Chapter 8
Eight
Ellie
You’re just like her, aren’t you?
Terror unfurls in my stomach as I reread the text message.
“Are you okay?” Concern pools in Aubrey’s eyes.
“Uh . . . I’m not sure, actually.” I frown. Aubrey leans over my shoulder to peek at my phone screen.
“Uh oh,” she says. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I—I’m not sure.” I swipe left on the screen and the message vanishes as quickly as it arrived. “Wrong number hopefully.”
Aubrey’s eyebrows lift but then she seems to catch herself and steels her features again. “What time is your appointment?”
I finger the hem of the strapless cocktail dress that was sent to my apartment by messenger this morning. It’s been three
days since our weekend in Westchester—since I received my first assignment, as Aubrey has taken to calling it. “My blowout at the salon is at 5, I have makeup at 5:45, and the event starts at 6:30.”
“The salon is right next to campus, right?” She asks, pouring a glass of wine for herself and then another for me.
“Yeah, I’m just going to change at the salon.” I lift the glass, noticing my trembling fingers.
“Is it okay if I meet you at the salon later and we can walk over together?”
“Yeah, that works for me,” I reply, my mind still lingering on the weird text message. I don’t have time to think about it
now, or ever really, but it occurs to me that deleting the message probably wasn’t the best move because now I can’t tell
Jack that it happened—not with evidence, anyway. If I tell him he’ll want to see the message, and when I don’t have it to
show him he’ll likely just tell me I misinterpreted the meaning or that it was a wrong number.
“You look nervous,” Aubrey comments.
I sigh. “I’ve been fighting butterflies since we got back from Westchester. It didn’t help when the invitation arrived for
the Columbia cocktail event, and then things really kicked up a notch when the box arrived with this little black dress.”
“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes wash up and down the slinky satin fabric. “I’d take your place if they’d have me.”
“I’d rather you were doing it,” I say. I move to swipe my wineglass off the counter but I misjudge the distance and knock
it over, causing the glass to crack into two pieces and blood-red merlot spread across the granite countertop. “Shit!” I whimper.
Aubrey wipes up my mess with paper towel, depositing the broken glass into the sink. I sigh, thinking how thankful I am to
have her here. “I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this. It’s easy to say yes when Kat’s in your face talking about empowering
women—it’s another thing when I’m sitting here thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.”
“Please, Ellie, how could things possibly go wrong? It’s just a few cocktails.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say. You’re not having drinks with a rapist.”
“Well, there is that, I s’pose.” She giggles, but I’m not feeling quite as lighthearted as she is. Her eyes meet mine and
her smile softens to a frown. “Hey—I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make jokes. Everything will be fine, I’ll be right there. We
can even have a secret signal if things get too much and you need to be rescued. What about . . .” she thinks a moment and
then swipes two fingers across her temple. “Just make this sign and I’ll be there.”
That makes me laugh. “No, it’s okay. I know it will be fine—this is my old stomping grounds. I’m just angsty because I haven’t
told Jack and events like this aren’t really my thing.”
“You’ll do great, there’s a reason they picked you.” She pulls me into a quick hug, patting my back before holding me at arm’s
length. “You’ve got this. You have beauty and charm and brains coming out of your ears—there’s no better woman for this job.”
“Well, except you,” I retort.
“No—not even me.”
I shoot her a dubious smile. “Thanks for your cheerleading. You’re the best.”
“I know.” She backs away, blowing me a kiss once she reaches the front door. “I’ll see you soon, I’m gonna get ready and you’re
gonna get all glammed up and then we’ll be off to the ball like two princesses.”
She blows me another kiss, backing out of the door and letting it slam closed behind her.
I sigh, readying myself for what comes next. My first event as a member of The Society. If I didn’t feel like a fish out of
water before, I certainly do now. Okay, El—get it together. I shove the dress into my tote bag along with a pair of black pumps, then glance around the apartment a final time before heading out the door for my first appointment.
Ninety minutes later the makeup artist is putting the finishing touches on my look—a heavy winged cat-eye and a smear of sticky
gloss on my lips to complete my new femme fatale aesthetic.
“Babe!” Aubrey breezes into the salon, a sexy red dress clinging to her frame. “You look incredible. I can’t wait to see you
in that sexy little black dress.”
I suppress a groan. It’s nearly go-time and I feel like a little kid on the first day of school.
“You’re all set.” The makeup artist spins me in the chair to face the mirror.
“Wow,” I say. I’ve never worn makeup like this in my life. I wouldn’t know how to recreate this look by myself, and I’m not
sure I even pull it off.
“Let’s go, let’s go—I want to see you in that dress!” Aubrey spins my chair and thrusts my tote bag with the dress into my
arms.
I turn to the makeup artist. “It’s beautiful. How much do I owe you for the makeup?”
“Not a penny, it’s taken care of.”
“Oh, okay.” I slip a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and pass it to her for a tip.
“Thanks,” she says then tucks the bill into her apron pocket.
“Come on, let’s get you into this dress.” Aubrey pulls me out of the chair and guides me to the bathrooms. She stands outside
a stall and waits for me to change.
A moment later I step out, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s kind of revealing.”
“Not at all—I think it’s great.”
“Thanks,” I say halfheartedly.
“You should send a sexy selfie to Jack,” she says.
“No way—he doesn't know anything about this.”
“Would he be mad?” she asks as we walk out of the salon and head north on Broadway.
“No, not at all.”
“So why not tell him?” she asks as we walk shoulder to shoulder down the busy sidewalk.
“I don’t really know how to explain that I’m going to a cocktail party in the hopes of making conversation with a rapist.
Doesn’t really land well, ya know?”
“Yeah, I guess not.” We walk the remaining two blocks to campus in silence, before moving to the west in the direction of
the alumni building. “This looks like it.”
We watch as elegant men and women shuffle into a glass-walled atrium that leads to the law library.
“God, this looks so fancy, is it too late to turn around?” I utter.
“Absolutely,” she laughs.
I clutch my small designer bag, gathering all the courage I have before my phone chimes to life. I pause, pulling it out of
my bag looking for any excuse to delay the inevitable next few hours.
My heart stops when I glance down at the screen.
Black dress today. I like it. But green would really bring out your eyes.