Roommate Arrangement

Party Time

Jade

On account of me bombing my audition Leigh forces me into accompanying her to the party I was intent on avoiding. She thinks I need to get out and have some fun. I think a pint of Ben and Jerry's sounds like a better time than spending my evening with a bunch of stuck-up snobs, but I haven't seen much of Leigh since moving into Perrie's condo, so I relent.

When Leigh said "party" I stupidly assumed it meant there would be lots of people to mingle with. I could put on my "Jade Snob" face, impart the occasional witty response, and rotate through the guests, air kissing and smiling. I also assumed it would be in a hall, or a ballroom of some kind, as is typical.

What I don't expect is to end up at some mansion with eleven other guests. And did I mention that there's only one other single person in the room, and it happens to be this arrogant-looking guy? This is possibly the worst and least subtle attempt at matchmaking ever. I don't need to be set up with anyone. I have bigger things to worry about.

I'm holding a glass of prosecco, there seems to be no non-alcoholic option available at this point, and I'm thirsty. I spent an hour on Perrie's treadmill, staring at the life-sized portrait of her reflected in the window overlooking the river.

The impulse to pull a Ziploc baggie from my purse is strong as the server makes the rounds with a tray of appetizers. I'm slowly conditioning out that behavior. Thanks to Perrie's grocery delivery service, I finally know what it feels like to be full again. On real food that doesn't come in a cellophane package. I'm actually starting to fill out this dress. It's too bad my hips are the first to expand and my boobs are the last.

Arrogant Single Guy is droning on and on about his Ivy League education and how people assume the high-level position he has at Douchebags & Douchenozzles was handed to him, but that's untrue, he worked hard to get where he is. I call bullshit. Not out loud. Just in my head. I know for a fact that Wentworth Wilson's – yes, that's his name – father is a fifty-percent shareholder in the company, and that means if he wants his Ivy League-educated douche of a son to work there, all he has to do is send over a résumé and, poof, a new job title is created.

My father does not work this way. Not for me, anyway. I know I'll be starting at the bottom rung. And that wouldn't bother me so much if my siblings hadn't been given corner offices and nice titles from the moment they started working for him. Not like I want to even work for him at all, but fair is fair. If I'm going to partake in nepotism, I should get what I can out of it.

Wentworth is still talking. I'm still nodding and smiling politely, asking the occasional question to appear interested when I tune into what he's saying long enough to know he's still going on about himself. It's as if he's sharing his entire résumé with me. Dating in the upper class is weird. People parade themselves around like show ponies, waiting for someone to pin them with first prize.

While he takes another truffle-steak-tartar-blah-blah and some goose liver paté on a blah-blah cracker I do a furtive check around the room. I've been standing for the last twenty minutes. I'm wearing heels and they're becoming uncomfortable. My calves are seizing because of the hour spent on the treadmill.

Leigh is halfway across the room. Armstrong has his arm around her waist. Actually, I'm pretty sure his hands drop a little too low while she talks to one of the other fiancées based on the way Leigh's eyes go suddenly wide and Armstrong's grin becomes pervy for a moment.

When her gaze meets mine from across the room, she gives me one of her apologetic smiles. I just glare. She does the eye-widening, pleading thing. There's no way she would try to set me up with the guy on purpose. I bet it was Armstrong's doing. Asshole.