Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
But it seriously is nowhere on the internet. No one even mentions it on a blog or a journal or anything.
Of course they don’t. They all signed a nondisclosure agreement.
So how do I find out more about it? The only way I know how. Since I have no plans for the evening, I’ll dress up, go back to the bar where I met Jackson, and start my investigation there. Maybe Alfred is working tonight. I can interrogate him. Bat my eyes and get him to show me the entrance.
Gag me. Did I really just imagine batting my eyes? I am so not that woman.
Okay. No eye batting. But I am going back to that bar.
At least that’s my plan until I get a text from Frankie.
Girls’ night! Can you meet Isabella, Gigi, and me at Rossi’s? I want to hang with all my bridesmaids.
A wave of relief saturates me. I’m glad to have an excuse not to go back to that bar. I have nothing to wear anyway.
I text Frankie back quickly. Sure. What time?
Nine.
See you there.
Rossi’s is a dance club a few blocks away from my place. Some call it a dive, but Frankie and her pals love it. Probably because they can always get in. You won’t see a lot of celebrities there, but the drinks are expensive enough that you won’t see a lot of deadbeats, either.
I’ve never been into the clubbing scene, but what the heck? It won’t hurt me to be a little more social. If I seriously think I’m going to find someone to teach me the art of seduction and pleasure, I need to learn not to be so introverted. Getting out will be good practice.
I don’t have to leave for another hour or two, so I take the extra time to continue work on Lily’s proofreading. Her new book is a scorcher. I’m completely into it when I realize I’ve forgotten about Frankie and the others.
It’s nearly nine o’clock already, and I haven’t even started getting dressed.
I wash my face and put on some makeup. Definitely no false eyelashes tonight. I don’t normally do much with my eyes other than a little bit of eyeliner and mascara, but I have this huge eye shadow palette that Frankie gave me last year for Christmas. What the heck? Let’s do some experimenting.
I pull up a smoky-eye tutorial on my phone and follow the instructions.
And…I look like…well…not me.
Oh well. Let’s do it. Let’s go all out.
I add blush and a red lipstick. Then I head to my closet to see if I have anything that might go with my newfound look.
Nothing.
I have jeans. I have a couple of camisoles. I have my black pumps, which will blister the heck out of my feet if I dance in them. Good thing I’m not much of a dancer. Jeans, pumps, and a purple camisole it is. Should I go without a bra? God no. The smoky eyes and red lips are enough for one night.
Once I’m ready, I shove a credit card, my ID, and a few bills into my phone case and then shove that into my pocket. It’s always best not to take a purse to these places.
One cab ride later, and I make it to the club just before ten.
Rossi’s is crowded, but it’s not horribly dense. I can actually see through the hordes of people.
I once went to one of the big clubs with Frankie and the others, and the crowds were ridiculous. You couldn’t move. If a fire had broken out, we would’ve all been stampeded to death. For the life of me, I don’t know why people enjoy that.
The bar is crowded, with no seats available. Most of the tables are packed as well. Frankie and the others have snagged a table near the back. I walk toward them.
Isabella must be out dancing because only Frankie and Gigi are at the table.
“So you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Frankie yells over the music. But she’s not being sarcastic. My sister isn’t a rude person.
“Sorry. I got involved in some work and lost track of time.”
“Classic Mandy.” She smiles. “Glad you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t miss girls’ night,” I say, hiding the sarcasm that wants to creep out of me. “Is Isabella dancing?”
“She couldn’t make it,” Gigi says. “Said she had a bit of a headache.”
I nod. That’s Isabella-speak for, I got a better offer.
I don’t say this, though. Frankie may not take it too well. This is supposed to be a night with her bridesmaids.
“What are you two up to?” I ask.
Before they can answer, though, a cocktail waitress appears with two froufrou drinks for Gigi and Frankie.
“We’re on our second round,” Frankie says. “What do you want, Mandy?”
“Sidecar,” I say.
Frankie laughs. “I should’ve just ordered one for you. I always know what you want.”