“Who’s the new man, Amy?”
“Does that mean the rumors about you and the prince aren’t true?”
The questions died away as we reached the doors.
“You didn’t have to whisk me away like that. I have plenty of experience with this stuff—heck, it’s a normal Friday night for me,” I told Ian as I presented the man at the door with the invitation. Not that I needed it; he knew who I was. He gave Ian’s attire a speculative look before nodding.
“Have a nice evening, Miss Abrams.”
Ian raised an eyebrow at the guy and gave him a casual chin lift.
“Yeah, well, if you’ve been with the right man you wouldn’t have had to deal with that stuff. A real man wouldn’t let his woman get ogled like that, especially when he knew what the fuck those photos were being used for,” he bit out, directing us to the main room as if he’d been here hundreds of times.
I turned my head to look up at him. “Seriously? The only thing those photos will be used for is determining if I’m ending up on the worst dressed list.”
I had never ended up on the worst dressed list. I wouldn’t be starting today.
Ian glanced down at me, eyes twinkling. “Trust me, I’m a man. Those photos will be used for a fuck of a lot more than that.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Ew. I didn’t need that image.”
“Yeah, well, neither did I. It’s going to be hard enough looking at all the stuffed suits scramble over their Botox-filled dates to talk to you,” he replied stiffly, scanning the room and leading us toward the bar.
Ah, a man after my own heart.
I struggled to comprehend the meaning behind his words. They certainly seemed protective and almost angry, but that didn’t make sense. I was his kid sister’s best friend; we barely knew each other. That did not warrant this reaction. I chose not to believe he was feeling the same freaky attraction I was. Even if he wasn’t Gwen’s brother I didn’t do relationships. I knew they only caused a world of hurt. Caring, feelings, that fricking four-letter word. They all amounted to pain and heartbreak. I was in control over my heart and it would belong to no man…apart from Karl Lagerfeld.
I scanned the people at the party and my eyes fell on my mother. The look she was giving me, and more precisely Ian, was evidence that she had spotted me far earlier. She started to make her way over to us, smiling at her society friends tightly.
I glanced up at Ian. “Can you do me a solid and grab me a martini from the bar? Dirty.” I paused, gauging the expression on my mother’s face. “Make that two,” I amended.
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”
I sighed in relief as he escaped just before my mother arrived.
I took a deep breath. Katherine Abrams was a beauty; no one could dispute that. Her hair was the same red as mine, but colored to disguise any grey hairs. It was expertly coiffed into a chignon which accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Her makeup was flawless, like always, applied by her makeup artist. Her face was free from any lines thanks to surgery and injections. She was wearing a jade green gown which accentuated her trim figure, due to the fact she counted calories and barely ate more than one meal a day.
“Amy, darling, glad to see you could finally make it. I’m sure I told you countless times to be here at seven. Did your watch break? You know, your father and I got that for you to remedy your inability to monitor time passing.”
Fate was a cruel mistress to make me face this creature sober.
“Mother, how lovely to see you,” I lied, giving her air kisses.
I then shook the pricey timepiece my parents had gotten me, which I wore to every event I knew I would encounter them. “You know, these days watches have become obsolete. I merely think of this as a pretty bracelet,” I declared airily and watched my mother’s eyes narrow.
“Darling, you must let Anna do your makeup for these events. She would give you the perfect powder to cover up those freckles—they make you look common.” My mother eyed my cheeks in disdain.
I didn’t have time to reply as she glared at Ian’s jean-clad back. Her face was tight and expressionless. But I swear a vein in her eye twitched. This only helped cement my theory that she was a cyborg incapable of human emotion. The normal reaction of a human woman would be drooling, or at least swooning over the male specimen in front of her.
“Really, Amy? Is this your latest attempt to embarrass me?” she asked, her judgmental gaze now focused on me. “You bring some hoodlum to my event dressed like a drug dealer?”
“Oh, but he is a drug dealer, Mother. You know how hard it is to get good blow at these things. I thought I’d just cut out the middleman,” I replied seriously.
My mother raised an eyebrow; well, as much as was possible with the amount of Botox in her face. “When are you going to grow up, Amy?” She sighed.
I pretended to think about that. “If by grow up you mean buy a closet full of Burberry, play tennis, head ridiculous charities and have a stuffy banker husband, I’m going to say…never,” I told her. “And plus, I thought the idea of aging in any way shape or form is utterly distasteful to you, considering the amount of surgeries you’ve had to stop the evidence of time’s passing,” I added.
God, I wish I had a drink. Or at least a hammer to whack myself in the head with.
Katherine scowled at me, preparing a no doubt scathing retort when Ian approached us. He handed me my two drinks.
“Here you go, Ames,” he said softly.
“I love you,” I muttered under my breath, cradling my precious drinks.
My mother’s eyes went to my multiple cocktails and she opened her mouth. Ian, the sweetheart, beat her to it.