Page 9 of Unapologetic Love Story

‘Don’t get excited, Seb. I’m staying for the meal and then I’m out.’

He could smell Sebastian’s familiar mix of designer cologne and his fruity vape. They slapped each other’s backs in what was now a perfected, ancient greeting and Tom had to admit that he was a little relieved to see the man. Seb could yammer inanely enough to keep people away from them, while Tom went hunting for a new subject that would get Tori off his back.

‘It’s black tie, Tommy,’ Seb chided him. ‘Where’s your bow-tie?’

Tom sighed. He didn’t care for dress codes but he was annoyed at making a seemingly obvious mistake. ‘I hate those things. Makes me feel like a penguin.’

‘How’s the book coming along?’

‘Fine,’ Tom said, nodding at Ottie as she slithered into the vicinity with a slightly uneven gait and what was probably her third glass of champagne in as many minutes. ‘Hi.’

‘Evening,’ Ottie slurred, reaching out to caress Tom’s tie. ‘Not a bow-tie, but I love Dolce.’

Tom didn’t correct her; he merely grimaced. ‘Made your donation yet?’

Seb snorted. ‘Don’t even know what it’s for, mate.’

Ottie laughed sharply and Tom tried to mask his own disapproval.

‘It’s for tackling illiteracy.’

‘Oh, yah, great stuff. Not pointless at all. Everyone can read, for fuck’s sake.’

Tom didn’t correct his friend but he thought of his own father – the greatest man he knew, who would quietly ask either Tom or his sister Mirren to read menus for him on the rare occasions when they went out to eat.

‘Fuck! Mary Simms is over there,’ Ottie said, her whole body stilling as she spotted the columnist. Tom knew the woman who was popular for her engagement and wedding writeups. His ex-girlfriend, Mandy, had sometimes read her columns to him. She’d been good at imitating Mary’s singular voice. While they’d been amicably broken up for two years, she’d occasionally voice note him a column if it was a feisty one and they’d share a virtual laugh.

‘Tom, you must know her. You’re a writer, right?’ Ottie pressed, her gaze glued to Mary Simms like a rowdy toddler who’d just spotted a pigeon minding its own business. ‘She’s super hard to get. She won’t write about just anybody. And you can’t bribe her – my friend Tilly tried.’

Tom glanced around a little desperately. He wasn’t tipsy enough to find Seb and Ottie charming just yet. When he saw Tori and her publishing mates at what must be their table, he made a beeline for her.

‘You came,’ she exclaimed as he reached the group.

He nodded at the familiar faces around the table and picked up his name, written in swooping gold letters upon a little card. ‘I did.’

‘Any hits?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, start mingling.’

‘I never would have signed with you if I knew you were this aggressive,’ he teased gently.

‘Look,’ Tori sighed, ignoring him and pointing over to the bar. ‘Pepper Cousins. Socialite, richest girl in the room. Gotta be something under all of that, even if it’s just her little black book.’

He looked over at the woman in question. Tall, slender, long brown hair. She was wearing a sparkling silver jumpsuit and was arguing with the bartender, waving her arms around theatrically. Tom had seen her out and about, mostly at Fashion Week parties, and she was often featured in the tabloids and society pages. He had a feeling there wasn’t a whole lot to uncover there. Her parents owned Spritz, a luxury resort chain that had gone global. Other than being unaware of some of her privilege, he doubted there was anything newsworthy about her antics.

He said as much to Tori, who rolled her eyes.

‘All right then, what about her friend?’

‘What friend?’ Tom inspected his sleeves for lint.

‘Her!’

Tom glanced up. As Pepper Cousins stepped away from the bar, she approached another young woman. This one in rose-gold sequins and blonde hair streaked with pink. Pepper leaned in to say something to her, something that made the other girl throw her head back and laugh. It was such a genuine reaction, so full of life. A completely unapologetic sound, like a bell ringing in a quiet chapel.

Tom frowned. He told himself to look away, but for some reason, it was hard. The friend of the heiress accepted her drink and sipped it, taking in the room with wide eyes. She watched her friend with loving indulgence as the heiress recounted a story with vaudevillian facial expressions.