A musical hum of polite laughter followed the statement, and I drifted closer, blending my way into the back of the crowd. A woman stood at the center—one of those snake-like women who men thought was attractive and I thought was frightful. She was soaking in all the attention, squeezing her manicured nails around her champagne flute and positively bursting from her dress. I watched her with a small smile. She was something my mother would call a trollop.
She held up her glass of wine. “And seriously...the service?”
The smile faded from my face as I peeled off my champagne-tinted glasses and saw the tittering lemming crowd for what they really were.
“I mean, where does he find these people? I’ve had steadier hands getting a bikini wax.”
“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” I interrupted, turning the heads of the crowd unintentionally toward me. The woman’s face soured as she took in every inch of me. She had clearly been going somewhere avant-garde and edgy with her waxing reference, but I had turned it into a classless one-liner with my joke. “I mean, I did see this huge platter loaded with various cheeses.”
“And who might you be?” she hissed with a painted smile.
A little voice in my head told me to be careful—that this woman would gladly eat me for breakfast if it weren’t for the carbs—but I continued forward. It must have been my coffee shop win, bolstering my sails.
“Rebecca White,” I said with a pearly smile, causing the people standing nearest to me to smile as well. “I only thought that it seems like a lovely gesture to throw such a magnificent party for a room full of strangers. I think the least we can be is grateful to our host and not pick on his staff.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I see why you’re so upset. You’re the help as well.”
Yeah, I guess I was. Kind of. Maybe the agency was getting paid, but I sure wasn’t.
“Yeah, I saw her driving some piece of junk,” the redhead said. “We couldn’t stop laughing. We were dying. I almost peed my pants.”
She must’ve been in the limo that passed us before we parked. “There is no reason to be mean,” I said.
“You might be dressed up like one of us, but you’re nothing like us. You stick out like a sore thumb. You’re obviously one of the hired models. And your car screams you’re from the wrong side of town. But the agency sure shined you up with fancy clothes, makeup, and hairdos. Did you come here to land yourself a millionaire? Because nobody at this party would touch you with a ten-foot pole. How much are they paying you anyway? Your hourly wage to be with us?”
“Hourly wage? Nothing.”
“That’s even more pitiful,” another woman said snidely.
“She’s working on commission,” the blonde said with the silver dress. “She gets a thousand dollars for every client she brings to the agency.”
“That’s even sadder.”
There was a low murmuring of assent, and all eyes flashed back to snake-woman like a tennis match. A muscle was grinding way back in her jaw, but she kept that same Rembrandt smile plastered on her face.
“She’s not out there busting her butt to earn a commission. She’s obviously here to land a rich guy,” the brunette said. Her light tone wasn’t enough to mask the venom in her words, but to be honest, I didn’t blame her. I was the one who had initiated here—she had every right to be angry.
It’s just...the jab about the caterers? The shell-shocked bouncer at the door? Even the condescending peacock on the way in. It all snowballed into one fateful comment. A comment that would serve to haunt me for longer than I could have imagined.
“I’ve already landed a rich guy, so I assure you that’s not why I’m here.”
Her gaze narrowed at me. “You’re a liar. So why don’t you scram? Get back in that piece of shit car of yours and drive off.”
“Markus is actually my boyfriend. And I think he’d want me here at his party by his side. I might not have a lot. But Marcus loves me for who I am. And what girl doesn’t want that?”
Just kidding, just kidding, just kidding. Fucking say it, Becca!
But I didn’t. I just kept my gaze evenly on ol’ snake eyes who looked like she’d swallowed a bug.
“You’re Marcus Taylor’s girlfriend?” Her stenciled eyebrows were in danger of disappearing completely into her hair, and I hurried to defend my work.
“Yes, I am,” I said to the astonishment of the crowd. “Marcus,” I added for good measure, feeling like saying the word somehow bolstered my claim. A dozen pairs of wide eyes fastened onto me—far too exposed in my ridiculous lace. I felt the warmth of a telltale blush coming on fast and decided it would be best if I made a quick exit. “Excuse me.”
“There’s no way Marcus would date that trash,” the woman said. “I know that for a fact.”
“Oh, honey. She’s beautiful. Maybe he found her irresistible. I bet she’s just the flavor of the week.”
“Not a chance. She’s lying and I’m going to prove it. I’m going to make her the laughingstock of the party.”