And I couldn’t get mad. I couldn’t be sad. I couldn’t be bitter, and I couldn’t be petty. So I packed each emotion in its own little box and stuffed it in the basement of my heart so I could do my job.
And I did the shit out of my job.
Every course was perfectly timed, flawlessly cooked, and the exact temperature it was supposed to be, which I was sure Natasha triple-checked. The DJ’s set went off without a hitch or a hiccup. The speeches were made in her honor, and the champagne flowed with effervescent ease. And by the end of dinner, Natasha seemed to have forgotten all about me.
My only respite was Kash.
He’d changed into slacks and a button-down, both straining to contain his massive form. His tie was perfectly knotted, which I’d never realized was a turn on. But it was. I imagined his big, rough hands tying that knot and decided I’d have him put it back on after he tied me up with it.
As reassuring as I’d been about the hired cars, I’d immediately known it was going to be a problem, and it was. Saturday night in Manhattan was the first strike. I’d booked the cars months ago in order to reserve enough to cart every person she knew—and their agents, producers, or groupies—to the club. As predicted, they had no extra cars, but somehow, we found a fleet in New Jersey, thanks to some strong words, a few phone calls, and the promise of an inflated rate.
With the chaos of the cars, I wouldn’t get to the club in advance of the caravan to make sure everything was ready. So I sent my best intern to make sure Noir was in place, as nervous as that made me.
And so at two-after-ten, I found myself waiting at the curb under the awning, staring down Fifth, looking for thirty Escalades, ten of which were, by my estimation, going to be late.
I heard the birthday crowd before the doors opened, and people flooded out. Drunken, obscenely rich people led by none other than Natasha Felix.
“I knew she wouldn’t get the cars,” she said too loudly. Her toadies laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day that Lila Parker actually fucked up.”
As if on cue, the first of a line of black SUVs rolled up.
“Aw, man,” Natasha whined when she saw them.
Smile firmly in place, I breathed my relief and walked down the line, counting. My phone, which was clutched in my fist, vibrated with an alert that the other cars were three minutes away. And then my smile was genuine.
Guests filed into car after car, taking their drunken time, and by the time the first twenty had made their way around the block, filled up with people like clown cars, the final ten had arrived.
Sorina and her husband, Adrien, were last to leave, having waited to say goodbye to their guests.
Adrien climbed in with nothing more than a sullen nod in my direction, but Sorina stopped, smiling that dazzling smile of hers, to take my hands.
“You were wonderful, Lila. Thank you for making my baby’s birthday party so utterly flawless.”
“It was my pleasure,” I lied.
“We never could tell her no,” she said fondly. “I’m afraid to her detriment.”
Unsure how to respond, I landed on, “I’m sure she’s perfectly lovely. Just not to me.”
“That’s kind of you to lie, Lila. You might know,” she started, stilling and softening with the remembrance I’d read of in a dozen magazines, “when I was a girl, we had nothing. We were refugees, hungry and running from war and into France. When I was discovered in Paris, it was more than a job I was given. It was a way to save my family, save myself.”
A pause, pregnant with memories before she continued, “I shouldn’t spoil the girls as I do, but I never … I never wanted them to know what it was like. To be without.” With a breath, she straightened up, smiling. “Plus, with three older, ambitious sisters, Natasha has to fight for attention. Good attention or bad, it doesn’t matter. The show doesn’t help—so much of their behavior is for the cameras, for the drama of it all. But my girls have always been very”—she hesitated, searching for the word—“emotional and opinionated. They rarely make it easy, but you have managed them exquisitely.”
“Thank you, Sorina,” I said, not needing to pretend this time.
Another pause, her smile fading. If her brows had been able to move, I had the feeling they would have gathered with concern. “I realize the position you’re in. With Brock and Natasha. And I want you to know that I admire your grace. You are a diamond, Lila Parker—brilliantly shining and completely unbreakable.”
I would have been suspicious had she not been so earnest. And though her eyes were a little glassy, she didn’t seem overtly drunk. It was an admission, nothing more. And I appreciated it.
“If only we could be truly unbreakable,” I said with a smile to disguise the truth of that wish. “But I appreciate your support. There’s no need to worry for me.”
“Oh, I don’t. If there’s one thing I won’t ever have to worry about, it’s you.” With a smile, she turned for the car and climbed in.
I watched that last SUV drive away, taking a moment to collect myself, to let the sense of understanding—and I couldn’t call it forgiveness, but acceptance, maybe?—sink in. It was emotional distance, as if observing them from behind a glass wall. A moment of objectivity. It was easier to think of Natasha as a wild honey badger, hissing at me with a threat she couldn’t act on. Because there was nothing she could do to me that hadn’t already been done, other than get me fired. But so long as I didn’t take the bait and open her cage, everything would be fine.
With the draw of a long, heavy breath, I turned for the doors to check on vendor load-out before heading to the club. Walking the plush hallways of the Plaza, Brock was on my mind.
Natasha I could accept. But Brock I could not. Considering he was in his mid-thirties, I figured it could be a midlife crisis. Or maybe some Peter Pan complex. He was vain, and on that merit alone, I could see the appeal of someone like Natasha. And he was arrogant, which he’d found a likeness with in her. Really, they had so much more in common than he and I did. She offered him youth, power, and the combined pride that made them nearly bulletproof.
I wondered if either of them had feelings, real, honest feelings. Natasha definitely felt rage and jealousy. Brock felt entitlement. But beyond that, what did they care for other than themselves?
And how had I gone on so long with someone so deeply selfish?
As much as I hated seeing him, he just kept making it easy for me to walk away. Oh, how much harder it would have been had he told me all the things I’d once wanted to hear, professed his love, begged me for forever. Don’t get me wrong, I still would have walked away. It just would have been harder, that was all.
I had to admit my satisfaction when Brock had seen Kash and me together. When Kash snarked at him with that easy smile on his face, defended me when he didn’t need to, saved me when I could have saved myself, just because he could. Just because he wanted to.
A hot ache bloomed in my chest. Kash was my safe place, my refuge. He was the best part of my life, which at present was dominated by the pack of starving hyenas known as the Felix Femmes and the fact that I was on the rebound and homeless. He gave me respite. But what had started off as a distraction had turned into something more. Something deeper.