“So funny.” I ball up my cloth napkin and throw it at her.
She laughs again with total abandon and I feel it at the back of my knees. I can see why she never does it. If she laughed like this all the time she’d never get anything done for the hordes of people crowding her.
7
Maggie
My hands shakeas I pull my phone out of my bra and address a text to O.G.
“You told me I would be a caterer!!!!”
Yes, I used that many exclamation points. I also throw in a few red-faced angry emojis. I have a point to make.
Getting close to Zebulund means being unnoticed. But this. This is the opposite of anonymity.
“Last minute change. Best I could do.”
I send him a single middle finger emoji.
He responds with a winky face.
“I will find you. And I will hurt you.”
I growl at the response that pops right up. “Good luck with that.”
For some reason, I believe that if I made it my life’s mission to discover who O.G. is, I never would. I’d be ninety-five on my death bed cursing his pseudonym.
“I need new friends,” I say out loud to my reflection.
The 1940s style black satin cocktail dress barely covers my ass. The sweetheart neckline is cut low on my modest cleavage but the built-in corset takes it up a smoldery notch. Itchy stockings cover my legs, complete with garters and garter belt.
I feel almost sexy until I remember that Zebulund is on this boat, only yards away. It’s like a switch is flipped and I want to cover up with a sweater. Or, you know, turn invisible. My hand shakes as I correct a curl that keeps falling loose.
Just my body, not my being. Just my body, not my being.
I bend over slightly with my bottom facing the mirror. Everything is very visible if I bend even a little. The reflection of my ruffled-bloomered tushy wiggles in the mirror. “This is ridiculous.”
“Did you say something?” Roe barges in and closes the door behind him.
I snap upright. The small changing room under the deck of the yacht for staff suddenly feels too small for two people. I press the front of the ridiculous costume flat over my stomach. His gaze slides over my legs and chest and face before returning to linger a little too long on my legs.
“Wow.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “I thought the point was to be low-key.”
“Apparently, I’m a cigarette girl.” I pat my retro updo and place a hand on my cocked hip. My other palm tips up toward the roof, like a sassy teapot. “It’s the best my source could do last minute.”
“It’s umm, conspicuous.” He steps forward and leans in, examining my face. “Are you wearing makeup?”
The eyeliner is cat-eye style and the fake lashes match the theme. I can’t risk getting fired before we leave port. When I commit I go all in, even if I’m not happy about it.
“I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s too much.”
He studies me closely. I shift and nervously play with the satin skirt’s hem. I never wear makeup. In fact, I never do anything that might draw attention to myself.
“You look great.” He runs a finger along the hem I’ve been fooling with. It accidentally grazes my thigh. “I’m concerned about you going unnoticed, though. I thought that was why you didn’t want to come as my date.”
“I did think about that.”
I thought about not even coming on this stupid trip. Because I’m worried about how I might react to being next to Zebulund. Will I punch him or start crying? Will I lose my cool and scream at him? But this whole trip is all my brilliant plan. I need to toughen up if I’m going to bring down a titan like Marty Zebulund.
