If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was happy to talk to Rex. But I know Jenna—the way she’s leaning to the side, the tight lines around her smile, the way her eyes flick from side to side. She doesn’t want him near her.
Sable is saying something to me.
I ignore her, focusing on Jenna and Rex, taking a step closer, just to overhear that piece of shit ask her if she’s going to stop being a tease and put out.
“We don’t sleep with clients.” Jenna gives that nervous, scared laugh that rakes across my heart.
I almost muscle in and slug him in his gelatinous face for talking to Jenna like that. Then I remember—I’m on thin ice.No matter. I’m going to kill this fucker, and it’s not good if I’m seen arguing with him beforehand.
I don’t let them out of my sight.
Sable senses something’s wrong. Her big fancy wedding and life of luxury as a billionaire’s wife are slipping through her fingers.
Meanwhile, I’m painting a target on Rex’s back.
Sable makes a disproving noise out of her nose, clearly directed at Jenna.
“Someone’s enjoying herself.”
“So,” I ask Sable, offering her my arm, my shoulders back as I watch Jenna in the corner, talking to Rex, that greasy walking sex-offender list, “how long have you been an escort for?”
31
JENNA
They look like they should be on the top of a wedding cake, McCarthy and Sable—the broad-chested billionaire and the elegant ballet dancer on his arm.
I resist the urge to pull at my thrift-store-find dress.
It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing,I remind myself.I’m the hired help.
A friendly waiter offers me another glass of champagne. I look longingly at his friend, who’s circling with a tray of lobster puffs.
Someone must have told them to stay away from the area where all the interns, PR, and assistants are congregated. We don’t deserve caviar.
I eat one of the pretzels in my bag and watch McCarthy. He’s so obviously flirting with Sable as they talk to the chairwoman of the Evergreen Trust.
I knewall his talk of wanting me, of rings and love, was just a lie, knew it, yet part of me wishes I were on his arm, that it was me he looked at like he couldn’t believe something so exquisite existed outside of his fantasies.
McCarthy’s going to take Sable back to his penthouse and sleep with her, and she’s going to drape herself like a movie star across his bare chest after and draw hearts on his collarbone, and they’re going to laugh while he tells her embarrassing stories about me.
Sable is perfect for him, and no, McCarthy is wrong—she’s not an escort, or if she is, she’s clearly got her sights set on being the next Mrs. Svensson. She’ll be a perfect corporate wife. They look natural together.
She leans up to kiss his cheek.
I murder a pretzel.
Jealous?Moi?
As if. The men I pick are all in a race to the bottom, and McCarthy is doing shots at a bar in hell.
I down the rest of my champagne, letting the slightly sour bubbles fizz on my tongue as I look around for a refill. I almost choke on it when I seehim.
One of my exes?
No.
Stalker?
