Page 55 of Babies for the Big Shot

“I didn’t realize it was controversial,” I manage, careful and polite. My voice sounds thin in the huge, echoing bathroom.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing as if weighing my value, deciding if I’m worth the trouble. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

I blink. “Should I?”

Another not quite smile curves her mouth. “Not unless you follow luxury real estate gossip. Or care about who Nick dated for three years.”

The words land like a slap. My stomach drops to my heels.

“Oh,” I say softly.

She steps forward, unhurried, casual, but with the grace of something wild stretching before the pounce. “We used to come to this gala together. Every year. He hated them. Couldn’t stand the crowd. But I could usually bribe him with the right dress.”

She flicks a glance at mine, assessing its bribe potential.

I stay quiet because what the hell do you say to someone who just laid claim to your date in the middle of the restroom?

She sighs, dramatic and tired. “You’re cute. I mean, obviously. That dress is doing more work than the waitstaff.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the counter, gripping the cold marble to keep me from blurting something regrettable.

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping just enough to make my skin prickle. “Just… don’t get comfortable. Nick always needs someone. Until he doesn’t.”

A hard twist yanks low in my belly.

“I’m not—” I start, meaning to defend myself, to tell her this isn’t whatever she thinks it is.

She cuts me off with a soft shrug and a smile that cuts deep, precise as a blade sliding between ribs. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been you. Once upon a time. The one who thought she mattered.”

And with that, she turns, smooths her lipstick without looking in the mirror, and saunters out.

As if she didn’t just detonate a grenade and leave me standing in the shrapnel.

I stare at the door swinging gently behind her, my heart a frantic thud in my chest.

Three years.

Three years.

And she’s still this bitter?

Shit.

I splash cool water on my wrists, trying to breathe past the tight, awful lump building in my throat.

“She’s just noise,” I whisper to myself. “Just echoes from someone else’s history. A relic in red heels.”

But the way she said it… I’m a placeholder. A novelty. A warm body waiting to be replaced.

The words cling to me as I leave the bathroom, stubborn and suffocating.

I make my way back to the ballroom, heart hammering hard, every beat a drum signaling battle.

I need to tell Nick. Maybe not the whole weird bathroom ambush, but something. I need to know what she meant. Whyshe’s here. Why she thinks she can talk to me in that way… like she still has some kind of claim on him.

He’s standing near the bar when I spot him, tall and devastating in that midnight-black tux, glass in hand, listening politely to an older man whose name I can’t remember.

When his gaze finds me across the room, something flickers in his eyes. Concern. Heat. Possession.