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What guys next door?
Oh. Shit.
EastSide invited me to something?
Why?
Is one of the guys getting married and he’s just inviting the whole damn neighborhood?
Ugh. I hate weddings. Well, I didn’t before my sister’s. But I do now.
I shudder when I think of the poorly fitting pink dress in the back of my closet. And the stupid, drunk groomsmen, especially the one who grabbed my ass. The worst was that half the guests got sick from bad shrimp. And my sister still considers it the best day of her life.
My aversion to weddings aside, I turn the invitation over and over, relishing the smooth, creamy paper and its perfect, sharp corners. Its weightiness in my hand somehow encompasses all that is right and perfect. They even spelled my name right, as much as I hate it. Olive Fontaine.
So many people think it’s Olivia, but no, it’s just good old Olive.
For a moment I am honored, which is stupid, because I don’t even know what’s inside the envelope. Hell, they could be recruiting me as a dishwashing intern, for all I know. But hey, whatever they’re having over there might put me in touch with a deep-pocketed crowd of pet owners.
Here comes Pawsh Pets’ brand ambassador, people.
Arthur drums his fingers, bursting my bubble. “Well. I didn’t get one,” he sniffs.
“How do you know? Maybe it’s sitting in your mailbox.”
He harrumphs. “First, I get my mail in the morning, and the only thing I got today was a catalog for Harry and David’s. Second, I’d never get an invite anyway, thanks to that queen of a head waiter I slept with last year. Some people are so vindictive.”
I carefully lift the envelope flap and remove a simple card inviting me to the restaurant tomorrow night.
Tomorrow night!
Arthur snatches the card from me. “Ugh. How pretentious. The recommended dress is ‘elegant.’” He gags, like Harry does when he has a hairball.
“Why don’t you come with me? I’ll sneak you in. You can be my plus-one. What do I care? I don’t have anyone to impress.”
If they never invite me back, so be it.
Arthur lifts his chin. I’m pretty sure I insulted him, something that’s very easy to do. “I donothave to sneak into parties, I’ll have you know. Over my dead body would I go there, with or without you.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself.”
He gives me an up and down look, overflowing with disapproval. “You can’t go looking like that.”
Really?
He looks at his watch. “What time are you done here? We need to get you ready. Do you have anything nice to wear?”
“Um, well, I have a nice wrap dress—”
He shuts me up with a wave. “That’ll do. It’ll have to.
10
LIVVY
Not twenty-four hours later,I am sucking my stomach in like Arthur told me to, after he scolded me for not having any Spanx on hand. I also have my shoulders pulled back, although not as far as I was instructed to because no human can walk that way. The challenge is that the wrap dress is low cut, so Arthur told me not to wear a bra. But if I move the wrong way, everyone and their mother will see my boobs.
How he knows so much about women’s undergarments, I do not want to know.
