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I turn to open the door, and as I step out into the hallway to exit the bathroom, a beautiful woman happens to catch me off-guard as she stops directly in front me. She even goes so far as to prevent me from skirting around her when I think she just wants into the bathroom. I tilt my head in confusion, studying her to see what she wants with me; I don’t know anyone here. After a heartbeat, it dawns on me who this woman is. She’s the one from last week’s party who was giving me a hard time about not being thankful enough for living here in the lap of luxury. Tweedledee or Tweedledum, I can’t remember which.
“Well, hello again, Princess. I see they’ve let you out of your cage.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat; I don’t need this shit right now. I can plainly see her plans are evil, and she wants nothing more than to cause divisive hostility. It’s just inevitable, a force of nature really, because there always has to be somebody somewhere who is demented enough to think their life is incomplete if they don’t cause drama for others. Women like this one thrive and feed off controversy as if they are starved piranhas.
She taps a forefinger on her lower lip as if she’s thinking, but she’s not; it’s all for show. “I’m curious. After you ruined that expensive birthday cake Nick had custom-made for you, what was your punishment?”
It’s none of her damn business, and I’m not going to play into whatever game she’s playing. I watch her eyes narrow into little slits like an alley cat when I don’t answer her, and my defenses go up as I prepare for a nail-scratching, hair-pulling catfight.
“Let me take a wild guess. I bet you didn’t even get your hand slapped, because you’re such a spoiled little rich bitch who grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth.” She eyes me hatefully. “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you? I bet—”
“You know nothing about me,” I retort, interrupting her. I turn to sidestep her and leave, but she grabs my arm in a tight vise, her French-manicured nails of steel digging into the bare skin of my forearm. I look from my arm to her eyes in disbelief. “I suggest you let go of me,” I say menacingly and give her a snarl, which makes a flash of fear cross over her eyes, but then it quickly disappears.
“Oh, but I do know your kind,” she spits out. “You’re the kind to look down and judge people like me, because you’re such a self-righteous prig.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck prickle. The bitch wants a knock-down, drag-out fight in formal attire, and I’m ready to make her dreams come true. “Let go of me, you whore,” I growl in a low tone. I yank my arm out of her hold, her nails scratching across my arm, leaving angry red marks in their wake.
“Do you know how many women would give their right arm just to catch the attention of Nick Palcini? You don’t deserve him!”
I give her an evil smirk and say with calm ire, “What’s the matter? Are you jealous? You don’t have what it takes to catch the attention of a man like Nick, and I do.” I couldn’t give a shit less about Nick, but I need to rub something in.
“Ha! Let me tell you something, you little shit. I’ve already had him, and I’m here to personally tell you you’re only a fling to him.” Her eyes trail over my body with intense, scrutinizing disdain. “You are nothing special, and I don’t believe you actually have what it takes to keep a man like him satisfied.” She pauses in her haughty tirade before delivering the final blow, shaking her head all-knowingly. “This happens every month. He’s become so predictable; it’s like clockwork. Every girl he’s ever had only lasts about a month or so before he gets bored of them. After he’s had his fill, its then they wind up getting sold into the trade, every one of them,” she emphasizes, “and you’re no different. That’s why I’m still here. I have what it takes to keep a man like him fulfilled. He always comes back to me,” she says with a smug smile.
My confidence begins to dwindle from her statement, but I refuse to let it show. “Really, because from where I’m standing, it looks as if you’re the one who doesn’t cut it.” I take her in with a hard glare then continue, “I’m the one he handpicked across a crowded room.” Clearly, I can’t let her get to me, so I try my hand at reverse psychology as my lips curve upward into a self-satisfied smile. “Tell me this; has he ever called you Princess?” I arch my finely-plucked brow. “Has he offered you the world and talked of a future together, saying you’re his forever?” She looks at me with a stunned, blank expression. Yeah, that’s right. Suck on that, bitch.
