one glance at her hand softened him enough to wave us off.
Urgent care was packed. We sat in the waiting room in matching dresses and uncomfortable heels as time ticked by. I doubted we’d see a doctor before the party even ended.
I glanced at the watch. Damn, the watch. I nudged Sarah to get her attention.
“I was supposed to return this watch to the bartender tonight,” I whispered, glancing at the dial.
Sarah looked at it. “Do you know his name?”
“Conrad,” I replied, trying not to blush. Calm down, Iris.
“I’ll ask my dad for his contact info,” she said. “You can return it tomorrow.”
We watched nearly an entire movie on my phone, sharing a single pair of headphones, before they finally called Sarah in. The stitching didn’t take long, but by the time we stepped outside, the party was long over.
I drove her home, dropped her off, and finally dragged myself back to my apartment. Once I’d showered and climbed into bed, I texted Eliza.
Iris
Ever heard of Jaeger-LeCoultre?
Eliza
Nope, but I just googled it. Looks fancy! Why?
Iris
Never mind. How was your night?
Eliza
Fun! I’ll tell you everything at dinner tomorrow. How was the party?
Iris
Draining. Ended up in urgent care with Sarah.
Eliza
Are you okay??
Iris
Sarah needed stitches. I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m exhausted.
Eliza
OK! Sleep. Good night ❤️
Iris
Night :)
I plugged in my phone and let the blankets swallow me whole. I closed my eyes and waited for sleep to come, but it didn’t. My mind kept drifting straight back to Conrad, over and over. It made me squirm.
What was wrong with me? I wasn’t the type to obsess over a guy I barely knew. It was probably just the watch. I still had it, after all. He was probably wondering where it was. Maybe even thinking I’d stolen it.
I hoped someone told him what happened.
I picked up my phone again and searched for Sarah’s father’s catering company. I scrolled through the employee page. No Conrad. I tried to shrug it off. He was probably just a temp, like me. I should just wait for Sarah’s dad to get back to me with his info.
I set my phone down and closed my eyes. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the watch on my nightstand. And I could’ve sworn the ticking whispered his name. Con-rad. Con-rad. Con-rad…
