Swollen lips and too-dark eye shadow marred my face. My cheeks were flushed from how quickly I left Mr. Thomas’ side, and a small streak of mascara had run underneath my left eye. I swiped away the offending makeup, staring at my reflection—at how unlikemeI looked.
I was bright colors and turquoise earrings. Dark streaks of color in my hair and nails painted electric blue—three-inch heels and tights covered with jagged rips.
I was a joke.
Tearing my gaze away from the mirror, I turned the faucet on and washed my hands, making the water hot enough to burn.The tingle grounded me, and I held my breath, pushing the air out of my lungs until my vision swam and I felt more like myself.
My phone vibrated from my clutch, and after drying my hands and removing the lingering traces of mascara, I sat in a semi-comfortable plush chair separate from the toilets to check the notification.
It wasn’t fromRhett—just the little Reddit alien letting me know one of my favorite fanfiction authors had uploaded a new chapter. I smiled, bookmarking the tab and knowing I could get lost in a smutty fic about a raven-haired potions master and his swotty know-it-all later tonight. Thumbing to my messages, my finger hovered over Miller’s name.
Heshouldbe the one here with me.
I’d be proud to have him on my arm and by my side, laying my hand on his chest as he stretched his hand to the headmaster in greeting.
He—Surely, not.
It’s an awful idea.
If there ever was an inappropriate time to have an honest conversation, this was it.
Still, I clicked on our message thread, crossed one leg over the other, and sighed, tapping a finger to my lips before letting my thumbs glide over the letters.
Me:Hey, you. I need help.
Me:The school has a fundraising event tonight at the West Beach Conference Center, and I’m in a pickle.
Me:Feel like being my Prince Charming?
I typed out an additional message but let my thumb hover over the send button before backspacing and shaking my head. Miller would hate a stuffy event like this.
I’d been occupying the bathroom for far longer than even a person with digestive distress would, and, after rubbing a spot in between my eyebrows, I quickly relayed a few key details to Miller, telling him the attire was formal, and I would be forever in his debt if he could come and save me from these pretentious assholes.
The lock snicked as I opened the door, glad the hallway was empty and not filled with impatient women tapping their heels and staring at their Rolexes.
Thirty minutes.I’d give it thirty minutes before I made my excuses and left.
Twenty-six minutes later, and no one had bothered me from my sad little corner at a high-top table next to the bar. Perhaps it was the aggressive way I stirred the cherry in my cocktail or the permanent scowl I had in place of a smile. Maybe Mr. Thomas had spread the word that I was a self-righteous bitch who shouldn’t be bothered unless a man was on my arm.
I scoffed, shaking my head before removing the cherry from my drink and popping it into my mouth. The sweet burst of flavor did little to improve my bitter mood, and I groaned, carefully gliding off the stool to leave.
The short, red cocktail dress fell just below my knees, with a sweetheart neckline and tapered waist with buttery-soft material that would have caused me to slide off the chair and onto the floor if I’d had more than my normal two drinks.
A giggle bubbled past my lips as I smoothed the material down past my waist, thinking how Headmaster Hopkirk would act if I had fallen, stomping over to me in his pretentious wing-tip shoes and perfectly tied white cravat.
He’d cross his arms, impatiently tapping one foot while not bothering to help me stand from where I’d slipped onto the floor. Two more foot-taps and one rude comment later, and I’d ungracefully rise to apologize for my clumsiness. He’d answer with some snide remark about needing to add anotherconditionto my employment aspirations. Perhaps this one would include a length requirement on my skirt and a nightly enforced curfew.
I shook my head and tucked an escaped curl behind my ear. If I couldn’t imagine the man responsible for offering me a full-time job with even a smidgen of respect and human decency, how could I ever be satisfied with this as a career?
I couldn’t.
There. It was that simple. There would always be a condition—a requirement, a nudge from my father to steer me a certain way. I’d rather scuba dive to remove algae from huge aquariums or spend my days lining skyscrapers with airbags—so if Hans Gruber fell out of a forty-story window, he wouldn’t die—than deal with this long term.
“Emma? Emma?” a deep, panicked voice called, making itself known above the tittering chatter of guests and teachers. I turned, following the baritone sounds and spotting Miller standing directly inside the large doors that led to where the fundraiser was.
He came?
My heart fluttered—actually skipped a beat like that simpering princess locked in a tower awaiting rescue. Thoughts of our kiss flooded my mind, of him rushing closer, scooping me up like I weighed less than a feather, and pressing his lips to my forehead in greeting.
