Unfortunately, it didn’t matter what I said. Oliver persisted like a dog with a raging bone(r), buying me a car I made the delivery man return on the spot, offering a vacation on a yacht I denied, and inviting me to the screening of a movie I badly wanted to see… but not badly enough to see it with him.
He wouldn’t take the hint that this wasn’t what he thought it was going to be, and I’d grown tired of his persistence. Asking him to do a solid and plaster himself to me would assure he’d make a spectacle of the situation and draw even more unwanted attention. As soon as the wine hit my dress, the options of getting out with the least amount of eyes on me ran through my mind. When I considered asking Oliver to help me, I realized I’d rather walk through the crowd naked, call all the media outlets to alert them… or eat nails.
And that’s when I realized Oliver needed to go.
I sighed as I turned off the faucet and stared down at the ruined front of my dress.
“I’m going to end it tonight,” I told Katya.
“That seems a little drastic. It’s just wine. Remember when you lit that little Givenchy jacket on fire in Amalfi?”
I pursed my lips together, trying not to laugh at the horrible memory and the ridiculous picture that had shown up online and in all the Italian newspapers.
“I meant Oliver,” I said, running my hand over the wet fabric and flicking water at her.
“Hey!” she said, laughing for a moment before sobering. “Are you sure? I know he’s an idiot but there are some benefits”
There were. But none I needed. What I did need was to end it. For my own sanity. Yesterday when I’d come home from a whirlwind modeling trip to Paris, I’d found my home filled with ridiculously large bouquets of flowers. My agent had run across town to let the florist in, and then sent me several texts apologizing and a box of gourmet donut holes to make it up to me. I’d texted a photo of the ridiculous display to both Katya and my best friend Addie, back in Seattle. Both had sent back the same image of a large dumpster on fire.
It was my fault for letting it go on too long, but he had made such an effort and, for the most part he was good fun to be around, the sex was decent, and he was easy on the eyes. I didn’t want more than that though, and he clearly did.
“The relationship has run its course,” I said, making air quotes at the word “relationship” and then pulling up the front of my dress, fastening the halter around my neck, and staring at my reflection. The damp fabric left little to the imagination. “It’s time.”
Katya opened her purse and handed me a tube of lip gloss and I laughed.
“Is this… armor?” I asked.
“Game face, baby.”
I swiped the gloss over my lips, nodded in approval at the sheer plum shade, and handed it back. I looked absurd with my dress pressed in damp, stained spots to my chest, yet it was probably only going to bring me more attention and adoration. “Lior Flynn, she’s just like us!” People were so weird.
“Wish me luck,” I said.
“Wait. You’re going to do it here? Have you even found out if the caning rumor is true? Please tell me it’s true.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest, the corner of her mouth lifting in a mischievous grin. It was her most famous expression. Photographers always asked her to give them one of her famous smirks. It was her Tyra Banks equivalent of the “smize”. Cindy Crawford’s mole. Gisele Bündchen’s “horse walk”.
“He never asked me even once, and I found no evidence,” I said, hanging my head in mock shame. “I’ve failed you. I’m sorry.”
“Damn. Well, if it makes you feel any better, my last date was into pegging. While I was still reeling from this revelation, he brought out a small suitcase with a variety of sizes, shapes, and colors.”
“Welp,” I said, eyes wide and blinking as though trying to ward off that bit of information with the sheer force of my lashes. “Trying new things is… fun?”
She shuddered in response.
“What did you do?”
“Suddenly remembered I had an early shoot,” she said and we laughed. That lie worked like a charm every time. “You sure you want to break up with Oliver here?”
“Go big or go home, baby,” I said, and turned on my heel. “And I intend to do both. I’m too old for this shit anymore. Plus, he won’t make a fuss with so many people around.”
“Good point,” she said, then leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Good luck.”
As I suspected, Oliver took the break-up in stride. I was a bit surprised by his easy acceptance and lack of theatrics after all the effort he’d put in to try and woo me. Then again, there were tons of cameras around and a party filled with beautiful women. He’d be okay.
I took my leave, giving the birthday girl an air kiss on her cheek and quietly slipping out a side door. Smiling at my usual driver as he tucked me safely inside the car, I leaned back and let out a long exhale.
“Are we waiting for Mr. Manning, Miss Flynn?”
“We are not, Freddie.”
