38. Lily
Lily
B less Michaela Konig.
The makeup case containing the essentials for an emergency touch up was a godsend. Once I’m confident I no longer look like a raccoon, I step out of the bathroom.
The sisterhood is out in full force, accompanied by their sexy men.
As I take in the crowd present, I’m dizzy with emotions. I’m so elated, I feel the need to brace my arm against the pillar next tome, but I don’t have time for dramatics. There’s a full room of friends to greet.
I bounce from one person to another.
After too many hugs, kisses, and good wishes to count, I’m walking on sunshine. I’m so tickled pink, I don’t even worry that I’m walking around people pantieless.
There are bigger fish to fry.
Like dealing with the tall man staring at me with a smug smile on his face.
I approach the culprit behind Operation Lily’s Secret Birthday Party .
I swat his chest. “You had me fooled.”
“How so?”
“You promised me dinner. This isn’t dinner.”
“Food will be served later.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You don’t like birthday parties?”
“You’re incorrigible.” I shake my head. “You did this for me?”
“You’re worth it, Lily.”
With those sweet words, he claims a little bit more of my heart.
“This room is amazing.” I change the subject before I melt in a puddle of lust. I turn around in a circle, taking it all in.
“The Tottenham Court is Larkin’s private entertainment room. It’s never up for grabs unless it’s for someone in his inner circle.”
I turn around and face the owner of the hotel, clamp my hands in a prayer, and bow.
He lifts his tumbler in response.
Gage—or whomever decorated the room went all out.
It’s over the top, but I love it. There’s a huge banner that reads Happy 21 st Birthday, Lily covering a wall—the design sparkles with rose gold, yellow gold, and diamond touches.
There’s a parade of helium filled rose gold and happy birthday confetti balloons hanging from the ceiling, a table weighed down with wrapped boxes, and flowers. So many beautiful flowers?—
Wait a minute.
I’ve been so overwhelmed since I set foot in this room, it’s only now I spot the type of flowers decorating the space.
“Those flowers are Yves Piaget roses.”
He nods. “They are.”
I frown. “They’re my favorite flower.”
“So I’ve heard. ”
My frown deepens. “Who told you?”
“They’re stunning flowers. I can see why they’re your favorites,” he says.
“The large headed rose is unique. It could pass as a peony, but it would be a mistake to compare the two flowers. The rose has an incredibly strong fragrance—which I can attest to—and the vibrant raspberry pink petals stand out.”
My eyebrows lift to my hairline.
“How did you know I preferred Yves Piaget roses and how do you know so much about the flower?”
“A woman I know gave me a basic 101 course.”
Is the woman he’s referring to, Enid?
She’s becoming a thorn in my side.
I hate to admit, though, she was spot on.
I’m about to drill him with more questions when he lifts a finger.
He pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text.
“Speaking of which, I invited Enid to your party.”
He invited the woman he ditched me for last night to my party?
Why?
I don’t even know her.
“Is Enid a friend?”
“Let me go get her.”
What kind of answer is that?
He turns to the DJ and does the universal throat slashing sign to cut off the music.
Why is he making such a fuss over Enid?
And why the hell do we have to kill the music on her account? That was a great song.
Gage parts the crowd of friends on his way to the door.
I stretch my neck.
Even in my high heels, I have to stand on my tippytoes and move my head left to right to see what’s going on .
A familiar brunette sporting a slick side-parted nape bob steps into the room.
I gasp, my hands flying to my face to cover my mouth.
I blink a few times to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.
My best friend runs towards me.
It’s not a mirage.
I shake out of my stupor and run towards her.
We jump into each other’s arm, both of us crying.
We sway side to side, hugging the hell out of each other.
I pull away from her. “Nads, what are you doing here?” Tears stream down my face.
As if she was my personal assistant for the day, Mikki hands us tissues.
“Thank you.”
“What are friends for?”
Her reply touches my heart.
I blow her kisses.
She blows them back.
Nadine and I wipe away our tears, giggling like silly girls.
I’m not sure why I bothered going to the bathroom to fix my face. My mascara is running again.
“Nadine Whelan, are you going to put me out of my misery and tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”
“I was told someone was celebrating being twenty-one again.” She winks. “I had to be here.”
“Yeee!” I squeal and take her in my arms for another round of hugs.
I let her go.
She gives me a onceover. “That dress is stunning on you.”
I give her a twirl.
“It’s so Hollywood,” she says.
“I know, right? You look fabulous, as always. ”
“With my demure dress, I don’t fit into the LA fashion scene.”
