Jax swiped the stolen access card and slipped into the staff locker room. Access control was strictly for entry; once inside, he was free to roam.
The locker room was sparsely populated. A few employees slumped on benches, heads in hands, radiating the dejection of a shift where tips were scarce and verbal abuse was plentiful. Jax ignored them, keeping his head low as he moved deeper into the rows of metal cabinets until he found a secluded corner.
After a quick glance to ensure he was unobserved, he picked a locker at random and pried the thin metal door open.
A wave of biological warfare assaulted his senses.
"Jesus..." Jax gagged, pinching his nose. The locker reeked of stale sweat and fermented foot odor, a stench so potent that the cheap cologne sprayed over it only made it more nauseating. "Did something die in here?"
He slammed the door shut and tried the next one.
This one was bearable. Inside, he found a standard-issue waiter's uniform. He stripped off his jacket and pulled the uniform on, the fabric rough against his skin. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it would have to do.
Buttoning the collar as he walked, Jax exited the locker room. The staff here seemed too beaten down by their own shifts to pay attention to a stranger. He merged into the flow of traffic in the corridor, adopting the dead-eyed, hurried shuffle of a service worker.
He reached the staff elevator and stepped in behind a group of waiters. He stared at his shoes, trying to shrink his presence.
Just as the steel doors began to slide shut, a pale, delicate hand shot out to stop them.
"Hold on, let me in."
Jax froze. The voice was all too familiar.
Hazel stepped into the elevator, her doll-like features set in a mask of indifference.
Jax immediately buried his chin in his chest. Of all the people in this massive complex, it had to be her.
There were now five people in the tight space. Hazel didn't spare a glance at the hired help as she reached out and pressed the button for the ninth floor. The three waiters beside Jax exchanged envious looks, clearly starstruck by the beautiful auctioneer.
The elevator began its ascent. A ventilation fan whirred, blowing a cool breeze into the cabin, but Jax was sweating.
Don't look up. Don't look up.
"Hey, buddy," one of the waiters next to him whispered, nudging Jax's arm. "Which floor? need me to hit it for you?"
Jax stiffened. The three waiters were staring at him. They were a clique, and he was the odd one out.
"Ninth floor," Jax grunted, keeping his voice low and muffled.
The waiters blinked. The ninth floor was restricted. Even Hazel turned her head, her curiosity piqued.
She scanned the back of the elevator. Her eyes landed on Jax, who was practically trying to fuse with the corner. A flicker of recognition crossed her face.
"Bro," the chatty waiter continued, frowning at Jax's chest. "That's a seventh-floor uniform. You go up there looking like that, the supervisor is going to skin you alive. You better go back and change."
Jax’s blood ran cold. Dammit. He had just grabbed the first uniform he saw. He didn't know they were color-coded by floor.
"I..." Jax stammered, his mind racing for an excuse.
"Shit," he cursed internally. This is it.
Just as the waiters’ suspicion began to harden into hostility, Hazel spoke up.
"It's fine," she said coolly, a small, unreadable smile playing on her lips. "He's with me. Leave him be."
The three waiters snapped to attention, their envy of Jax now skyrocketing. "Understood, Miss Hazel!"
The elevator chimed at the fifth floor. The three waiters shuffled out, casting longing glances back at Hazel before the doors closed.
Now, it was just the two of them.
Jax remained silent, staring intently at a promotional poster for cheap whiskey plastered on the wall.
"So," Hazel said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Are you going to explain yourself, Uncle? Or are you just going to stare at the wall all day?"
Jax cleared his throat and deepened his voice. "Miss, I think you have the wrong person. Do I know you?"
There was a blur of motion. Jax felt a tug, and his staff cap was snatched right off his head.
"Hmph! Drop the act," Hazel scoffed, twirling the cap on her finger. "I knew something was off the moment I walked in. I can't believe it's actually you. Speak. What are you doing here?"
Jax sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. The jig was up. "I'm looking for someone."
"Looking for someone? Who?"
"Elena."
Hazel’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing him for any sign of a lie. "Really?"
"Really."
"And how, exactly, did you know she was on the ninth floor?"
Jax hesitated. "Uh... telepathy?"
