Classy

Chapter Two

Madeline Darcy

In which I hide from a party planner

I was doing my absolute best to avoid the party planner, who had been bothering me with questions all morning. Gates and I had hired the woman to avoid having to do anything with the party myself; I certainly wasn't bloody pleased to be dragged into it repeatedly.

"Are you hiding in here?" Gates asked brightly when he opened the door and found me in the colossal laundry room.

"Yes," I hissed quietly, gesturing for him to hurry in.

"Excellent, I shall hide with you," he said, closing the door behind him and sitting on the floor next to me, our voices obscured by three washing machines on full blast. "Isn't it all supposed to have been planned by now? What possible information could she need for a party that's happening in six hours?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "And I can't deal with it."

"Okay, we'll keep hiding," Gates nodded decidedly. "We'll rotate rooms if she gets too close."

I smiled. "Thanks."

It wasn't that I didn't want the party to go well; frankly, the amount it had cost us, it better have gone well, but I really didn't want to deal with six hours of stress on top of the pain of socialising later. I hated parties. I hated crowds, and the heat of the room, and the constant small talk.

"Oh," Gates said suddenly. "You will be pleased to know that I have secured a date for tonight!"

That sure as hell piqued my interest. Gates was an easy-going, lively person, and I saw people fall in love with him approximately three times a week, but he didn't often commit to anything serious. "Really? Should I be bracing myself to give the shovel talk?"

"Nah, she's just a friend," Gates replied easily. "I just wanted to avoid my parents and sisters shoving me in the way of every woman at the party. I can't believe you let them talk us into giving a party."

I pulled a face. "It's expected." There was a pause, and then I acknowledged, "Plus, it's good for business. You know what these parties are like. It's five minutes of 'congratulations on your lovely new home!' and then six hours of negotiations and spirited discussions fuelled entirely by very expensive wine."

"Gigi coming?" he asked, noting my mention of wine.

I fell silent, and then sighed heavily. "No. She's... she's doing better. But she's not ready to be around this sort of crowd, with all the triggers. She's still at the retreat. I don't think she's leaving for the rest of the summer."

I called it the 'retreat' because it was in fact called The Lampton Retreat, but we all knew what it was. It was a rehab facility. It was just posh enough that it didn't have the tagline of 'this is where we send all the rich people who have a bit too much on the regular'.

"Ah," Gates replied, and smiled sympathetically. "She'll be okay, you know. She's got all the support in the world. I believe in her."

"I know you do," I smiled back a little. "You've always been an optimist. Anyway, tell me about your friend. Do I know her?"

"I think I've mentioned her before," Gates mused. "Francesca Bennet. Well, she's technically Elizabeth, but she'd kick off if anyone called her that. She's great!"

I eyed him for any sign of romantic attachment, but he was exactly how he was with everyone else that he liked as a pal, which was most people. "How do you know her?"

"Oh, she works at the department store that I did that deal with a couple of years ago," Gates said absent-mindedly, fiddling with the laces on his shoes. "I met her while I was checking out how the stock was going down - she clocked me immediately and told me that wearing sunglasses and a big hat indoors wasn't actually the excellent disguise I thought it was, especially when combined with the trench coat."