Ambition (Private 7)

explained as she sifted through her own jewelry collection for something to lend me.

"You guys are too funny." I laughed, shaking my head as I got up from Sabine's desk chair. Everyone looked at me like I was

crazy. "This is serious, Reed," Vienna said, placing both hands on my shoulders as Kiki and Tiffany tested perfumes on each other. "If

it happens, get up and walk over to the bathroom and get one of the waiters to Heimlich you in private. You'll thank us later." "Right.

Unless I'm dead," I replied. That comment killed the chatter for a moment and I froze. But it only lasted a moment. When the Billings

Girls were in a makeover zone, almost nothing could stop them.

"Okay. What are we thinking for our color scheme?" Astrid asked, holding a black silk dress under my chin, then a shimmery blue

sheath. "Watch her nails!" Lorna gasped She and Missy--yes, even Missy was there--jumped up and held my arms out at my sides like

a T so that Astrid could continue testing clothes under my face without messing up my manicure. I was starting to feel like a rag doll.

"I still say red," Tiffany put in, stepping up to study me over Astrid's shoulder. "Red is her color." "I think pink," Shelby said, sitting

on the foot of my bed. "Why don't you ever wear pink, Reed. Don't you own anything pink?" My heart stopped beating. I looked at

Shelby. Did she know something? Had she done something? Was that a teasing smirk in her eyes? Or was I just completely and utterly

paranoid? "Actually, she does have pink!" Sabine announced, bounding over to my closet. "What about that--" "No!"

My mouth was open, but I hadn't said anything. It was Noelle who had spoken and commanded the attention of the room. Sabine

stopped in her tracks. "Pink? Did you all let your Vogue subscriptions lapse? Pink is so last season and so not Reed," Noelle said,

dropping the eyelash curler she was toying with and walking over to stand next to me. "You girls can let her go now," she told Missy

and Lorna. Which they promptly did. "Look at her, ladies," Noelle said. "She is no spring." "She's right. You're a total autumn," Lon-

don said seriously. Then her eyes lit up. "I know! Wear your Nicole Miller!" "You have a Nicole Miller?" Noelle said, eyeing me with

surprise. 'Yes!" I went over to my closet and whipped the dress out, tags and all, before anyone could see that the pink clothing hang-

ing inside had once belonged to Cheyenne. I held it up for all to see.

"Not bad," Noelle said, fingering the slippery fabric. "I bought it for her," Portia offered, happily raising her hand. She had bought

it for me on the day I had been elected president of Billings. Back when I had been planning a Halloween ball in honor of Cheyenne.

Before Noelle's return and the Legacy debacle and the ten million other things that had changed in the meantime. "Ladies, I think we

have the dress!" Noelle announced. "Now, who has shoes? Because I really don't think Chuck T.'s are going to work." Everyone gig-

gled and dove into their shoe boxes. Suddenly pairs of peep-toes and pumps and stilettos and kitten heels were whipped at me from

every direction. Noelle shook her head at some, wrinkled her nose at others, and finally settled on a pair of Tiffany's Jimmy Choos.

Black with delicate straps. In about two seconds I was zipped up, strapped in, and whisked off to makeup with Astrid and the Twin

Cities. Just before the bathroom door shut, I glanced back at Shelby to see if she was still watching me. See if she was gauging my re-

action to her pink comment. But she had simply kicked back on my bed to check her messages, eyes glued to her phone as always. It

was just a coincidence. Had to be. Shelby Wordsworth had no reason to hate me. To torture me. Right?