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Victoria swallows hard and forces herself to finish fastening her earring.
“Eating me up with your eyes?” Harper asks, looking at her ex-wife’s reflection in the glass. She turns and crosses her arms as she stares her down. “Well? Do I pass the test?”
“Absolutely,” Victoria says with a smile. “You look really beautiful.”
“What a relief. It would’ve been awful to have to take this off at this point.”
This time, it’s Harper who takes her time scanning Victoria. Her gaze travels over her blue dress, her bare back, and the hairstyle that leaves her neck exposed.
Harper picks up her clutch and gives her a wink.
“We’d better get going.”
The Hollywood Hills villa is a feast of modern architecture, with walls of glass and lights floating above the pool. The terrace offers a spectacular panoramic view of Los Angeles, accompanied by elegant background music and the murmur of dozens of guests with drinks in hand. Victoria recognizes the usual crowd at these events: renowned designers, sought-after photographers, and executives flitting around the champagne.
For the first hour, both of them move like fish in water. They greet people, exchange compliments, and stick together. However, it soon becomes clear that Harper Brooks doesn’t need anyone’s guidance. She has that natural empathy, that effortless charm that Victoria always struggled to fake. Harper wins over a fashion veteran, an up-and-coming model, and a textile magnate with equal ease.
Victoria watches her from the bar with a certain bitterness stirring in the pit of her stomach. The culprit behind the disruption of her peace of mind is named Serena Cole.
In her early forties, with jet-black hair, she’s a key investor in several luxury brands and has an impressive way with words. And, as if that weren’t enough, she’s attractive. Very attractive.
From the bar, Victoria watches as Serena leans toward Harper to whisper in her ear over the music. Harper bursts out laughing, throwing her head back. And Serena seizes that moment to charm Harper a little more.
“Calm down,” Victoria tells herself mentally. “Harper is a single woman. She can flirt with whoever she wants.”
But when Serena slides her hand a little higher—almost to Harper’s neck—a pang of primitive, irrational jealousy takes hold of Victoria.
“Arrogant fool,” she mutters under her breath.
“Did you say something, ma’am?” the waiter asks attentively.
“Nothing. Pour me another drink, please. Or better yet, forget it.”
It takes her less than twenty seconds to cross the terrace. She walks upright, with a firm stride, feeling her heels click against the wood. When she reaches the two women, Serena is wrapping up the conversation:
“We could continue this conversation in a slightly more intimate setting,” Serena suggests. “I know a private club five minutes from here.”
Harper opens her mouth to reply, but Victoria steps into her line of sight.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Victoria says. “I need to borrow my co-director for a magazine matter.”
Without asking permission, Victoria rests her hand on Harper’s bare waist. The look Harper shoots her is withering.
Serena looks at Victoria’s hand on Harper’s hip. Then she looks Victoria in the eyes and smiles.
“Well, I didn’t know you were here with a date,” Serena remarks. “Too bad. We were just getting to the interesting part. Maybe next time… when you don’t have a bodyguard.”
The investor nods goodbye and disappears into the crowd. Harper waits exactly three seconds before pulling away from Victoria’s grip.
“What on earth are you doing?” Harper hisses, glaring at her as sparks fly. “You’re the one who wanted to come to the party. I had a potential source of funding lined up for the talent division!” she protests in an angry whisper.
“That woman didn’t want to fund anything—she wanted to get you into bed,” Victoria blurts out without holding back. “You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out.”
Harper crosses her arms and stares at her intently.
“I can’t believe it. You’re jealous.”
Victoria’s heart skips a beat. A moment later, she bursts into loud laughter.
