Blood rushes to my cheeks. The comment completely blindsides me. Over the past few weeks, I had wondered whether Beatrice might have guessed what I was doing with Crawford, or even if she might have heard us, but discovering she had known the truth all along stings.
She turns around, her blue eyes fixing on mine in a new way. I feel about four inches tall, degraded, and ashamed.
“At least I know who to come to if I need him to approve something for me. You can probably get him to agree to most things while you’re on your knees, right?”
She sneers at me as the elevator dings, and she stalks out through the lobby and away toward the street.
I’ve never felt so dirty in my life.
“What a fucking bitch.”
If Hope knew where Beatrice lived, I’m pretty sure she would go there and put a knife in her tires. Maybe even inher.
“If that had been me, I would have punched her right in her smug little face. Fuck me, I will find out who she is, come to your office and smear shit on her desk, and you know I would!”
I attempt a smile, but the despair and shame from the conversation with Beatrice are still haunting me.
It didn’t help that I arrived at my house to find a box waiting for me from Crawford. It’s a beautiful, bright red gown, but it’s the wrong size.
I’m sitting on my bed, fighting tears, wearing a dress that doesn’t cover my breasts, with two hours to go until I have to leave.
“Look, if I leave work right now, I can come over,” Hope continues. “I have some beautiful clothes. Probably not the level of designer that those gala women will be wearing, but you could look like a million dollars in a trash bag, Amelia.”
I wipe at my eyes, shaking my head. “You can’t miss your shift for me, babe. Your boss is an asshole. I’m gonna get into a different bra and try and twist myself into this thing. It’ll be okay.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t even find out your size. Men are so useless.”
I was surprised by that, too. I had hoped that he would ask Eleanora to send something over. She, at least, knows what fits me. But he’s sent over the gown from a designer store I’d never heard of, and with the generic sizing, I always have trouble fitting my breasts into anything my ‘official’ size.
I’ve tried calling him, but he’s knee deep in gala prep and probably won’t be free until it’s too late. I wipe my cheeks, sitting up as there’s a gentle knock at my bedroom door.
“I should go,” I say quickly to Hope. “I love you. Sorry for ranting.”
“If you need me to come kill that Beatrice bitch, you say the word, okay?” Hope says, her voice lowering to a discreet murmur. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, you hear me? Don’t let her make you feel like you’ve done something wrong for earning a goddamn living. Fuck that fucker. I love you. Go wow them all.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes.”
I hang up and turn to my bedroom door as it opens. Annabelle pokes her head round with a tentative smile that drops almost instantly.
“Oh my God, Mia, what’s wrong?” she asks, stepping into the room.
“It’s okay,” I breathe. “I just… I can’t get into this dress, and it’s all I have to wear.”
Annabelle smiles. “That’s what I came to tell you. I think you might have a guardian angel downstairs.”
I stare at her, rising from the bed and slipping out of the ill-fitting gown, pulling on my robe as I make my way downstairs. I’m praying that it isn’t Crawford. I tidied the house when I got home, but I still don’t want him to see it.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and stop dead in my tracks, staring at Kaitlin, who is standing in my living room with several garment bags over her arm.
“Hi,” she says with a tentative smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just showed up here.”
I step forward, as Annabelle almost collides with me as she follows me down the stairs. “What are you doing here?” I ask Kaitin in amazement.
Kaitlin shrugs. “Look, I heard that you’re going to this gala. I mean, I couldn’tnothear about it with Beatrice bitching all afternoon.”
The expression on my face must tell her everything she needs to know because Kaitlin rolls her eyes.
“Yeah. I’m not getting into that, but I eventually told her to shut up. It’s not like you could have said no to him, anyway. I saw the email from the courier with the invoice for the dress he bought. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to fit.”
