Page 13 of Filthy Little Regrets
Oh, right. I roll my eyes. “Whatever, they both deserved it. Wait. Will they be there tonight?”
“No. They moved away, but Bethany and Ellen are coordinating it.”
I wrinkle my nose, drinking the fizzy sweet champagne.
Rose grimaces. “I know, but the gala is for a good cause, and if I don’t show up, there’s bound to be a fresh article in NYC Socialite tearing me apart.The downfall of Rose Richardson.” She blows out a hard breath.
That fucking gossip site. Rose may have come from money, but that doesn’t equate to acceptance among our peers. If anything, being the daughter of one of the richest men in the world put a target on her back, and Rose was cornered and tormented more than a few times. Our shared high school trauma is what brought us together. We’ve been best friends ever since.
“Well, there are three good things about tonight.”
She lifts an eyebrow in question.
“One, we’re going together.” I hold up one finger and tick off the next reasons. “Two, we both look hot as hell. Right, Remy?”
Remy glares at me in warning. We all know what would happen if Dare ever caught wind of Remy referring to Rose as hot.
I smirk and raise the third finger. “And there will be an open bar.” I pause and shoot a worried glance at Rose. “There will be alcohol, right?” If I risk running into Bethany and Ellen? I’ll need a cocktail.
“What kind of friend do you think I am? Of course, there will be alcohol.”
We both giggle. Remy eyes us like we’re nuts, and the tension that’s nestled between my shoulders starts to fade away.
While this whole gala thing is my idea of a terrible time, with Rose, I might actually have fun.
She links her fingers with mine, clinking her champagne flute against mine. “I love you.”
The unexpected touch steals my breath, but I smile and pretend like my body isn’t craving a hug. I don’t want to make it weird. Without an immediate family, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one. The hollow in my chest aches. It’s weird how much I’ve started to long for physical affection.
Remy’s eyes burn into the side of my face. I glance at him, surprised to find understanding in his guarded gaze. I never expected to have much in common with Remy. They don’t give out hugs in his line of business, though. Maybe we’re both touch starved.
“Oh, Dare reserved us seats at Mace’s table,” Rose murmurs, glancing at her phone.
My stomach drops, but Remy is the only one who catches the dread flashing across my face. The last thing I want to do is spend time with Mace.
The event security checking everyone in pats me and Rose down, gesturing us through and moving to Remy.
The bodyguard narrows his eyes. “No.”
The one, harsh word stops the security guard in his tracks. The young guy, who’s probably only twenty, glancesat the attendant, whose gaze flicks between Rose and Remy.
“He’s with me,” Rose explains.
Not much more needs to be said. Rose Richardson, wife of the Beast of NYC, gets to bend all sorts of rules because they don’t want to cross Dare.
“Of course,” the attendant says, gesturing to the security guard. “Let him through.”
Sometimes I’m jealous of Rose. What’s a woman have to do to find a scary husband who loves you more than breathing?
Remy adjusts his suit jacket, his biceps threatening to rip the seams. He’s a big guy. The security guard smartly gives him a wide berth as we head inside.
The gala’s theme is NYC NightLife, hence the mini dresses Rose picked out, but the decorations border on garish. It’s almost like two designers got into a fight over design concepts and decided to throw them both together. A red carpet stretches out in front of us, leading to the dance floor, which is lit by various shades of strobing lights. More than a few people stand around tables, draped in starched white cloths, glaring at the DJ as he throws on a bass-heavy song.
My eyebrows rise.Someone is going to get fired.
Rose glances at me, amusement shimmering in her eyes. “It’s chaos.”
Right as she says it, a server passes by with hors d’oeuvres that definitely don’t fit with whatever is happening here.
