“I’m just kidding. I’m not in the mood to tame some wild billionaire.”
“Why not? Still hung up on the cute coffee guy you told me about?”
“Hung up? I just met the guy this morning.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, Marcus Taylor might not be as gorgeous as the guy you keep going on about. But I’m sure he’s a hunk. I at least want to say hello to him before the end of the party. I bet he’s a great host and will greet every single one of his guests.”
“I haven’t been going on about coffee guy.”
“Yes, you have.”
“C’mon! He was hot!”
“Then you should have bought him the damn coffee too.”
“I should have. Boy, I screw everything up. If I could go back in time.”
“I’m sure you could have another shot. Just strike up a conversation the next time you see him at the coffee shop.”
“He’s drop dead gorgeous, but he’s too rich for my taste. He wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“Well, forget him for now. Think about Marcus’s extravagant party. He’s hosting it in his fancy mansion!”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Marcus loves the women so he’ll totally be approachable. Just smile and flirt.”
“And why do I want to approach some stud who has his choice of a million women?”
“To talk about the agency, of course. I’m getting myself a big, giant, fat bonus. If anyone says they’re coming to the agency through us, well, we get a $1,000 bonus. Isn’t that awesome?”
“Sweet!”
“Apparently Marcus just got back to LA from like, Nepal or somewhere, and it’s the social event of the season.”
I snorted in laughter, earning me scandalized looks from every corner of the salon. “I’m sorry, it’s just—is that a real thing? Does our season have social events?”
Amanda faltered, but then continued with confidence. I could tell she had obviously read this somewhere reliable like the Internet in anticipation of my resistance and was ready for any question I could throw her way.
“Of course it does.” Her voice took on a slightly higher, hollower tone—vowels sagging weakly from all the weight she was putting on them. “There’s a ribbon cutting at Tiffany’s in the Grove, Barneys’ opening on Rodeo—and no, Bex, if you make a joke about a dinosaur exhibit it won’t be funny—Karl Lagerfeld is launching his new line so it’s looking for models, and then there’s that huge Los Angeles Diabetes Fundraiser Gala.”
“Thank you, Google.” I rolled my eyes. “And here I thought it was just Thanksgiving.”
Amanda frowned critically as Veronica Violet (and she’d hit you if you asked if that was her stage name) arranged her curls so they spilled down the back of her neck. “I don’t think they have that here.”
“Of course not,” I said bleakly. “Why would they?”
Amanda ignored me and beamed at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s perfect, Veronica, exactly like the picture.”
Veronica took a step back. Her eyes dilated hungrily and she poked at the curls as if she took her work very seriously. Either that or she was actually just as hungry as she looked. “It is perfect, isn’t it? Well, there are going to be at least ten other girls with the same style at the party tonight, so you can rest assured that it’s very fashionable.”
Amanda nodded seriously in response, and I looked at the two of them like they were nuts. I was about to say something along those lines, but at that moment, Paulo returned, and I was forced to duck for cover.
“Actually, Veronica,” Amanda frowned, “haven’t we seen you somewhere before?”
“She was Confused Cashier Number Four,’” I volunteered from beneath a tangle of steam and wires. I was surprised Amanda hadn’t immediately recognized her.
“Number Three, actually,” Veronica corrected me coolly. “But who’s counting?” She flashed Amanda a bitchy smile and disappeared with a cartoonish clicking of the heels.