Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
He casts a glance over his shoulder at Rip, who is looking around the ballroom like he’s at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I just don’t get famous people who don’t realize they’re famous. This is now your natural habitat.
“Don’t worry, Daddy. I promise not to embarrass you with my wanton ways.”
I keep my tone light, but I know my past exploits prompted his warning.
“I’m not worried. You could lure flies away from shit when you set your mind to it.”
“What a pleasant image, Daddy. I’ll hold it close.”
“Do.” He brings us to a complete stop, offering my elbow back to Rip with an absent smile. “It was good meeting you, Rip. Keep up the good work this season.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Baston.” Rip offers the white-toothed smile he’s taking all the way to the bank. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Daddy nods before returning his eyes to me.
“Remember what I said, Sofie. I need to go check on a surprise guest.”
“Surprise?” My interest piques. Daddy does great surprises. “No hints?”
“You’ll find out with everyone else, sweetheart.”
Of course. Why would I be special?
“You ready?” I ask Rip as my father walks off to tend to his surprise guest.
“Definitely.”
Rip kisses my hair, and I can’t help but remember the kiss Walsh gave Kerris a few minutes ago. I’m not sure anyone will ever kiss me that way. Not the kiss itself, the practice of lips touching hair, but what lay behind it. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m sure no one has ever touched me that way. No one has ever felt for me what Walsh feels for that woman. I can see it in the simplest contact they share. Whatever they have, I don’t think I ever believed in it, and I certainly don’t expect it for myself.
We reach the table, and I see my place card to the left of Trevor Bishop’s, with Walsh on his right, like Daddy said it would be. At least he seated my date on my other side. Kerris is, of course, on Walsh’s other side. There has never been any love lost between that girl and me. She stole what was always supposed to be mine. Walsh and I made sense. She and Walsh defy the laws of social logic, her being a nobody and all, but somehow here they are, obviously besotted with each other and…working.
“Sof, Aunt Billi told me you just got back from Dubai.” Walsh walks around the table and kisses my cheek.
“Yep.” I lean in to the friendly greeting, knowing friendly is as far as we’ll ever go now. “It was a quick shoot.”
Somehow we’ve remained friends despite the disastrous affair a few years back, a desperate attempt on my part when Kerris married Walsh’s best friend, Cam. I’ve been conductor for enough train wrecks to recognize one, and that was some fucked-up shit. Now Cam is married to Walsh’s cousin Jo, and Walsh is married to Kerris. A game of musical beds I wish I could have gotten in on.
Come to think of it, with my turn at Walsh, I guess I kind of did.
Walsh has stayed true through everyone telling him what a bitch I am, and let’s face it, they’re right. He even forgave my insulting treatment of his wife. I mean, we don’t talk every day or anything, but he could have used his influence with the Walsh Foundation to take something from me that means a lot. I have served as the foundation’s celebrity ambassador for years. If I haven’t done anything else right, I have that. Walsh knows how much it means to me, and didn’t take it away as retaliation for the bad blood between Kerris and me. For that, and for a hundred other kindnesses he has shown me since we were in preschool, I’ll strain to be civil to his sweet wife.
“Sweet” is not a compliment, by the way. Kerris’s smile alone gives me a cavity.
“Good to see you, Walsh. Hi, Kerris.” I slide my glance to Kerris. She returns my nod, wearing a guarded look on her face. Smart girl. I’ll try for my best behavior, but I’m a bitch on a leash that slips from time to time. Best be prepared for anything.
“Sofie, let me introduce you to our guests.” Walsh gestures to Mr. Oatmeal. “This is Harold Smith, co-founder of Deutimus Corp.”
Mr. Oatmeal, given name Harold, stands and shakes my hand. He sports the look most men have when they first meet me “in real life.” Slightly stunned. I’m so used to my face, to this body, that I almost forget the effect they have on people. Also, the fashion world is an alternate dimension, populated by a species of gorgeous, lissome perfectly maintained superwomen where I am the norm. I rather enjoy not being the most striking person in the room from time to time.