Shame on You

Shame on You by Tara Sivec




CHAPTER 1




Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…come on, why aren’t you guys saying this with me?” Paige McCarty complains. She cocks her gorgeous blonde head to the side and stares us down with her big, crystal-blue eyes.

“Because this is dumb. We do not need to chant our motto every time we get together.” I signal the waitress for another round of drinks.

I need booze. Lots and lots of booze to get through this meeting. I love my best friends, but sometimes, I want to punch them in the face. Lovingly, of course.

“Yes, we do, Kennedy O’Brien. We started this company because men are scum-sucking pigs who deserve what’s coming to them,” Paige says with an angry huff as her bright-pink fruity drink is set down in front of her.

“Thank you so much, you’re a doll!” she exclaims to the waitress.

Not only is Paige insanely beautiful, she can flip her moods faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. At thirty years old, her face has graced the cover of every beauty magazine in existence and she’s got the charm of a Southern belle, but don’t cross her or she will cut you. And this, folks, is why we are friends.

“I, for one, need to be reminded of why I abhor all things male,” Paige tells us as she blots her lip gloss with a cocktail napkin. “All of the money I made modeling was blown on Andy’s secret gambling trips. This motto reminds me of how I felt the day I walked into Jimmy Choo and all of my credit cards were declined, and the sense of satisfaction I felt when I went home and set fire to all of Andy’s clothes on the front lawn.”

A dreamy sigh escapes her heart-shaped mouth when she thinks back on the inferno of revenge, and it reminds me to never get between a model and her need for shoes. Ever. Underneath all that beauty is a brain that is fast thinking, conniving, and perfect for our business.

“I’m certain we will never forget that men are lying, cheating imbeciles.” Lorelei Warner brushes off an imaginary piece of lint on her black suit pants. “Gary sent me his wedding invitation yesterday. ‘We hope you can join us for the joyous celebration of Gary and Doug as they pledge their endless love to each other.’ Can you believe that rat bastard actually invited me?”

Lorelei, my other best friend, means business when she swears. Sure, “rat bastard” isn’t up there on the swearing chart, but it is for her. She’s actually the type of person who will say, “Cheese and rice!” instead of Jesus Christ.

“See? Lorelei is swearing. The world is coming to an end,” Paige laments to me. “If we don’t stick together with this motto, she might forget about coming home to find Doug sampling some sweet Italian sausage.”

Lorelei makes a gagging noise and covers her mouth with her hand. Unfortunately, Paige isn’t talking about food. She’s talking about Nuncio, the hot waiter at Villa Macri Ristorante—the place where Doug proposed to Lorelei and where they celebrated their anniversary every year.

Lorelei met Doug at Harvard Law and once they both graduated and were well established in their respective law firms, they tied the knot. I always suspected Doug played for the other team. He was too pretty. And do you know any straight men who have hair pomade shipped in from Paris?

“What cases do we have on the schedule this week?” I ask as Lorelei pulls out a few files from her leather briefcase now that she’s composed herself after remembering the night her ex-husband became a gay man.

“We’ve got a bail jumper, a cheating spouse, and a subpoena delivery. Who wants what?” Lorelei asks as she sets the files down in the middle of the table so we can flip through them.

“I do believe I’ve had enough of cheating spouses, so count me out for that one.” I grab the bail-jumper file and flip through it. I was trained by Uncle Sam in the army, so firing a gun at bad guys and being in the midst of danger is what I thrive on.

“Speaking of cheating rat bastards, have you talked to Alex lately?” Paige asks as she tests her froufrou drink and finds it to her liking.

“Ha! Yeah, right!” I reply with a snort. Finishing off my Bud Light Lime, I slam the empty glass back onto the table with a clunk. “He was supposed to pick up the girls last weekend and never showed or called. I hope his penis falls off. I hope it rots and falls off inside of Miss Teen USA, therefore causing her perfect, twenty-two-year-old vagina to rot and fall out of her thong when she sneezes.”

Paige and Lorelei stare at me with open mouths once I finish with my tirade.