"Vivienne, quit gawking at the door," Gary squeezed past me. He'd changed into a light gray suit today, but it still couldn't hide his gut. "Stay close. You can't handle this kind of event alone."
I swallowed the sarcasm rising in my throat and nodded politely, following him into the crowd.
The next hour, I turned my photographic memory into a highly efficient intelligence-gathering operation.
That white-haired man in the corner—I'd seen his photo in last month's political section. Federal senator, environment committee. The woman beside him wasn't his wife, because his wife had appeared in the Washington Post society pages last week, and this one was clearly twenty years younger.
I handed my card to a woman who looked like an independent publisher's editor. She actually recognized my pen name, V.C. Night, which gave me a moment's relief. Found two guests willing to do brief interviews, barely met Gary's minimum requirements, filled two dense pages in my notebook.
After all that, my heels had rubbed my feet raw. I grabbed a champagne flute and retreated to a quiet corner near a massive ice sculpture, wanting to rest my facial muscles from all the fake smiling.
But before I could take a sip, a nauseating mix of cheap mints and stale coffee closed in from behind.
"Vivienne, sweetheart."
Gary had followed me over somehow. His sticky tone raised goosebumps on my skin.
I turned. He stood close. Close enough that I could see the shine on his face and the blackheads covering his nose.
"Not bad tonight," he said with a tone like he was doing me a favor, his eyes sliding shamelessly down to my neckline. "Nice choice of dress. Very... photogenic."
Christ, what had he eaten tonight? The stench from his mouth made me holdmy breath.
"Thanks," I stepped back half a pace, gripping my recorder tighter. "I need to find a few more people to interview."
"What's the rush?" His hand shot out, clamping onto my elbow.
My entire arm went rigid like I'd been electrocuted.
"Gary," I kept my voice low. "Let go."
"You're too tense," he said, not releasing me but leaning closer, dropping his voice half an octave. "I've seen it for a while now—you're a smart girl. You know, in this business, writing a few articles nobody reads won't get you anywhere. Just make me happy tonight, and I guarantee tomorrow that senior editor position is yours."
All the blood in my body dropped to freezing in that instant. My stomach lurched violently.
"I said let go!" I shoved him hard without mercy.
Gary stumbled back, his spine hitting the ice sculpture's base. He froze for a second, then his ugly face twisted with rage at being rejected.
Like a pig whose face was about to burst from all the fat.
"You ungrateful bitch!" he hissed, jabbing his finger at my nose. "Who the hell do you think you are? A used-up reject dumped by your man! You think renting some fancy dress makes you high society? Men don't want you because your fat ass embarrasses them! If I hadn't taken pity on you and given you a job, you'd be sleeping on the street with your psycho mother by now! You're just like that crazy bitch! Whore! Slut!"
My head buzzed. How dare he insult my mother!
I'd had enough.
Seriously, I'd had enough. My body moved faster than my brain.
"Fuck your senior editor position!"
Before I knew it, I'd thrown my entire glass of red wine straight in his face.
His carefully arranged strands of hair immediately drooped down, plastered to his forehead. Wine ran down his face, dripping onto his white collar. He looked ridiculous and pathetic.
The ambient noise seemed to drop a degree. People were noticing the commotion now, but fuck it, I didn't care anymore.
Gary's face went from shocked to red to purple. He moved closer, lowering his voice, but the fury grinding through his teeth didn't diminish one bit. "You fucking... Vivienne Cole, you're fired. Don't let me see you at the magazine tomorrow!"
