Chapter 4 Misty
MISTY
My friend looks me up and down. “A little brown mascara here and, ooh, a little here. Cover up those Fanta streaks.”
“You missed a spot on the back.” Lucy points.
I smooth down the front of my dress. My engagement ring hangs on the embroidered ribbon around my neck, nestled against my chest.
“I am not sleeping with the escort,” I whisper to myself. “I’ll tell him that I don’t want that part of the package, and I just want to be charged the standard escort fee. I’m only doing this to make Austen jealous and hopefully win him back—ah!” I shriek when Sienna snaps the flat iron at me.
“You are moving on from Austen.”
“A guy I’m paying isn’t going to fall in love with me, Sienna,” I argue. “I bet he takes one look at me and runs away screaming.”
“Escorts are professionals, and besides, we’ve disguised the worst of your hair.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. “I look like I’m wearing a Christmas wreath on my head.”
Granny Keagan flicks a switch. “It even lights up. Granny’s special. Cocoa, I made you one too,” she coos to the dog.
The corgi runs and hides then peers out, suspicious, from the bedroom.
“I can’t go out there like this! All the WAGs are going to talk shit about me.” The tears start. “I hate being the ugliest girl in the room.”
Sienna grabs my hands. “Say it with me: I am a tall, strong, beautiful woman with a killer ass.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. They all dress like it’s 2011.” Lucy rolls her eyes.
“Honestly, you’re lucky you escaped that WAG life with all your pubic hair.” Granny Keagan fusses with my hair.
Lucy nods. “Yeah, pubic hair is back.”
“I look crazy.” I hold back a sob.
“No, your boobs look hot in this dress.” Sienna pulls up my zipper. “If you’re wearing a simple black dress, you can go a little crazy with the hair.”
“And the lip,” Lucy adds.
The front of the dress dips low at my cleavage. The thin straps hang off the shoulders. “I should just put on my pantsuit.”
“You’re not wasting a hot guy on a polyester pantsuit.”
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
“That’s why you paid him.” Granny Keagan pats my shoulder. “Remember, tell him he better provide at least five orgasms or you want your money back.”
My phone vibrates on the table.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Meet me at the side entry.
“Oh my gosh.” I jump up, tipping my chair back.
Cocoa barks from where she’s hiding.
“It’s him! He’s here. Alcohol, alcohol, I need alcohol.” I fan myself. “I’m having a panic attack. I can’t do this.”
“I have Percocet in my purse,” Gran offers.
Sienna shoves me to the door. “Take the elevator at the far end. Go, go, go!”
I can’t walk in heels, and I definitely can’t run in them.
Tripping on the carpet, I make my way to the elevators, push the down button, chew on my lip, realize I’m ruining my makeup, then hastily blot at my mouth with the tip of my freshly manicured finger.
The elevator doors open.
Austen.
My ex’s eyes slide from my mouth down to my cleavage to the short hemline of the dress that’s scrunched up on my thighs.
I pull it down. “I’ll wait for the next one.”
My phone is ringing now. I cancel the call.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Answer your phone.
“Um…”
It rings again. I press it to my face as I wave off Austen.
He glowers at me.
“Hi, I’ll be right there.” I hang up.
My ex shoves an imported Italian leather shoe in the elevator doors. The jerk halts them from closing.
“Get in, Mouse.”
I can never say no to him, even after all the hurt he caused me. I duck under his arm, brushing against the soft silk of his suit jacket. His luxury watch catches a few strands of my hair because I’m almost six feet tall, not the petite five-foot-two waif I am in my head.
I turn counterclockwise so I don’t have to look at his face—Why does it feel like I’m cheating on him?—and stare at the polished brass doors.
“You meeting someone?” My ex demands as the elevator takes us down.
He’s angry. I know all his tells. “Just a friend—ly guy from work.”
“A guy? You don’t date.”
I can’t stop the glance to him. “Not a date,” I squawk, “just a, you know, loose acquaintanceship thing. I barely know him. Well, obviously not barely—I wouldn’t bring a total rando to my own stepsister’s engagement party. That would be…” I swallow. “That would be weird.”
I draw a circle in front of me. “He’s an outer-friend-group-circle friend.”
My phone is ringing angrily when the doors open. Austen looks like he’s about to follow me down the hall.
“There you are!” Grandma Pam gets to wear a pantsuit. The older woman sails down the hallway and beckons Austen down to kiss his cheek.
“Don’t you look handsome?” She fixes his collar and notices the strand of my hair stuck on the cuff of his jacket. She peers at me.
I’m sweating. I never should have worn a sleeveless dress. I need layers to catch the stress sweat.
“Misty.” Her eyes narrow, and her lip curls. “There you are. The caterers have questions.”
Austen is still staring at me.
