Excerpt: The Breaking Point

It was in the moment that I saw those first few crimson drops fall that I knew it was going to be an awful night. I filled the wine glass the rest of the way to the top and handed it off to a rather tall lady with fiery orange hair.
She took it eagerly, spilling part of it on the floor without even noticing. “Thanks so much, dear. Now, what did you say your name was?”
I pressed my lips together for a second, knowing she wouldn’t remember in a matter of seconds—at least, she hadn’t the last two times she had asked. “Veronica,” I told her loudly, speaking over the noise of the lively literary party. “Veronica Wells.”
She smiled broadly at me, lipstick stuck to her front two teeth. “Miss Veronica, it’s a pleasure.” She held out her hand to me, and before I could reach out to shake it, a plump man in a hideous green suit overtook her. “Connie!” he exclaimed, enveloping her in a hug. I turned away to another customer to avoid seeing the rest of their drunken transaction.
I was supposed to be mingling out there with all these authors and adoring fans, but my boss, Mr. Herman Bryson, had decided that he needed someone to moderate the drinks, and regardless of my nineteen underage years, he had designated me as just the person for the job. So now I was subject to at least four hours of drink pouring, and being mistaken for a catering service instead of a bookshop employee with an actual opinion.