Page 8 of Rich Girl
“You’ll have to go to work and tow your cars wearing a T-shirt that proclaims you’re a pussy.”
Damn, I must’ve been really drunk when I agreed to that.
THREE
“Ew, not that one.”Jeanine turns her nose at yet another selection off theHolidatesapp.
“What’s wrong with this one?” I protest. “He has an adorable smile, great hair, confident looking overall…”
“Yeah, but he’s only five nine, Hayden.” The way she says that, you’d think this was the biggest sin.
“So what?” I shrug. “I’m five seven, still shorter than him.”
Jeanine stares at me, exasperation clear on her face.
“You know the sexy heels you wore the last time we all went out? The fuchsia ones,” she clarifies when I don’t respond fast enough.
“I do,” I nod. “They really are sexy. They’re my favorite.”
“Great,” she claps her hands, looking like a little psychopath. “They’re what three and a half inches tall?”
“Yes,” I nod again.
She squints her eyes at me. “Now sit here and picture yourself wearing those heels as you stand next to that man,” she points to the laptop I have open on the coffee table.
I lean back against the couch, cross my arms over my chest and pout.
“I hate that you’re right,” I whine. “And I’m sick of looking, Jeanine.”
I want to stomp my foot against the floor.
“I’m at the point where I don’t care about Adelaide’s seating chart. Why can’t I go by myself and find myself a man at her wedding?”
Jeanine turns her head, only to stare me down with a look of disbelief.
“Because the man you were expecting a proposal from will be walking in there with Rebecca freaking Howell, Hayden,” she snaps at me. “You cannot allow that man to humiliate you more than he already has. Everyone knows by now that he was screwing anyone in a skirt behind your back. For all we know, he was really screwing anyone with a pulse, skirt or no skirt. No discrimination.”
I know she’s rambling on about this only to make me laugh, and it works.
“This app thing sounds like a lost cause, Jeannie,” I cry. “Maybe we should try something else. Where else can I find a good looking guy who would want to go along with this?”
Jeanine gets back to work, swiping left and right on the app, in search of the perfect candidate for our plans.
“We have to find him,” she insists. “Maybe this one… Nope, he’s giving me a weird vibe,” she vetoes it and moves on to the next one. “His nose is too big…”
I have no idea for how long she goes like this. My eyes start wandering around the living room, thinking that I might need to redecorate it. The walls have a light pinkish hue to them that now feels outdated. And the furniture looks old despite the fact that it’s barely two years old. But I am ready for a change.
While I think of it, I grab my phone and send a message to my mother to ask for the name of her most recent interior decorator.She lives for stuff like this, and I know she will jump at the opportunity of getting involved in redoing my house.
I live in a fashionable neighborhood in Boston. Our gated community has a few celebrities and all the rich people you can fit in. The house I live in is mine, gifted to me by my parents on my twenty-first birthday, and maintained by my very generous trust fund.
I have a very busy social life and a wonderful and loyal group of friends. All in all, I want for nothing. Except for a man.
For a while, I had the most perfect man until he wasn’t. Looks wise, Chase Hawthorne represented everything I wanted in a partner. We made a great couple, both of us photogenic and very comfortable with the press.
Our relationship lasted for eighteen months. A proposal was implied and expected by both of our families. Together, we would be the ultimate power couple.
“Maybe I should just ask Chase to get back together, Jeannie,” I now tell my friend. “This is too hard. Besides,” I continue, “only the one indiscretion can be proven.”