“What is that in your hair?” Grandma Pam purses her mouth. “Does your mother know what you’re wearing?”
“It lights up,” I say desperately, pressing the remote control in my purse.
“She has to meet a guy friend first,” Austen says to Pam.
“What friend? Who is this man?” Pamela demands.
“You can’t just bring a stranger to your sister’s engagement party.
Honestly, Misty. This is why I told my son—I told Ryan—that he can’t just marry some single mother off the streets.
You’re a bad influence on Brielle. Austen, your mother is here.
She wants to take photos, and, Misty, you need to—”
“Yep, the caterers! I’ll be right there. Tell them that there’s ice for the bar in the freezer, and they can help themselves.”
“What am I doing?” I whisper-shriek to myself as I hustle down the hallway, my phone ringing in time to the click of my heels as I bypass the Canal Club staff.
That’s not going to be good. He’ll know. He’ll know I hired a man to pretend to be my boyfriend. This was a horrible idea. I’m a terrible actress. I can’t pretend to be in love with a random stranger.
I pause at the nondescript metal security door. Someone’s taped a Christmas card on it with a Santa Claus in a sexy outfit, promising all your Christmas dreams will come true.
If Austen runs after me, if he tells me he loves me and wants to be mine forever, I won’t open the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I hear Austen’s footfalls.
There’s nothing, just the faint whistle of the winter wind through the cracks in the door.
I push it open, shivering as the wind chills me through the thin polyester of my dress. Blinking against the snowflakes, I peer into the alley.
Half in the shadows from the dumpster, there’s a man with an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, leaning against the grimy wall of the alley.
He’s got stubble all over his jaw, a bloody cut over one eye that’s been bandaged over. A ripped skullcap is low over his forehead, almost touching the slashes of dark eyebrows framing ghostly gray eyes, almost silver in the harsh LED security light.
I itch to snatch the hat off his head and grab my sewing kit and settle in for a cozy evening of mending.
“I hear someone needs her chestnut roasted.” He flicks a lighter.
“You smoke?” I shriek.
“Jesus Christ, lady.” He puts the unlit cigarette back into a full carton that materializes from somewhere in his ripped black jeans.
"They didn’t say anything about a smoker. You can’t smoke in here.”
“Yeah, I know. Relax, Gumdrop.” He pulls off the skullcap, revealing black hair shaved tight on the sides and long on top. He runs a hand through it. The dark locks fall messily over his forehead.
He reaches behind to hitch up his pants. The gesture is way lewder than it has any right to be. He then stuffs his hands into the pockets of the leather jacket.
“So.” He gestures, spreading the jacket briefly and giving me a glimpse of a flat stomach in a skintight T-shirt. “You gonna take me to your special someone?”
“This is—” I sputter. “You’re not—why aren’t you wearing a suit? Oh my gosh. I never should have hired you. What was I thinking? You’re not capable of this—you’re not up for this.”
“Whoa, fuck you, Gumdrop. I’m a professional.”
“You can’t even dress yourself. You’re not any sort of professional; you don’t know what you’re doing, and you need to leave. Right now.”
“I got this.” He pushes past me and wrenches the door open.
I race after him, and the heavy door almost slams in my face. “This is a nightmare. I am so, so, so screwed.”
“Eyyy, Talbot!” someone in the Canal Club calls. “Didn’t know you were working tonight, mate.” There’s a redheaded man with a nose ring. He and Talbot exchange a complicated handshake.
“Naw, I’m just here with my new girl.”
“Nice to meet you.” He takes my hand and gives it a kiss. “You can do better than Talbot.”
“Suck my dick, Ricky.”
“Heya!” A man I recognize as the head caterer sucks his teeth at Talbot. “Why aren’t you in uniform, son?”
“I’m not working, Mac.” Talbot jerks his chin up.
“Ms. West. There you are.”
“Er, it’s actually Evans, but please call me Misty.”
“Sorry, figured I had it all wrong since…”
“Yeah, since the rest of my family has the last name West. It’s confusing.”
Talbot seems a little antsy.
“Look, ma’am, ya sister said we got the order mixed up. She didn’t want the prawns. Said she’s gonna sue us, but I have the order confirmation. Talbot, heya boy. Get that paperwork out of my pocket.” Mac shifts to Talbot.
“Yes, I know we approved the menu. I know there’s no mistake.” I try to calm him down. “Please don’t worry about it. I’m so sorry for the confusion. We did want the prawns.”
“Ya sure? She seemed real angry. Yo, Talbot, get outta here. This is a nice party with fancy NHL players. You can’t just be running around here. Big Alan’s in charge of security, and he’s not gonna like seeing you here.”
“I’m her date.” Talbot gives me a sly smile.
Mac’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his thinning hairline.