Page 121
The way she says his name is deliberate. Possessive, almost.
Like she's reminding me that she had first dibs.
“Congratulations.”
One of the women nearby coughs suspiciously into her champagne. Silver Gown shoots her a look before turning back to me.
“We travel in the same circles.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Quite frequently, actually.”
She glances around again, searching for support.
“You all know Mitchell.”
A man a few feet away suddenly becomes extremely interested in his drink. Smart man.
“He doesn't usually bring women to these things,” she continues. “Certainly not women he barely knows, who clearly don’t belong here.”
Ah, there it is. This isn’t concern. Not curiosity.
This woman is royally pissed. Mitchell brought me, and apparently, she thinks he should've brought her. I almost smile.
Almost.
“Let me get this straight. So, you're upset he brought me and not you?”
Her spine goes rigid.
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.”
“Look, I simply think it's amusing he brought you.”
She turns toward the couple beside us again, widening her eyes as if we're all sharing some hilarious inside joke.
“Don't you find this amusing?”
The woman gives an uncomfortable little laugh. Silver Gown pounces on it.
“See? Everyone agrees with me.”
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I already did Mean Girls: Department Store earlier. Now we're doing Mean Girls: Billionaire Gala Edition.
“I mean, Mitchell could've brought anyone,” she continues, emboldened. “There are women here he's known for years. Women from good families. Women with successful careers. Women who actually belong at events like this.”
Her gaze rakes over my body again.
“And then he arrives with…”
She leaves the sentence hanging.
Me.