“Nonsense.”
Nadine is wearing a form fitted mid-length sleeveless navy-blue dress that hits her below the knee. A delicate pattern of clusters of white flowers spots the fabric. It has a seductive V that shows off the girls nicely. Her red Mary Jane patent shoes with chunky heels have a vintage flair to them.
My eyes land on her chest, a warm smile stretching my lips. “And you’re wearing the perfect accessory.”
She caresses the medallion hanging around her neck I gave her for her birthday, a replica of mine.
I mimic her move, touching the one I’m wearing.
“I had to wear the necklace,” she says. “First, you know how much I love, love, love it. Second, I was hoping someone from QVC might spot me and want to know the artist, so you could become famous.”
This woman is the best friend a girl could ever hope for.
“Silly girl, QVC’s headquarters are in Pennsylvania. Not LA.”
“My bad.” She smiles. “Speaking of things your father disapproves of… have you given any thought to what we talked about yesterday?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m going to put my big girl panties on?—”
She shrieks.
“Shhh.” I place a finger against my lips.
“Sorry.” She cringes. “So, you’re moving here?”
I nod.
“When?”
“The plan is for me to return to New York and set the wheels in motion. Fisher Edgington hates people who are all talk. Once I get my ducks in a row, I’ll present my master plan as a fait accompli . Cue an evil laugh. ”
And she does.
I join in.
“It will all be under the pretense of gaining experience to better support Chandler’s political career,” I say.
She considers me for a beat, nodding.
“What?”
“This trip allowed you to find your lady balls. I like it. I like it a lot.”
It’s my turn to take in her words. “The trip I was dreading, turned out to be the trip of a lifetime.”
“Amen to that.” Nads lifts her arms over her head.
There are so many unexpected things about this evening, I can’t keep up. The shock of seeing my bestie is another item on the long list. “How did you get here?”
“Airplane. Duh.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Gage took care of everything.”
“I’m shocked he’d go to that length.”
“He was willing to move mountains to make tonight happen, Lily.”
Wow.
She leans into me. “In his world, nothing is impossible.”
I open my arms in an attempt to encompass this room and all the amazing people in it. “I get a sense of that now.”
“Between us girls, Mr. Hollingsworth is the paragon of masculinity. Quel mec. ”
“What a man, indeed—” I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“The playlist in my head landed on Salt-N-Pepa’s Whatta Man .
“Good one.” She laughs. “Gage fits the bill. He’s the perfect Adonis.” She fans herself. “He’s this big, testosterone-laden hunk. Confident and in command. And he’s not bad on the eyes.”
That’s the understatement of the century. “He’s freaking gorgeous.” I shift my attention to said gorgeous, testosterone-laden, perfect Adonis god.
He winks.
Be still my beating heart.
“Sexy gods hang out with other sexy gods,” Nads says. “Any single guys in his inner circle?”
I scan the room. “There’s Larkin.”
“The owner of this amazing hotel––where I’m staying, by the way––is dangerously hot, but he scares me.”
“Yeah, he’s intense.”
“Too intense,” she says. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“Michaela”––I point to her––“is certain there isn’t a woman alive capable of handling Larkin.”
Nadine nods.
I keep searching the room. “What about him?” I point to Collin Dennison, leaning at the bar, involved in an animated conversation with Dominika and Rod who are sitting on stools.
“Oh, God, that man is also hot, but he comes with the same force as a Euro speed train.” I laugh. “His brother Shane on the other hand… I’d leave my life in Paris behind for that fine piece of man candy.” She leans in closer. “I’d even be willing to let him pop my cherry.”
I stare up at her. “I doubt you’d regret it.”
“A man like that would justify holding out for the right one…”
Both her mom and mine lost their virginity to married men and ended up pregnant and alone. The way we came into this world shaped us, which is why we held on tight to our V cards much longer than most girls we know .
I nudge her. “Are you going to go after him?”
“No. I’d never have the courage to approach him.”
“That can be arranged––”
“I’m here for you . Not to get entangled with a hot guy. You know me… chicks before dicks.”
With that, she sets the tone to one of our favorite games. I pick up the baton.
“Queens over peens.”
“Sisters over misters.”
“Breasties before testes.” I keep the game going.
“Dames before dudes.”
“Brains before bros.”
We laugh.
“Men come and go, the sisterhood is forever,” I say.
Nadine’s eyes bounce around the room. “And now the sisterhood has extended to more than the two of us.”
My heart swells at the mention of all the wonderful new friends I’ve made since arriving in LA. “It has.”