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I frown. “I wasn’t told anything. Who are you?”
The three women behind her exchange glances. One of them is holding the handle to a little trolley, the middle one has a garment bag over her arm, and the third is carrying a huge duffel over her shoulder. They all blink at me, oozing elegance and superiority. I scratch the side of my head, sending tendrils of greasy hair falling from my bun.
The shiny-haired lady in front huffs. “We’re late, Danika.” She arches her brows and gestures past me. “We need to get started.”
I could slam the door in their faces. I could lock the deadbolt and climb under my blankets and forget about this whole surprise.
But my phone buzzes across the room, and I grit my teeth against the instinct to hide. Bonnie planned this. I’m safe. I’m okay. No one’s coming after me. This is the first birthday present I’ve had in years.Years.
So I step aside, letting the four women breeze in, smelling of hair products and expensive perfume. They glance around the apartment with an assessing eye, and the lead woman points to a huge mirror at the other end of the living room. A flurry of activity erupts.
I watch one of them flip open her trolley to reveal row after row of makeup. The other lady opens her duffel bag and pulls out a folding chair. The garment bag gets unzipped, and I spy a bit of silvery, bedazzled fabric.
Shiny Hair Lady gestures a manicured hand to the black canvas chair—the type of chair a movie director sits in. Frowning, overwhelmed, I let my feet carry me to the chair and plop myself down. The lady with the duffel bag hands me a glass of champagne.
Okay. Sure. Happy birthday to me, right?
“My name is Erica. I’ll be doing your hair,” the duffel bag lady says. Her gleaming blond hair is gathered in a sleek, low pony. She points to the woman with the trolley. “This is Yasmin. She’ll do your makeup.” Yasmin nods, still unfurling thousands of compartments from her trolley as if it’s an enchanted box. Erica points to the woman with the garment bag. “Nathalie is our assistant.”
My eyes flick to Shiny Hair Lady. “And you are?”
Her smile is nothing short of predatory. “I’m Viviane Howard, the director at Howard Styling. Your personal stylist for the evening.”
“Stylist,” I repeat, tasting the word. What in the world is Bonnie planning?
“We only have”—Viviane glances at her slim wrist, where a delicate silver watch dangles—“two hours to get you ready. For this type of event, it’s going to be tight. The car will be here to pick you up at six o’clock. Your arrival is slotted for six-thirty, so we have to be quick.”
I frown. “What, exactly, is the event I’m going to?”
Erica tilts her head. “It’s the Summer Ball.” The words come out slowly, as if she thinks I’m dense. “The biggest event of the year.”
My mouth dries up between one breath and the next. I’ve heard of the Summer Ball. It’s like the Met Gala, except more exclusive. Fewer celebrities, more billionaires and politicians. Invitations are kept highly confidential, and what happens behind closed doors is anyone’s guess. Those rich people could be sacrificing babies to the altar of money, for all the general population knows.
And I am definitely,definitelynot invited.
Bonnie may rub elbows with hedge fund managers all day long, but even she doesn’t have Summer Ball invitations to hand out to her poor puppy-dog friends.
Viviane exchanges a glance with Nathalie. “We are at the right place, right?” Before the younger woman can answer, her eyes bore into me. “You’re Danika Jensen?”
“I’m Danika Jenckell,” I answer, frowning. How would Bonnie get the name wrong? “Are you sure”—I clear my throat—“are you sure you have the right person? I don’t know anything about the Summer Ball.”
Bonnie wouldn’t do that…would she? This isn’t speed dating at a dive bar. How does one even get tickets to the Summer Ball? I heard they cost upward of fifty grand, and only the upper echelons of society get to go. How much money is she spending on this? Why would she think I’d evenenjoyan event like this? It sounds like a nightmare.
No, this is wrong. There’s been a mistake.
“This is the right address,” Nathalie says in a watery voice, glancing up from her phone. “We’re in the right place.”
Viviane chews her lip, smearing red lipstick over her teeth. She looks uncertain for the first time since she buzzed at the door, but quickly snaps her cool demeanor back in place. “We’re in the right place. You were expecting us, no?”
“Y-yes.” I frown. “My friend told me she had a surprise for me.”
“How can I get a friend like that?” Erica says, sighing wistfully, tapping my shoulder to get me to face the mirror again.
I snort as I settle into the seat. “Just be a hateful hag most of the time and hope someone takes pity on you. That’s what I did.”
Erica flicks her long golden ponytail over her shoulder and gives me a sly smile. She gives me a rundown of what she’ll be doing with my hair, then thrusts shampoo and conditioner in my hands and orders me to go take a shower. For some reason—shock, probably—I comply.
As I wash my hair with the most delicious-smelling and expensive-looking shampoo I’ve ever seen, I think over what’s just happened. Bonnie said this was related to my sex life. Is she trying to set me up with one of her rich friends? Is the Summer Ball actually a billionaires’ swingers party? Should I shave my hoo-ha in preparation? Is this all some elaborate ruse? Why would my name be spelled wrong?
