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“Fiancé? Girlfriend?”
“No,” I say, trying really hard not to think of Liz. “I’m about as single as you can be.”
“Well take it from someone who knows — money changes people. I never thought that—” He cuts himself off and glances at his empty beer. “Geez,” he says, somewhat sheepishly. “I only had two and here I go pouring my heart out. Sorry about that. I guess since you’re Sloane’s son I feel like I know you already.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say. I can’t help liking the guy. His face is affable, his tone warm and genuine. It makes me feel all the more slimy to be there with such ulterior motives.
“And besides,” he says with a chuckle, “you’re loaded already. You already know all this shit.”
He’s not wrong there. I am well-versed in people trying to suck up or hang around me just because of my money. I suppose that extends to women as well. Liz’s words from earlier about me in a garbage bag come back to me. Maybe she’s right…
No, that’s ridiculous. I’m charming, well spoken, and good with my tongue. It’s not just the money they’re attracted to. It can’t be.
“Unfortunately,” Bill says, checking his watch, “I believe our peace is almost over. I bet Marie is already seated, wondering where the hell I’m at.”
Oh shit. I look at the time. It’s 6:25 and Liz probably thinks I fucked off to god-knows-where. I need to get to the table before the Waltons raise a fuss over the mix-up.
“I believe we’re seated at the same table,” I say. “I have to meet my… colleague. Walk with me?”
Bill almost agrees, but then glances back at the screen. The movie is reaching its climax, the heroines saving children from evil scientists looking to drain their blood to stave off the ill-effects of the titular comet, the most serious of which being crumbling into a pile of red dust.
“I think I’ll wait a bit,” he says finally. “Finish up the film. I like how it ends.”
He’s avoiding something, though what specifically I can’t be sure. But I do need to catch up with Liz, and so, after a single backward glance, I leave Bill sitting there with his far-away eyes, watching a movie from a happier time.
CHAPTER NINE
LIZ
I’m not sure why I’m surprised when I open the bathroom door and find that Rhett’s scowly presence has completely vacated the hotel room.
He’s told you a hundred times he’s not going to help, I tell myself. Don’t be shocked that one victory doesn’t get him fully on board.
Unfortunately, Logical Liz is, yet again, strong-armed into submission by Emotional Liz. But surprisingly my predominant emotion isn’t anger. It’s disappointment.
Instead of lingering on the ‘why’, I chalk it up to nerves. How is tonight going to go without Rhett as backup?
Sure I do this kind of stuff a lot, but the stakes have never been this high. And usually I flee after I’ve enraged people, not return to the scene of the crime.
I smooth out my black dress in the mirror, check my makeup and hair, and then head for the door. All part of the job. Stop complaining and get the work done.
And hey, if I’m driven out of the dining hall by security at least I can tell Sloane I gave it my best effort. Which is a hell of a lot more than Rhett can say.
Would it really kill him to sit through one single dinner, just to give me an easier time? Is the man just as allergic to work as he apparently is to boundaries?
An image of his nose touching mine in the hallway flashes through my mind. In that instant I was completely entranced; a moment later I felt like an idiot, a victim of the same tractor beam that had snagged Miranda. No man should be allowed to smell that good and yet be so flaky. And irritating.
I get to the hall early, around 6:20, and am seated at Table One without fuss. I wanted to beat the Waltons here lest Miranda figure out the ruse and correct it before I arrive. But even once I’m seated, I can’t rest easy. It’s only a matter of time.
I make my face into a tranquil mask and try not to have my head on a swivel, looking around for an enraged Miranda coming at me with the fire of a thousand suns.
Thankfully, the people seated at my table are more than enough to distract me. Paul hasn’t arrived yet, and neither have the Alencars, but Marmie Adler sits shortly after I do and Colton and Selina Marlo come not long after.
Colton and Selina Marlo are really fucking famous. I watched them on television when I was a teenager and then in various rom-coms and dramas ever since. It’s startling to see them up close. They have the tanned and polished look of California celebrities and are somehow even more beautiful in person than on the screen.
At first, other than a polite hello, they pay me little mind, turning into each other to have a hushed argument over something to do with their kids. I try not to eavesdrop. It’s difficult.
Marmie Adler, on the other hand, stares at me through bifocals, the lenses of which magnify her already large, watery eyes to immense proportions.
