Page 19 of Fashionista's Playbook

No sense walking all the way back to my room with it, so I stood right there at the counter and dug in. Probably not my most attractive moment; hair piled on top of my head, no makeup, workout leggings, and an off the shoulder t-shirt thathad burrito sauce on it before the first bite had reached my mouth.

Confidence.I was alone, who gave a crap if I got sauce on my shirt.

The three-tone declaration that the alarm had been disarmed was the only warning I had before Vincent stumbled, laughing, into the kitchen from the garage.

I paused with a bite halfway to my mouth. Shock left my arms and legs cold; embarrassment heated my cheeks.

Confrontation was not in my wheelhouse, so I dropped my fork in the plate and skirted the island to retreat to the guest room. Vincent wasn’t supposed to have come by, which on its own made me uneasy.

But it was the meanness in his bloodshot eyes that frightened me.

“Making yourself right at home, eh?” Vincent’s words were teasing, but there was a cruelness in his voice that punched me straight in the gut.

I stopped at the phony little giggle from behind him.

Whatever fear I felt disappeared, replaced by an anger more than a decade old. My dish and fork made a loud clang in the kitchen sink as two young women stepped in. One was tall, her dark hair swept back from her face. Her makeup was perfect, her clothes designer, and she held herself with the straight-backed grace that shouted model.

Her perfectly painted lips were peeled back in a judgmental smile. Clearly, she’d never even tasted a burrito. Must be a sad life.

“Can I help you?”

He’d already turned and was digging around in the drawer where Travis kept his spare keys. “Nah, just need to borrow a car. Lost my keys.”

“And got kicked from the Uber.” Giggles’ best friend bounced from one foot to the other in a vibrant colored club outfit—the flashy design social media influencers were gifted by online companies—a marketing ploy I planned on using. Only the tiny dress wouldn’t have fit on my mannequin’s boob. “Where’s the potty, Vin, I gotta pee.”

“There’s a gas station down the block.” I stood in the doorway, blocking the hallway and the rest of the house. Vincent turned to me, wobbled a little, and cocked his head sideways. There was a maliciousness in his eyes his brother didn’t have, one that made me swallow hard.

“It’s right across that hall.” Vincent pointed to the other doorway.

The chick turned and hobble jogged in her heels toward the bathroom. I made a mental note to have it sanitized.

Giggles just watched me, her dark hair pulled so severely from her face it must hurt to blink. On further inspection, she was thin to the point of being skinny. Her clothing, the short designer jacket worn like a dress, didn’t do her figure any favors. A higher waist, flared bottoms, would give the impression of curves.

Not that I was judging, but mentally designing an outfit in my head kept me from freaking out.

No matter how brave I was, arguing with a random drunk model in my boss’ kitchen wasn’t happening.

“What?” She mouthed with a sneer. “Jealous?”

Maybe ten years ago. I was feeling a lot of things in that moment, but envy wasn’t one of them.

“Look Mo,” Vincent slurred before I could respond.

The scathing way he shortened my name pissed me off. I fought the impulses to both lash out and curl into a ball to hide. The contradiction of emotions left me dizzy.

“Travis ain’t your man, you work here. Why don’t you go back upstairs and do your job.”

“Myjob,” even my voice trembled. A decade of pent-up humiliation, of wishing I’d just been stronger, bubbled up into my chest in a rare show of bravery. “Is to take care of the shit Travis doesn’t have time to—like you, right now. You’re drunk, you have no business driving, let alone taking a vehicle that doesn’t belong to you, and the only reason I’m staying here is because his end of the year bonus depends on you not screwing up.”

He jangled the keys in front of Giggles’ face. “I’m not driving, Kari is.”

“Did your brother approve that?”

The other woman, back from the bathroom, her face pale and unsure, interjected. “We can call another ride share, use my app this time.”

“Fuck that.” Kari, formerly Giggles, snatched the keys and took off to the door. “Screw this cow. Let’s go.”

“That’s stealing.”

---