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Chapter 9
KEALY
“Oh, my god, would you get a move on?” Fantine hollered from the living room, where she tapped her foot more loudly.
She’d always gotten ready in record time. I, on the other hand suffered from analysis paralysis. Simply put, I had too many clothes to choose from. It was both a blessing and a curse. Because I worked in fashion, I either got a good amount of free clothes, or got really good prices on the ones I had to pay for. That was the blessing part. But the curse was, first, that in my tiny, shared New York apartment, I had barely any room to store things, and that second, I had the worst time choosing what to wear.
“C’mon, Fantine, just give me a minute more,” I called to her.
Shit, shit, shit. The pile of clothes I’d already tried on covered my bed and spilled onto the floor, and I was still miles away from making a decision.
Oh, fuck it. I decided to keep on the skinny jeans and booties that I was already wearing and pulled on a little wrap top that really showcased the girls. No such thing as too much boobage when one was going to a party in New York.
“Finally,” Fantine sighed when I joined her in the living room.
“Do I look okay?” I asked, twirling.
Fantine herself looked fabulous, like she always did, with her mini dress and over-the-knee boots. Which, I might add, her parents paid for just like they paid her rent. But I didn’t hold that against her. She still worked her butt off.
“You look gorgeous,” she said, looking me up and down with a smile.
Instant confidence. Fantine was nothing if not painfully honest, and if she approved of my outfit, I knew I was ready to roll.
Just like he’d promised, Cross reached out to me with the details of the party, and not only once; he’d actually checked in a couple times to make sure I had the address and his phone number just in case I needed it. Like if I got lost. Which no one in New York ever did. It was the easiest city in the world to find your way around in thanks to the grid system it was set up on. Avenues running north-south, and streets running east-west. You couldn’t go wrong.
So he was clearly contacting me for another reason, which puzzled me until Fantine pointed out the obvious.
“Don’t you see, he likes you, you idiot,” she said.
Loved being called an idiot by my roommate and now best friend, since Muse had fucked me over. But I carried on.
“Yes, that crossed my mind. I’m just not sure why he’d be interested in me. I mean, he’s a hunky male model, for heaven’s sake.”
Fantine rolled her eyes so hard, it must have been hurt.
“Do you not see how beautiful you are?”
Um, no. “Thank you, Fantine. That’s sweet of you to say.”
“All right. Don’t believe me. I don’t really care. But I would like to head out while the night is still young.” She put her hands on her hips in exasperation. “The Uber is downstairs.”
I grabbed for my clutch, one that I’d acquired for pennies at last season’s Prada sale.
So, with Fantine and me in the backseat of a Prius, a consistent favorite among Uber drivers, we raced across town to the party Cross and his friends were throwing at Marlon’s Soho loft. He must have been doing great, money-wise, because Soho lofts were pretty much the place for hip New Yorkers to live, and the competition for them had made prices skyrocket even beyond the usual already-insane New York housing prices.
I’d heard from Muse—back when we were still friends and speaking, and he would dole out the gossip he’d gathered like they were breath mints—that Marlon had come from a wealthy family. So maybe that was the source of his expensive zip code? I wasn’t sure. I did know modeling paid well if your agent kept you busy, but the ones who made earnings in the stratosphere, where you could buy things like lofts on Soho, were the few and far between outliers.
Anyway, Marlon’s money was not my business. I was just flattered his friend Cross had thought to invite me and my plus-one to their party. I only hoped it wouldn’t be full of bitchy twigs like the one I’d recently stuck with a pin. I was on that woman’s shit list for sure, most likely for the rest of my life, but I had the petty satisfaction that I’d gotten the last word, so to speak. Or the last prick.
“Why so quiet?” Fantine asked. She looked kind of creepy as the red and green of the changing traffic lights splashed over her pretty face. “Are ya nervous?”
I shrugged and looked out the window, holding on to my clutch more tightly. “Maybe a little.”
“Muse won’t be there, will he?” she asked.
I whipped my head toward her. “God, I hope not. I mean, I guess he knows those guys from the shows and all, but, he would have told me if he were going.”
“I thought you guys weren’t speaking.”
She was right. He wouldn’t have told me if he were going.
Shit.
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