Page 19 of The Boss Situation

Though my hair is usually styled in a straight bob, April does loose beach waves.

“Girl, you’re sexy as hell,” Oliver says as he finishes up with a setting spray.

He gently adjusts the tiara on my head. It’s one my father gave me on my twenty-first birthday, constructed from the diamonds of one of my grandmother’s necklaces.

“Stunning,” April says, her hot-pink glasses and matching hair making quite the statement. “The smoky eyes will have men falling in love with you tonight.”

“Oh, please do not say that. Love is thelastthing I need. I’m ready to skip straight to marriage these days,” I tell her with a laugh as I guide them toward the door.

They laugh, but I’m not joking. A marriage would give meaccess to my inheritance, and then Bellamore would be unstoppable.

“Good luck tonight, sweetie. Hope you win,” she says.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” I close the door with a smile, then take one last look at myself in the mirror.

I’m wearing an iconic, vintage black Chanel Haute Couture from the early ’90s that fits me perfectly. Anyone who follows and appreciates fashion will drool over this fit. I won it at an auction a few months ago and couldn’t find an occasion for it until now. Knowing my mother wore it on the runway in her early twenties made the purchase more special. The fact that I can fit in it is a miracle. The dress is a statement of timeless elegance and craftsmanship that people like Josh Lustre are destroying.

Tonight, my outfit screamsdon’t fuck with me. It’s a message to whoever needs to hear it, especially Josh and Banks.

My phone dings, letting me know my driver has arrived. I go downstairs and slide inside the limo, cracking open the champagne I requested. It takes me nearly forty-five minutes to arrive at the venue, and I quickly get two glasses in. I’m more relaxed than I was, but I’m still on edge.

Eventually, the car falls in line with the rest of those arriving. Classical music plays as I’m let out of the limo and led onto the red carpet while media outlets take countless photos. The constant flashing causes my heart to race, and I feel myself slowly unraveling.

“Wow,” I hear from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to see Banks staring directly at me.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“I hoped it was yours,” I state, climbing the stairs that lead inside. My right hand slightly shakes—something that happens when my anxiety increases—and I curl it into a fist.

He catches up, meets my eyes, and glances at my hand. “Everything okay?”

He shouldn’t have noticed that.

“Please don’t act like you give a shit about me,” I say with furrowed brows and keep walking.

As I enter the building, and someone calls his name. Thankfully, he stops and chats, leaving me alone.

In public settings, I bury my emotions and dissociate, as my publicist taught me. It was the only way to protect myself from the people’s unhealthy obsession with me, and I still use those tactics. I give the general public the Billie Calloway character they created—the ice queen, the Wednesday Addams of fashion, and the diamond princess, all wrapped into one bitchy character who’s perfect in every way. Though my hand might shake and my anxiety spikes, the shield of confidence I wear is impenetrable. It’s one of my greatest superpowers. My parents and brothers are responsible for that.

After a deep breath, I lock my jaw and raise my chin.

It’s showtime.

I enter the foyer and pull my phone from the tiny satchel hanging over my shoulder. I take a photo, not smiling, and send it to Harper.

The room is full of the who’s who of business, and no one speaks to me. I prefer it.

Most attendees are rarely self-made. The keys to success were handed to them or purchased, but only a tiny percentage of companies were built from the ground up. This is one reason why I’m highly respected. The same goes for Banks, who inherited his sister’s company and turned it from six figures the first year to eight figures the next.

Josh took over his family brand and knows nothing about colors, textures, or patterns. Josh is a puppet who has to steal to make a profit.

Harper

Wow, you look really HOT.

Billie

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