When Perfect Meets Crazy

14 - Cinderella and a missing prince

I knew I was signing up for a proper gala. I had been to a few of those thanks to my parents' but I wasn't prepared for just how proper. There were no flashing cameras and pens with notepads poised to take statements downstairs so I figured it would be a low key event where they'd rake in a hundred thousand or so at the end of the night.

I was off. Way off.

The second I stepped into the suite Ellie procured for dressing me up -a presidential suite- I knew I was having my very own debut as Cinderella, a not so poor kid moonlighting as royalty for a night. Icing on the cake, this was all for a dance and like the fairytale, I had to be home before midnight. All that was missing were blonde hair and glass slippers. 

"Sit," she ordered, delicately lowering herself into a plush leather chair opposite mine.

I obeyed. This was uncharted territory for me. Not ruffling her feathers was especially important since I needed her willing and pliable for when I pumped her for information.

With a wave of her hand, the swarm of people standing to the side, armed with clothes, flat irons and what I figured were boxes of makeup surrounded me.

Damn...

My jaw fell open, eyes widening with surprise until my mom's voice filled my head, reminding me to act dignified, to not slouch or stare too long. To close my mouth and smile politely like it was no more than I expected. To be in control. To not make any mistakes.

I started to sit up straight and smile before it registered that she wasn't physically present to assess my behaviour and hiss corrections as soon as the people she wanted me to impress turned away.

I let out a deep breath.

Get it together. You have work to do.

"So," I leaned forward as much as the man working on undoing my hairdo allowed and pasted a smile on my face, "how do you know Mask... uhm..." I faltered, forcing a taut laugh as I tried to recall his real name. "Bl... uh... Ian! Ian. How do you know Ian?"

I should really stop calling him Masked Idiot. That was fucking close.

A woman with a makeup brush and palette slid in between us, obstructing my view of Ellie's reaction.

I flashed her a scowl she didn't so much as bat a lash at as she proceeded to powder my face.

Reactions and body language were very important in reading people. In knowing what made them tick and when you were getting warmer. Both my parents swore by it and clearly, it works. My mom was senior partner and my dad, the sheriff. Not to mention, it helped me to not be just a smart socially irrelevant nerd at school. My people handling and troubleshooting skills were what made me, and I quote, 'the fixer, a real life HBIC.'

Unfortunately, with the unrepentant makeup artist obstructing my view of Ellie, I couldn't read her to know what was a lie, what wasn't, when I was getting warmer or shooting a blank.

Move, damn it.

Despite my efforts to maneuver her to the side, the artist staunchly refused to budge.

Asshole.

I knew how these galas went. There was a very high probability I wouldn't see Ellie again for the rest of the night if I didn't ask her the questions now.

"Ellie, how long have you known Ian?" My tone was conversational, tentative and just in case she could see me, I pasted a smile on my face.

"You know he has a girlfriend, right?" she countered in a tone that was just centimetres away from hostile.