I’m going away during the holidays and won’t have service, so I wanted to get in touch and say merry Christmas early. And a happy New Year. I hope you make the most of it—for all the reasons we discussed. I truly wish you well, Hendrix.
I typed out and deleted my response a dozen times before giving up. She was probably leaving her home over Christmas because she couldn’t stand to be there—because of me. I’d taken so much from this woman, and here she was, wishing me well.
I didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t deserve Aunt Hannah’s kindness either.
I needed to remember why I was here, keep my head down, and stop getting sucked into Fulton Academy bullshit. And that meant avoiding Donna.
Chapter Fourteen
Donna
Clinking glassware and polite laughter punctuated the soft Christmas music playing in the background.
I resisted the urge to tug at the tight waist of my A-line red dress. I wanted to be wearing something dark, short, and plunging, and the only thing I wanted cutting into my waist was a strong arm. I took a sip of my soft drink, wishing it were vodka, or at least champagne.
“Can we bail yet?” Harlow yawned next to me. She was in a gold dress with red details, the two of us matching each other in all but attitudes—at least outwardly.
The cream of Devilbend society, and quite a few prominent San Franciscans, were mingling around our house, drinking mom’s best champagne and eating delicate hors d’oeuvres. Our annual Christmas Eve Eve party was very different from the last party held in this house—the one that celebrated Mena’s birthday, where we made a mess and people got wasted and I started falling for . . .
“Give it another half hour, Harls.” I leaned down, keeping my voice low. “Make an effort to talk to someone. It’ll make Mom and Dad happy. Then you can grab Mena and Amaya and slip out. I’ll cover for you.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, D.”
She wandered off and struck up a conversation with an up-and-coming TV starlet who had recently hired Mom’s company to remodel her entire penthouse apartment.
Mena was standing with her parents and Joseph and Vicky Frydenberg—Will’s dad and his much younger latest wife, who looked bored out of her mind. Thankfully, Will hadn’t been able to make it.
Amaya was nowhere to be seen, but her mom had the attention of several men as she told a story over by the roaring fireplace, her infectious personality and the ample cleavage on display keeping everyone enthralled. Like mother, like daughter.
I smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from my dress and got back to mingling. Several family members and close friends had come out, but there were also Mom’s and Dad’s important clients, business partners, and colleagues. Our family Christmas would be a much more relaxed, fun celebration over dinner tomorrow night, then presents on Christmas morning. This party was more a way for my parents to nurture professional relationships.
Networking made the world go round, and I wasn’t going to waste a single opportunity.
The dean of Fulton Academy was there, and I’d briefly considered raising the issue of my internship with her—along with Mr. Kirke’s less than satisfactory handling of the situation—but I just made small talk instead. You had to pick your battles, and I knew that one was lost.
I chatted with my aunt and uncle for a bit as Harlow pulled Mena away and they slipped out to find Amaya. Then I gave Amaya’s mom air-kisses and complimented her on her dress.
No one noticed my friends leave the party. I wished I could ditch too—ignore everyone, take this fucking dress off, put on my thigh-high boots and go to Davey’s, or even just steal a bottle of champagne when the caterers weren’t looking and hang out with the girls.
But I had goals, ambitions, responsibilities. So I shoved those juvenile urges down and headed through the crowd to greet the newest guest, my smile genuine for the first time that evening. Jasmin looked a little uncertain, but I couldn’t blame her. She knew no one here, and the people in attendance could keep the legal center going for another thirty years with change from their couches. Which is exactly why I’d made sure Dad put her on the guest list.
“I’m so glad you came.” I gave her a hug.
“Thank you for inviting me. You look beautiful, Donna!”
“Thanks! Come meet my parents.” I led her over to my mom and dad and did the introductions. Once they were chatting easily, I moved away.
I caught up with Uncle Heath and his wife, Serena. They’d been friends with my parents since college and Uncle Heath had inherited his father’s chain of successful stores—GoodGrocer. When all the horrible bullying Mena had been dealing with came to light, he immediately offered to fire the parents of some of the kids involved, his face going red at the dinner table. I’d threatened the assholes with exactly that, but thankfully, the bullies had been dealt with by the police instead.
“How’s school going?” he asked.
“Great.” I smiled. “All As and breezing through my AP classes.”
“That’s my smart girl. Come, let me introduce you to Suzanne Brandy. She’s a partner at Paulsen and Price.” He gently took my elbow and led me to a small group of people by the eight-foot Christmas tree near the bay window.
I knew Suzanne would be there, of course. I’d spent time looking over the guest list and googling anyone I didn’t know. She was married to Andrew, a recent business associate of Daddy’s. I’d been planning to speak to her at some point regardless.
“Suzanne, such a pleasure to see you again.” Heath barged into their conversation, and a couple of people excused themselves, leaving only the lawyer and another woman I wasn’t sure I knew. “This is Donna—the Meads’ oldest and California’s next great legal mind.”
I laughed and dropped my gaze. He was right, of course, but this old-money crowd still subscribed to the idea that it was unbecoming of a young lady to be too confident or proud. “You’re too kind, and you have to say that. Hello, lovely to meet you.”
She shook my outstretched hand. “The pleasure is mine. I’m always happy to meet young people interested in the legal field. Your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you. My mother designed every inch and managed the painstaking remodel.”
“She’s very talented.”
“She is.” I beamed.
“Heath, you know Raine.” Suzanne gestured to the other woman standing with us. “Donna, this is Raine Clayton.”
“The founder and CEO of BestLyf.” I turned my winning smile on her and stuck my hand out. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise.” She took my hand in a firm, confident grip. We were about the same height, but I was in heels and she was in flats. Her chestnut hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she wore very natural makeup and understated jewelry. She could have been anywhere between forty and sixty years old—either she just had one of those faces or the plastic surgery she’d had was excellent.
We made small talk for a little while, but the longer I stood there, the more I kept seeing the astronomical number I’d spied on that rental statement a couple months ago.
“You know, Raine”—I gave her a polite smile, which she returned before taking a sip of her champagne—“I actually volunteer right near the BestLyf offices.”