Page 64 of Secondhand Secrets

She turned from the group, although one woman muttered a quick, “No. Please, stay,” and another, “I like her.”

As much as Ally could have laughed at that and fulfilled their wishes to stay and stare down Angeline some more, Ally’s wild heart told her to run, that she shouldn’t have to constantly defend herself.

That said, her short dress and heels made running look like an undignified trot, so she settled on powerwalking across the room to another server, where she deposited her empty glass onto their tray and collected two new full ones.

The bass-thumping music faded, and she glanced over her shoulder to the stage lit with a projected announcement about the Graduate grant. Chip, along with two others—presumably the other finalists—ascended up the stage stairs where another group of senior level-looking people stood.

A heavy ball of emotion filled her chest and obscured her pride for him behind a strong urge to ugly cry right here amongst his peers.

Keep moving.

Just keep moving.

So she barreled on, brushing past people listening to the stage stuff, as well as those maintaining conversations despite the noise up ahead. Before long, she shouldered her way through the black bathroom door.

A couple of women stood before a wide vanity washing hands and fixing hair. Meanwhile, the first stall on her left lay open and slightly bigger than the others. She hurried on in and, since she still balanced a champagne glass in each hand, used an elbow to twist the latch shut, a small amount of bubbly liquid splattering over her fingers and onto the white tiles below.

She swore under her breath and oh-so-ungracefully reached a foot out, kicking the toilet seat closed and then plonking her weight down on her makeshift chair. Gross? Sure. But maybe she was where she belonged. Away from the action. In the most basic of rooms. Which still managed to be the most glamorous bathroom she’d used, outside the one in Chip’s home.

She scoffed, her jaw aching from unknowingly crushing her teeth together, but not enough to keep her from gulping down another drink. Drops of champagne spilled down her chin and landed on the front of her dress.

“Nice.” She wiped at the dark patch blooming against the blue silk, sniffling at the sudden moisture gathered in her nose. “Real nice.”

A fat tear rolled down her cheek and landed in her lap, creating another mark on her dress, producing a low growl from her and more frustrated tears.

She was trapped in an endless spiral. Ruined dress. Ruined makeup. Which only caused more tears through the painful hitching of her breath.

She attempted to drown her sobs with more champagne, but her last remaining glass didn’t go far. If only she’d had more hands. If only she’d thought to take the server’s whole tray with her.

How would she get out of this mess? There’d be no leaving unnoticed, not in her current state.

The stall door shook as though someone wanted to get in, but she shut her eyes, already a little woozy since she wasn’t much of a drinker. Still, whoever tried to enter would soon figure this stall was taken and move on.

“Ally.”

A sudden coldness hit her, and she flung her eyes open, a pair of pointy, magenta heels peeking from beneath the door.

“Ally. It’s Janice. Are you okay?”

Ally bowed her head and swore under her breath.

“Yep. I’m fine. Just needed a moment to myself.” Even she heard the tight hesitation in her voice. “Go back to the party, okay?”

As much as Janice highlighted the kinder side of Boston’s intellectual crowd, Ally’s short jaunt here only made her love her small world in Harlow more. The open spaces and grassy hills, her little pottery shed, the slower pace.

Now that she thought about it, maybe even the Argyle deal was too much.

“Ally, you’re not fine.”

Her spine stiffened, and the chill in her veins turned to hardened ice. “Chip? Is that you?”

“Ally, open the door.”

Three solid thuds hit the stall, and she couldn’t tell if he was pissed or worried. Or even what the heck he was doing breaking into the women’s room.

“You know”—her voice echoed through the space, her reedy tone regrettably unmissable, although she carried on—“harassing women in the ladies room won’t do you any favors.”

“Neither will leaving my girlfriend to cry alone while I party it up out there.” He paused, this time shaking the door handle. “Ally, come out. Please.”

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