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Marie and Tiff hum in agreement.
“Where in Africa is he?” I ask.
She looks blankly at me. “I’m sorry I don’t understand the question.”
“Which country is he in?”
Blonde Stranger blinks. “He’s in Africa.”
I cut my losses. “Oh, of course.”
She barely gives a pause. “Men. So ridiculous. Dudley will just get worse as he gets older, Tiff. I’m seeing it with Bradley. Marie is the only one who’s lucked out.”
Really? Am I the only one who remembers dinner last night? (Though from the way Tiff and Blonde Stranger have been popping prescriptions, possibly.)
“Bill is so suave,” Blonde Stranger gushes. “I swear he looks good in everything he wears. You need to give me his tailor’s number. Though god knows Bradley will only wear a suit on a red carpet.”
“Just a darling to talk to,” Tiff says. “So cultured. I wish I was from your generation. Boys these days just refuse to grow up.”
As usual, Marie’s expression is unreadable. She’s cool and aloof, even in the face of their praise, a natural leader. But queen of the hill is a delicate position; one false move and you tumble to the ground. It’s obvious why Marie was so protective of her secret collection of shameful pulp fiction, and my sympathies ache for her. It would be horrible to be surrounded by people who’d never accept you for who you are.
What I can’t quite figure out is why Marie cares about these peoples’ opinions in the first place. Surely there are some chill people in the tech world that the Alencars could be friends with. Why are all their acquaintances high-maintenance mega-douches?
Unfortunately, on the subject of boyfriends, it’s only a matter of time before the conversation drifts to Rhett and me.
“We don’t need to ask you what Rhett’s fatal flaw is,” Tiff teases.
I snort. “Yeah, guy loves his cars.”
Tiff, Blonde Stranger, and even Marie exchange bemused glances.
“Oh honey,” Blonde Stranger says. “I think you know what we’re talking about.”
I shrug, pop a pig into my mouth, and lean back in my chair. “No clue,” I say.
“Partying,” Blonde Stranger says, just as Tiff replies, “Duh, women.”
They giggle at their synchronization.
“I guess we really mean the same thing,” Blonde Stranger says. “I mean, that’s how you met right? At one of those penthouse ragers he’s always throwing?”
“We met through work,” I say coolly. “I work for the bank.”
Blonde Stranger arches an eyebrow. “But you’ve been to one of his parties before, right?”
I try to smile. Goddammit, I will not let these morons get into my head!
“We’re recently together,” I admit. I immediately want to slap the knowing, pseudo-sympathetic looks right off their dumb, tanned faces.
“Well you’re a more secure woman than most,” Blonde Stranger says. “My lord. The stories I’ve heard about him. I’ve been burned before so I keep a close eye on my man. Of course, Bradley knows he’s not finding anyone better than me.”
Implying, of course, that Rhett is slumming it with me.
“Well maybe they have an open relationship,” Tiff says. “It’s very common these days. Dudley’s asked but I just won’t do it again. Last time I got more crabs than you get at an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet.”
“Gross,” Blonde Stranger says.
“Well—” I start.
