Page 7 of Damaged Mogul
Her lips pull down in a frown. “LA hasn’t been welcoming to you.”
“Not at all.”
“Did you buy a new phone?”
“Yes. That was my first stop.”
“I’m glad that’s settled. Let me input my phone number.”
We exchange phones.
“I’ll also put Gage’s in,” she says. “I’ll add Phoenix’s. You’re only here for a few days, but this way, you’ll have a solid list of emergency contacts. You never know.”
“Thanks, Michaela.”
“Now that we’re friends, you have to call me Mikki.”
Friends?
I’ve always had a hard time making friends—never quite fitting in. I’ve never known this sort of unwavering welcome from anyone before.
“Thanks, Mikki.”
“You and Gage aren’t together, but since you’ll be hanging out with him for the rest of your stay in the City of Angels, and he’s asked me to take you under my wing, you’ll get a chance to meet the sisterhood.”
I frown my confusion.
“Phoenix’s brothers are still holding on to their bachelorhood VIP cards with no intentions of ever settling down. However, most of Phoenix’s inner circle of close guy friends all have girlfriends, fiancées, or wives. Most of usgals don’t have siblings. Over time, we’ve formed a sisterhood.”
I don’t dare tell her this arrangement with Gage is only for one night. I doubt he’ll be hanging out with me after tonight.
“That would be lovely.”
“You’ll love the girls,” she says. “Rhys—my best friend Keira’s man, also an only child—is celebrating his birthday tomorrow night.”
Lucky Rhys, he has someone in life who gives a damn about his birthday.
“You have to come as Gage’s plus one.”
I flinch at her suggestion. “Shouldn’t we discuss that with Gage first?”
“If you insist on being difficult, you’ll come as my friend.”
I laugh. “I can handle that.”
“It’s much easier to agree with me.”
“Noted.”
“Speaking of events, did you find the perfect dress for tonight?”
“I did,” I say. “I asked the chauffeur to stop at a secondhand shop in Beverly Hills with great reviews. As I was approaching the entrance, a woman with arms weighed down with clothing was fighting her way inside. I helped her with the door. Fast forward, she was bringing in tons of designer clothing, including aDior Haute Couture dress––with certification of authentication. It has an old Hollywood design to it, complete with a fit-and-flare cut that’s plucked straight from the 1950s. It might be a bit too much?—”
“Honey, this is LA. You can be as too much as you want.”
I smile. “As luck would have it, the woman had aDior off-the-shoulder pale pink dress altered from a ballgown length to a midi-length to fit her. The perils of being short…”
“I hearyou.”