Hazel stared at him for a second, then burst into laughter. It was a bright, genuine sound that contrasted sharply with her icy demeanor from before.
"You are ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If you get caught, especially with a stolen uniform, the Chief won't just kick you out. You could be facing prison time."
"Seriously?" Jax widened his eyes. "For crashing a party?"
"This isn't a party. The Chief has deep connections. You disappear here, you stay disappeared." She blinked her large, expressive eyes at him, waiting. She clearly wanted him to beg for her help.
Jax wasn't the begging type. He looked her straight in the eye. "You're an auctioneer. You know the layout, and you know the guest list. do me a favor. Help me find Elena. I'll make it worth your while."
Hazel pursed her lips, considering. She glanced at the floor indicator. "We're almost there. Just... keep your mouth shut and follow my lead. Got it?"
Ding.
The doors slid open to reveal the ninth floor. Two burly security guards in dark suits stood on either side of the entrance.
"Ahem!" Hazel announced loudly, stepping out. "This is my new assistant. You two, go find him a proper uniform. He looks like a mess."
The guards nodded respectfully. One of them gestured to Jax. "Come with me, sir."
Jax glanced at Hazel, who offered a subtle nod. He had no choice but to follow the guard like a lamb to the slaughter.
They led him to a small supply room. A moment later, the guard returned with a bundle of grey fabric.
"Here. XXXL," the guard said, thrusting the clothes at him. He leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. "You're a lucky bastard, you know that? Managing to land the Ice Beauty? I didn't think she had a type."
Jax gave a dry, awkward laugh. "Yeah. Lucky me."
He quickly swapped the ill-fitting seventh-floor uniform for the grey ninth-floor suit. It was baggy in the wrong places, but it was official.
"Good luck, brother!" the guards waved as Jax returned to the corridor.
Hazel was waiting. She didn't say a word, simply turning and walking down a winding hallway. Jax fell into step behind her.
The ninth floor was a labyrinth. Corridors twisted and turned, identical carpets and identical sconces making it impossible to maintain a sense of direction. After a few minutes, Jax was certain he couldn't find his way back to the elevator alone.
Finally, they stopped before a set of massive, double doors. Hazel turned to face him, her expression serious.
"Listen to me. From this point on, you are my assistant. You carry my things, you stand where I tell you, and you do not speak unless spoken to. Understand?"
Jax shrugged. "Doesn't look like I have much choice."
"Good. The auction is about to start. The people in there... they're from mid-tier clans and wealthy families. They have fragile egos and short tempers. Do not offend them."
Jax nodded.
Hazel pushed the doors open.
They passed through a heavy red velvet curtain, and the world shifted.
If the lobby downstairs was expensive, this was obscene. The auction hall was a temple to excess. The floor appeared to be paved with gold tiles that shimmered under a barrage of strobe lights. Crystal chandeliers hung low, refracting light in blinding prisms. It was a sensory overload of wealth.
Hazel pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from her purse and handed them to Jax. "Put these on."
Jax didn't argue. The glare was giving him a headache anyway. He slid them on and leaned in close. "After the auction, can you ask around about Elena for me?"
"Depends on your performance," Hazel replied cryptically.
She led him backstage, navigating through a chaotic swarm of stagehands and models. As soon as she appeared, a group of makeup artists and coordinators swarmed her.
"Miss Hazel! Where have you been?" a man with a clipboard whined. He was dressed in a flashy suit and spoke with a dramatic, effeminate lilt. "The auction starts in ten minutes! The Chief will have my head if we're delayed!"
"Relax," Hazel said, brushing past him. "I don't need your panic. Give me the item list."
The man handed her a tablet with a delicate flourish of his hand, his pinky finger extended. "You cut it too close, Miss Hazel. The Chief is watching tonight."
"Hmph. Let him watch."
The makeup team finally noticed the large man in sunglasses standing silently behind her.
"Um... Miss Hazel," the man asked, eyeing Jax suspiciously. "Who is this?"
Hazel didn't look up from the tablet. She casually popped a dried nut into her mouth from a bowl on the vanity table.
"He's my new assistant." She waved a hand vaguely in Jax's direction. "Fix his hair. He looks like he just woke up."