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He hums, the exhale tickling at my hair. “Most of them. They’re waiting outside to be frisked.”

“Oh.” I frown, straining my neck to catch his gaze. That’s when I realize Effie is perched on his shoulder, her dark eyes frantically taking in the room. Pace has been taking her places with him more and more. Reaching up, I give her feathers a gentle stroke. “Do you think frisking our guests might start this whole thing off on the wrong foot?”

His dark eyes hold mine. “I think if we’re doing this whole ridiculous thing to earn their trust, then they can fucking well put in the effort to earn ours.”

I grimace. “Maybe you have a point.”

A shrug. “I usually do.”

“Gentle,” Effie coos. And then, a harsh, “Fucking bird.”

Glancing at her, Pace tisks. “No. Effie’s going to be a pretty bird today. We’re having company. Best Behavior, okay?”

I watch as she looks at him, almost like she’s trying to decide if he’s serious. “Pretty bird?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Pretty fucking bird.”

Pace sighs in frustration, but I can only give a delighted laugh. “It feels good to have her here,” I say, beaming when Pace nudges her onto my shoulder instead.

“Then you look after her,” he offers. “Maybe you can stop her from cussing people out.”

Feeling bolstered by the weight of her on my shoulder, I take a steeling breath, nodding. “Start sending them in.”

I’ve tried not to think a lot about my time as Rufus Ashby’s pet Princess, but through the balls, parties, and meetings, I’ve come to learn a thing or two about what it means to lead East End.

It’s about faking it.

“Thanks for coming, Matt!” I tell a stone-faced Matt Kramus as he enters the ballroom. When that gets no reaction, I greet the guy who filters in behind him. “I love that shirt.” Nothing, not even a twitch. To the next guy, Loefller, I offer, “Great work with the midge team this summer!” and he just gives me a sour look.

By the middle of the line, I’m feeling more than a little discouraged.

“You’re not him.”

I glance over, realizing Wicker has sidled up to me. He looks impeccable in a way that always stuns me. There’s not one hair out of place. His navy shirt, the top two buttons undone, has the sleeves rolled up, but even that sense of effortlessness feels carefully considered.

He gives Effie’s head a soft pat, keeping his voice low. “As someone who’s done my fair share of schmoozing, let me give you a tip, Red. The secret isn’t getting all of them to like you. That’d take years.”

I huff, crossing my arms. “Well, we don’t have years, so what do you suggest?”

He catches my gaze, smirking. “Getting the guy at the top to like you.”

“I already did that,” I mutter, eyes rolling. “Three times.” One of them is lingering in the corner by the balcony doors, his amber eyes tracking every frat boy who waltzes in. Across the distance, he catches my gaze, trapping me beneath his too-intense stare.

“We might be at the toproyally.” Beside me, Wicker glances toward the back of the line, jerking his chin at someone. “But when it comes to the frat, he’s the one with sway.”

I follow his gaze to Tommy, just as he approaches us, giving me the stink eye. “Princess,” he all but sneers.

With Wicker at my side and Lex watching from across the room, I don’t even question the instinct to sneer back. “Asshole.”

She’d been so good the whole line, but now Effie latches right onto the word. “Asshole,” she snaps at Tommy.

Tommy scoffs, strutting into the ballroom without another glance back at us.

“Nice work,” Wicker says, hands folded primly behind his back. “A true diplomatic touch.”

I give Effie a stroke of solidarity. “That guy’s a fucking dildo.”