Never Been Worse (Evergreen Park #3)

Chapter 5 – Harper

FIVE

HARPER

Five hours, an everything shower, a few tiny tweaks to the dress, and a thick layer of makeup to cover my dark circles later, Ava and I walk into the charity event, and even though I’m nauseous almost the entire time, which I’ll never tell her, I’m glad I’m here.

When you put yourself in a bubble of your own demise, you forget that the rest of the world keeps turning and, more importantly, that not everyone is as attuned to your crumbling castle as you are. Where I expected glares and cold shoulders, I got wide smiles and so good to see you ’s, and even a few inquiries on my dress and business card exchanges.

There have been a few awkward moments—colleagues of Jeremy’s I recognize from fashion shows or the few work events he’d bring me to whisper to one another—but overall, it’s been…fine.

As seems to be her way, Ava gave me exactly what I didn’t realize I needed, and suddenly, I can breathe a bit again. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Jeremy may have hurt me, may have fucked me up a little and slowed me down, but with some vitamin D and fresh hair (everyone knows nothing will ever change your outlook on life more than washing your hair and blowing it out for the first time in a while), I feel like I can tackle this disaster.

My name and reputation are tarnished, but not destroyed. I’d thank Ava for the reminder that life goes on, but then I’d have to hear a decade of I told you so’s, so I decide against it.

“Oh, there’s Jennifer,” Ava says as we wander around the room, looking at the auction items. “I’m going to go say hello.”

I nod, then tip my head toward the other side of the room.

“I’m going to go use the ladies’ room quickly before the auction starts,” I say.

Ava nods, and we go our separate ways.

It’s when I’m about to leave the bathroom stall after giving myself a small pep talk, mentally planning how to move forward with my career with new vigor despite the roadblock, that I hear it. The click of heels filling the marble bathroom, followed by giggling women.

“I’m going to win the dinner with Wes Holden for Jeremy, of course,” a familiar voice says, my stomach falling to the floor and the thin grasp I’d just gotten on my good mood vanishing. Shifting toward the door quietly to hear better, my heart pounds. “You know, as a thank you for helping me with my line.”

Fucking Clarissa Astor is here.

“Oh, that’s so cute,” someone coos, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Atlas Oaks is his favorite band, and I just know he’d love it. We’ve just…” A deep sigh reaches my ears, and I roll my eyes at her fakeness. “You know, things have been so hard lately.”

“You two are so strong, though. This journey is only bringing you two together. And we’re all so excited about your line! It’s the start of a new legacy.”

I grit my teeth so hard I should be worried about the enamel.

New legacy, my ass. It was supposed to be the start of my legacy.

I should leave. I should slip out and?—

“You know, his ex, the one that designs those little pageant dresses or whatever?” Clarissa starts, leading the conversation in a way that almost sounds casual, but I know is calculated. “I hear she’s claiming the designs Jeremy and I worked on together are hers ,” she says in a fake, hushed whisper, and my blood goes cold because that hasn’t happened, and even insinuating it could destroy my credibility.

“No way! ” one of the girls says. “That’s crazy! You designed them with Jeremy, right?”

Nausea churns in my stomach at the realization that this is her plan. Plant these tiny seeds of doubt just in case I start whispering my own facts.

Destroy my credibility before it’s even an issue.

“Yeah, so I told my daddy, and well, you know how protective he is of me. He told me she’s pretty much done in this industry by the end of the week.”

My stomach churns as I remember the way my fabric supplier never returned my call this week and how two of my consultations were canceled.

No, no, no!

This can’t be happening.

“I’m sooo sorry you’re dealing with this, Clarissa. It sounds like his ex is insane. First, trying to tear you two apart after you’ve been in love for so long, then vandalizing his house, and now this?”

“It’s all good,” Clarissa says, bliss in her words. “It will all be cleared out soon. You know, my daddy says Jeremy asked him for permission to propose.”

Squeals erupt, and I swallow down the nausea that churns with the knowledge that nothing in the past four years was real. I spent the last two waiting for Jeremy to propose, deluding myself into thinking we would be something, that every time I felt a tug in my gut that something was off, it was in my head. I let Jeremy lie and manipulate me until I was left with nothing but the husk of someone I barely even recognize anymore.

And just like that, something in me snaps, an old version of myself I’ve long buried stirring awake. It’s then I make the decision.

A wise one? I don’t know. A safe one? Absolutely not. But where has being safe gotten me?

After a life of watching my friends be spontaneous, happy, and blissfully ignorant of all of the bad outcomes of any given decision, I’m ready to be impulsive. Because fuck it. How much worse could things get?

I’m tired of being the safe, easy friend, the one who lets people walk all over her, who finds herself pinned in place by some asshole who took everything from her.

My home, my confidence, my stability.

My future.

The noise in the bathroom dies down as the women leave, and I’m doing math in my head as I walk out of the stall and wash my hands, determined to win, if only in this one, stupid way.

I march back to the table Ava and I are sitting at, grabbing a glass of expensive champagne from a tray a server is holding. I down it as I walk, grabbing a second flute before I reach our table and chugging that as well. I put both glasses on a third tray before grabbing a full one and sitting next to Ava, a wide, fake smile on my lips.

“Clarissa is here,” I say under my breath, eyes on the auctioneer who is walking up to the podium to begin.

