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Erin was agape with horror. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ she said. ‘I’m going to find that voice coach and kill her.’

Leigh couldn’t take anymore. ‘Erin, you’re drunk. We need to get you home.’

Erin groaned. ‘But you just spent two hours trying to get me in here.’

‘That was before I knew Isabelle was here.’

Erin sobered up quickly. ‘What?’

‘Yes. With her goddamn shark of a PR woman, Alex Walker. And Alex is planning something. We need to get the fuck out. Now.’ She turned to the stuntwoman. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

Jenny shrugged. ‘I jump off buildings for a living. This doesn’t faze me.’

‘Let’s go,’ Erin said. ‘Jenny, till the next time I drive a motorbike off a plane.’

‘Sure.’

Leigh took Erin by the hand and led her through the room, keeping an eye out as she went. She couldn’t see Isabelle or Alex. The exit came into view. They were mere feet away.

‘Hey, Erin!’ someone called. Erin stopped and turned to the sound of her name.

‘No, Erin. Bad girl. Come. Come now!’ Leigh called to her, no idea why she was talking to her like a dog.

She didn’t seem to hear. Leigh went back into the fray just in time to see a waiter handing a glass of champagne to a slightly confused Erin. Leigh rushed towards her, sensing disaster. She heard the waiter say, ‘Sorry,’ but he didn’t do the thing he was apologising for untilafterhe’d apologised.

He took a step closer, ‘fell’ and pushed into Erin. Erin dropped her drink, champagne spilling down her beautiful dress.

A camera flashed.

Leigh knew it was too late. Alex had orchestrated her little dance. But she was getting Erin out, nonetheless.

‘ERIN,’ she said loudly. Erin turned. ‘Let’s GO,’ Leigh ordered.

Erin listened this time and ran—soaked with booze—back to Leigh, who took her hand and pulled her out of the venue. Outside, Leigh flagged down a cab and put Erin in the back, climbing in behind her.

‘I’m a mess,’ Erin said.

Truer words were never spoken. But Leigh wasn’t about to pile on. Erin was too drunk, and it was too late to fix anything now. What would be, would be.

Seventeen

Alex was talking to the clumsy waiter in the kitchen. ‘Fifty, as promised.’

The kid took the cash and left. Alex went out to find Isabelle leaving. She followed her out, high from her success.

‘That went great,’ she told Isabelle.

‘You think?’ Isabelle asked. ‘I tried to do what you asked…’

‘Wait and see,’ Alex promised.

***

The next morning, it was all over the most basic gossipy websites, as well as a couple of print publications. A photo of Erin looking drunk, spilling all over herself. But that was only half of what Alex had wanted to get in the picture. It had been tricky to ensure it, and Alex also had to grease the event photographer to make sure he framed it exactly right. But in the top left of the photo, Isabelle was in the background, talking to some rando, but most importantly, looking beautiful and elegant andlaughing, looking like she was having the bloody time of her life, just as Alex had asked her to. It was an important juxtaposition.

People were loving it on social media. The phrase Alex had been looking to provoke was all over the posts.

‘Isabelle looking gorgeous and living her best life while her ex looks like the trash that took itself out,’one Instagram post said.