Page 76 of Sugar

I blinked a bleary eye up at the disapproving scowl of my best friend. My other best friend looked on from her position near the opened window, a frown marring her pretty face.

The epitome of being disappointed, not angry.

“I can explain,” I said.

“We don’t want an explanation,” Wren said as she crossed her arms.

Uh oh.

But then she lost the hold she had on her expression, and a smile split her face. “We want details. Was it Attorney Hot Stuff? It had to be, right?”

“It was.”

“I knew there was more to that interview bullshit,” Greer seethed before whacking me in the head with one of my own pillows. “You liar.”

“Am not. The interviewwasnormal.”

The auction that followed was not.

I still wasn’t going near that side of me with them, so I glazed over the details. “But after that, he asked me to attend some events with him. It’s good networking.”

“And I ask again,” Wren started with a brow waggle, “is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

I rolled my eyes before rubbing them because it was far too early for sass. “Why are you here at the crack of dawn?”

“It’s eleven,” Greer put in.

“Like I said.”

“You’re lucky I made Wren wait until after hot yoga. She wanted to barge down here before that to punish you for keeping secrets.”

I shuddered at both the threat of getting up early and their morning exercise.

Wren played up their hurt at my betrayal. “Do you know what we went through last night? All these people asking us about the older hottie in the tux who whisked you away. Did we have answers? No. Did we have a heads-up so we could camp out in the lobby to spy on you? No. Did we get so much as a glimpse at your dress that was described as, and I quote, hot as shit?” She pressed her palm to her chest as she closed her eyes. “No. No, we did not. We were left to look like oblivious fools, waiting around while you traipse all over town with that floozy.”

“Floozy?” I asked.

She cracked an eyelid to peek at me. “Too much?”

“Just a bit.”

She shrugged. “Whatever, I was in the zone.”

“To make up for this injustice,” Greer said as she walked to my closet, “we’re going to brunch where we’ll ply you with mimosas until you tell us everything that happened. Every single detail.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m just his occasional event date to keep the vultures away. I was home before the carriage turned back into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“So he gets arm candy, you get connections, and that’s really it?” There was nothing exaggerated about Wren’s genuine disappointment.

“Exactly.”

“Did he even try to show you his bar exam?”

I laughed. “I have no idea what that means, but no.”

“Hey, cut it out.” Greer visibly recoiled at the state of my closet, but she kept her opinion to herself—like a good friend. She flipped through carefully. “We’re supposed to be talking about this over brunch.”

“Why do I feel like this is less about me and more about wanting food?”

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