Jordan makes a distressed sound in her throat. I want to tell her not to bother. I’ve been called “the help” before. Women like Carrie have handed me their jackets, even though I’ve never worked a coat check. Men pass me their plates without looking at me, even though the catering staff is clearly in different clothes.
The words roll off me after years in this job.
“Be nice,” Jordan murmurs.
Carrie frowns, and my stomach sinks. She strikes me as someone determined to make a point, and I’m likely to be the butt of it. Before I can move away, she adds, “I’m serious. She’s not his type. Not without a full makeover. He’s going to pick someone like…” She casts around for a minute before she gestures toward a woman in a gold dress who holds court over a small group like she was born to command a room. She positively sparkles. “Her. Nadia Connor. Corporate lawyer. She just won some massive equal protection case before the Supreme Court. Pro bono.”
I watch Nadia laugh. She’s stunning, and more than that, she’s poised. She looks like the type of woman who speaks multiple languages and could argue a case in all of them.
Carrie is probably right that Tristan would like her.
I should probably make sure he talks to her if things don’t work out with Sarah.
My throat seems to constrict.
The women continue to debate the particulars of Tristan’s dating life, and I only half listen. My fingers slowly dig into the wooden railing. They are five feet away from me talking about how unsuitable I am for a man in their world.
For the first time, I look down at my clothes and judge myself. Should I be wearing a dress? Should I be trying harder? I used to love being a tomboy. David joked that I followed him around with a little pair of toy nunchucks when I was eight.
She’d need a full makeover.
Shame heats my cheeks, burns my throat.
I’m okay with being called “the help.” I’m okay with being in the background.
But never before have I felt invisible.
“What’s going on?”
I jerk my head around to see Sienna next to me, her brows raised. She disappeared onto the dance floor as soon as we got here, and now she’s rosy and glowing and carrying a large pink drink.
“Katie, are you okay?” She looks alarmed now.
“Of course.” My pulse hammers in my throat. “I just need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back. Can you please keep an eye on your brother? The usual protocol.”
Sienna nods.
Theusual protocolmeans she’ll hit the emergency button on her phone app to alert me. It means I have five minutes to get myself together.
Five minutes to stop thinking about Tristan.
5
KATIE
Icurl my fingers around the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink and examine my flushed cheeks and my pulled-back hair.
I look like I’m freaking out.
My fingers tighten on the sink.
My job is to take care of other people, and right now, I am failing at it.
“Get your shit together, Katie Bailey,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror. She looks like she’s having a really bad time. She looks like she just realized how very desirable her best friend is.
She looks like a girl who has been lying to herself for three years.
“Fuck.” I push away from the sink and pace the private bathroom.I can’t do this.Not right now. I can’t want—I can’t even think the words.
