But tonight…. Oh, tonight is the game changer. For the first time since I — foolishly — agreed to follow her lead, she knows with one hundred percent certainty where Nate will be.
See, tonight’s guest list is sprinkled with Boston’s elite, all eager to drop an obscene amount of money on pieces of modern art –one more canvas for their vast collections. It’ll be a star-studded affair, full of venomous socialites, scheming businessmen, and pretentious French finger-food that, for all the allure of foie gras, can’t hold a candle to pigs-in-blankets.
My natural habitat.
Anyway, the result of all these wealthy patrons gathered in one place means one thing: paparazzi.
Lots of it.
Between the crowd of reporters staked outside and the hundred or so attendees wandering around inside… Chase won’t be taking any chances with Gemma’s safety. And there’s only one person he’d trust to run point when it comes to protecting the love of his life.
I’ll give you a hint — rhymes with hate.
He’ll definitely be there and, in Lila’s mind, that amounts to one thing — her plans finally being set into motion.
Hence the series of increasingly urgent text messages on my phone. As I watch, my cell lights up with a new one.
Lila: ANSWER ME! Otherwise I’m coming over, kidnapping Boo, and holding him for ransom. You know I will.
God, all this scheming is messing with her head — she’s becoming downright maniacal. I don’t doubt her threats, though, so I tap out a response, a vindictive grin twisting my lips as my fingers move over the screen. After the torturous Captain Kirk incident… I can’t stop myself from returning the favor when such a prime opportunity presents itself.
Phoebe: Actually, I’m not feeling well… I don’t think I’m going tonight.
My phone rings immediately.
I laugh as I connect the call and lift it to my ear. Before I can get out a single word, Lila starts yelling.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU AREN’T GOING?! This is the plan, you ungrateful cow! You’re not backing out. I won’t let you. Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after all my hard work and advice and outfit planning and eyebrow shaping and years of straightening the back of your hair whenever you can’t reach that fuzzy layer that hides underneath! No. Phoebe Evangeline West, you are going to that fucking gallery opening looking like the finest piece of ass Knox has ever seen, even if I have to drag you there myself! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”
Wow, she didn’t even pause to take a breath.
“Lila—”
“I SAID DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”
“You’re acting like a crazy person.”
“You’re the crazy one if you think I’ll let you get cold feet!”
“My feet are actually quite warm, I’m wearing those sheepskin L.L. Bean slippers Parker bought me for Christmas last year—”
“That’s it! I’m coming over there and kicking your ass.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “I’m going to the opening! It was a joke! Please relax. No need to kick my ass.”
Stony silence blasts across the line.
“Lila?” I suppress a laugh. “Still alive?”
“That was not funny.”
“I don’t know, I thought it was pretty amusing.”
“I can still come over there and kick your ass.”
I stop laughing instantly. Lila does Krav Maga. For fun. She could totally kick my ass.
“Sorry,” I mutter, like a five-year-old forced to apologize for kicking her sister under the table at dinner.
“Apology accepted,” she says breezily, threats of bodily harm already forgotten. “I have a dry-bar appointment at Blo tonight, so I can’t help you get ready. Can I trust you to wear something scandalously hot without me there to run interference?”
“Firstly, my closet is bigger than yours. Secondly, I’ve spent twenty-four years dressing myself. I think I can manage one night without you.”
“Mhmm.” She murmurs, as though she doesn’t quite agree. “See you there. Seven. Don’t be late!”
She clicks off.
“Bye,” I say to dead air, for the second time in as many hours.
My life is so fucked.
Chapter Seven