But when I pulled over a few minutes after I exited the community’s gate, dry heaving, the only thought in my mind was that I’d been so inconsequential that there hadn’t been the slightest recognition.
Chapter 10
Two nights later, I was still reeling from the mindfuck of finding out the identity of Finley Scott’s father, but I put on a carefully practiced smile as I scanned my brown eyes around the glassed in ballroom of the Heritage. And it really was something to look at—the event planner had nailed it. With the lush, dark décor, I felt like I’d walked right into a Poe-esque fantasy when I arrived an hour and a half ago.
Despite it being the perfect setting for my favorite holiday, I’d rather been spending the eve of my twenty-fourth birthday at home, pouring over the documents I’d obtained from Margaret’s house. Plus, I needed to figure out a way to get the rest of the file back without her noticing. While the chances of her realizing it was missing anytime soon were slim, and I had taken extra precautions to make sure she wouldn’t find out I’d gone through her belongings, I was already freaking out about returning it.
Attempting to push those worries aside—at least for the night—I glanced at Stella, who was adjusting the mask of her Catwoman costume. “The turnout for this thing is phenomenal,” I said. Aside from the handful of people from work and their plus ones, there were at least an additional two hundred people present.
Even though it was a company event, not everyone from work had been lucky enough to snag an invite. My job as Margaret’s assistant had not only cemented my invitation, it had also made showing up a necessity.
“It was five thousand a plate for anyone not on the Emerson & Taylor guest list, right?” I asked.
“Yes ma’am. And I read in the company newsletter from last month that Margaret’s matching the donations this year. ”
Wow. It was the first I heard of Margaret’s contribution, and the forced expression I’d been wearing through dinner softened. No matter how ironic the charitable cause was—after all, I’d basically been a foster kid when my stepmother brushed me off—I was thrilled when I thought of how many kids this night would help.
Locking her headpiece in place with a couple hairpins, Stella gave me a disgusted look. “Maybe I should have bought the Halle Berry Catwoman; I think the vinyl cat hood might have gone better.” She peered over the table and regarded my flowing turquoise and gold gown with a playful lift of her brows. “And you, Miss I-Made-This-Myself—you make the rest of us look bad!”
A flush crept across my skin at her praise. “I’m just hoping it doesn’t fall apart into a bunch of little pieces.”
I had been so wrapped up in snooping for the documents in Margaret’s home office, Oliver in general, and then meeting the Scotts’—getting a costume had slipped my mind.
Luckily, Pen was there for me, like always.
When I’d dragged my ass into my apartment two nights earlier, she reminded me about the party, and we’d raced to Mood Fabrics before they closed. As we browsed the material, I had no idea what I planned to do, but the moment Pen eyed the pale aqua chiffon and lamented, “Too bad it’s just one color. You could’ve gone as the blonde from Game of Thrones,” my decision was made.
I’d solved the one-color problem with gold fabric paint and a sponge. Thanks to a hardcore fan with an Etsy shop and overnight shipping, I scored the rest of my accessories, including a dragon figurine that was giving me as much trouble as Stella’s cat mask.
Checking the deep V-neckline to make sure the fabric tape was still doing its job over my braless chest, I admitted, “It was sort of a last-minute project.”
She pulled in her bottom lip slightly. “Then you make us look worse.” But she was laughing as she inclined her head to the front of the room. “Give it a year. I bet you a hundred the Red Queen over there’ll have your ass working in design. ”
I stared at Margaret, who was making the rounds from table to table, conversing with her guests and the more prestigious Emerson & Taylor employees—directors, managers, and executives.
“Hmm, I doubt she’ll promote me.” I saw Dora and her husband—Black Widow and Captain America, which I had to admit, worked perfectly for them—return to our table carrying champagne flutes. Even though “Disturbia” was pulsing through the ballroom, making it nearly impossible for anyone else to hear me confide in Stella, I dropped my voice to a whisper. “If she did, who’d hunt down a pair of ruby red Valentino stilettos five hours before an event?”
She shook her head, causing her mask to fall again. “That’s where you were when I stopped by your office this afternoon?”
“I found them at Saks in Costa Mesa and then she sent me back because the sizing wasn’t right. She decided to wear her brocade Louboutins instead.”
Finally giving up on her disguise, she pulled it off and tossed it on the table between her place card and the centerpiece—a Manzanita tree adorned with dangling blackbirds and Victorian cameos.
“I’ve gotta drink to that. I’m going to the bar since the servers aren’t straying this far back.” Combing her dark-painted nails through her thick hair, she pointed to my black martini. “Do you need another?”
“I think I’m okay for now.”
“You’ll probably regret that later when you’re being harassed for a dance,” she warned before slinking off, her tail swishing behind her.
“Hey, Lizzie?” At the sound of Dora calling my name, I whipped my head in her direction and squinted through the dim lighting at the redhead. She moved into Stella’s seat to get closer to me, resting her elbows on the table. “I know this probably isn’t the time, but I found a reminder yesterday about getting you a company credit card. I’ll be out of the building tomorrow, but stop by my office next week and we can do the paperwork?”
Damn. Up until now, I’d pushed all thoughts of that credit card to the back of my mind and had been using Margaret’s personal card for all of her business expenses. Being careful to keep my face neutral, I drew back from Dora. “I’ll stop by before I go upstairs Monday morning,” I promised, hoping it would slip her mind by then.
She looked over her shoulder to see her husband in deep conversation with a woman dressed as a rock star at the next table, before returning her attention to me. “Your boyfriend couldn’t make it?”
Linking my fingers together on the black tablecloth, I sucked in my cheeks. “I’m actually single.”
Her pink lips opened in surprise. “You’re such a beautiful girl that I just assumed....” Her voice trailed off as she stared behind me, her gray eyes narrowing and following someone. I turned and felt my own face harden at the sight of Finley Scott, dressed as Cleopatra.
She was talking to the company’s VP—the one who’d sexed up Margaret’s former PA in the boardroom—with her hand laid casually on his arm and her head thrown back in laughter.
From beside me, I heard Dora mutter something unmistakable. “That bitch better stay away from Oliver.” Startled, I turned around to face her, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking between her and her husband, whose back was still turned to us.
Instead of cowing, Dora’s nostrils flared. “If that look you’re giving me is because of Oliver, I can assure you it’s not what you think.” Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut. “When he told me you might have the wrong idea about us, I told him to explain, but obviously he hasn’t.”
Oliver and Dora had talked about me? The thought both petrified and intrigued me, so I crossed my arms and waited for her to continue. After a few seconds of frustrating silence, she explained, “Oliver is one of our closest friends—we met in college and he introduced me to Franklin, his teammate. He helped me get this job. He was the best man in our wedding. For reasons I’d prefer not to get into, I’m not a big fan of his ex.”