“No,” she whispers with shock, and I nod. “I’m so sorry, Harper. We can leave if?—”

I shake my head aggressively. “Hell no,” I say. “I’ve got a plan.” Ava looks at me, and finally, I look back at her, letting her see the pure determination and a bit of the unhinged anger that’s flowing through me, and slowly, her lips tip up.

“About damn time,” she says, then lifts her glass to mine, and we cheers with a wide smile.

Ava and I sit for the next thirty minutes, listening to rich people overbid on various items: a hot air balloon ride, a horrifying painting of a grinning clown, a luxurious spa trip, and a self-defense girls afternoon among them.

Finally, my attention is piqued, and I roll my shoulders back, ready to win.

“And our next item is one dinner with Wes Holden of Atlas Oaks!” the auctioneer croons.

Ava found a great person for this job; his voice and humor really keeping up the entertainment of the night, but now that he’s on the one item I was interested in, I want him to shut up and get it over with.

From the corner of my eye, I see Clarissa turn to her friends with an excited smile.

Too fucking bad, bitch.

While I have nowhere to stay and no longer have the collection I hoped would launch my career, I have a good amount in savings that I’d been setting aside for some far-off wedding I didn’t realize would never come. What better way to spend it than to get a tiny, minuscule bit of revenge on the man I can’t touch without putting my friends in danger?

I down the last of another glass of champagne and smile at Ava; the look is probably a bit loopy, but what do I care? I have to focus.

“We’re going to open our bid at $500. Anyone?” the auctioneer asks, and instantly Clarissa’s paddle goes up.

“Five hundred,” she says sweetly, and her friends clap like she’s doing some grand gesture.

“Five fifty,” I say confidently, lifting my paddle.

Someone behind me shouts two thousand, and Clarissa counters with $2,100.

I lift my paddle once more.

“Twenty-five hundred,” I say, shoulders back, chin tipped.

“Three thousand!” a voice from the edge of the room says. This goes on, the bidding war commencing, but I stand strong.

“Seventy-five hundred,” I say when it’s down to just me and Clarissa. Where we’re seated, I can see her, but I don’t think she can see me, at least not well, as she keeps shifting to try and catch a good look at me.

“Harper!” Ava says, under her breath through gritted teeth. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes. I’m winning,” I whisper back, keeping that smile on my lips. “Help a girl out so I don’t use all of my savings on this, will you?” I ask.

When Clarissa raises her hand up, Ava smiles, standing and moving around the room smoothly, saying hello to people as she goes along. She grabs pop star Willa Stone’s hand, knowing her through Jaime, who has guarded her a few times, a few tables over, and tugs her to where my enemy is.

I watch as Ava whispers something to Willa, who nods excitedly, and then finally, they make it to Clarissa as she ups her bid to $9,750. My stomach churns at the figure, despite the tax write-off and the good cause, it’s an irresponsible amount of money.

But once again, I remind myself, where has being responsible gotten me?

Ava taps on Clarissa’s shoulder, and she turns around with an annoyed look before smiling sweetly when she sees Willa. Ava begins doing what she does best, schmoozing, with Willa stepping in as well, gushing over her like she’s a fan, and Clarissa eats the attention up.

“Ten thousand,” I say loudly.

But Clarissa is too busy being the center of attention, having pop star Willa Ford in front of her and giving her the time of day. Her friend taps her shoulder, but Clarissa glares at her, brushing her off with a bit too much force, her entire table of friends giving each other a look I take note of.

It seems her little crowd of admirers might not be as admiring of her as I thought.

“Ten thousand, going once…” The room stays quiet as I look around the room. “Going twice...” I fight the urge to smile before I win. “Sold! To the pretty girl in gold!”

Ava and Willa wave goodbye as soon as the auction ends, and I watch as Clarissa realizes she lost, her face going red with anger as she looks to the auctioneer, moving quickly to the stage to argue. I can’t hear the conversation, but I see the auctioneer shake his head and shrug like there’s nothing he can do while Clarissa throws a full-on tantrum.

I watch as a few attendees take pictures and post them on social media with pleasure.

Finally, I let myself smile, and after everything in the past few weeks, it feels so foreign on my lips.

“What the hell was that?” Ava asks with a laugh, a bit of concern in her eyes like she thinks I might snap.

I might, to be honest.

Actually, I’m well past snapping . I was broken in half and then crushed under Jeremy’s stupid wing-tipped shoes.

“I heard her in the bathroom telling her little friends that she wanted to win that for Jeremy. And I didn’t want her to have anything nice.”

Ava stares at me, and I stare back.

“Harp,” she starts, and I shake my head.

“No. Not now,” I whisper, the lump that I’ve been fighting down all day building once more. “Not now.”

I know she wants answers. I know she and Jules want to know how the breakup went, what happened at the police station, why I’m so devastated, and why I’m hiding away when before the arrest, I was mostly okay. They think I’m falling apart, that I’m unstable, and honestly, it’s easier to let them think that.

“But soon?” she asks, reaching over and grabbing my hand, gripping it tight.

I give her a smile and lie through my teeth, never planning on telling my friends about what I gave up. “Soon. But first, I apparently now have to plan for a date with the guitarist of my ex’s favorite band.”

Ava claps her hands excitedly. “Oh, my god, we have to call Jules. We need to go shopping!”