Page 17 of Positively Pricked

Probably, I should've been happy. Like everything else, the rug looked beyond expensive. If the stains didn't come out, Zane would surely need to replace it, and it wouldn't be cheap.

Good.

My joy lasted like five whole seconds before I gave a silent scoff. A new rug? The expense would be pocket change for a guy like Zane Bennington.

Probably, he'd simply send out a servant to buy a new one. Or more likely, a servant would send a servant, because let's face it, Mister Fancy-Pants probably had a million better things to do – like kick puppies or burn down orphanages.

Jerk.

I was still plucking food off the carpet when the sound of throat-clearing made me look up. Standing over me was the senator's fiancée, dressed to kill in a sleek black dress and big diamond earrings that looked like the real deal.

She looked down to ask, "Do you have any more crab cakes?"

I hesitated. Was that a serious question? I mean, shedidsee the mess, right? I said, "Excuse me?"

She sighed. "Isaid, do you have any more crab cakes?"

I glanced around. Yeah, I had dozens, assuming she didn't mind scraping them off the rug. But telling her that would be a mistake, so I gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but they're not really edible."

And did she smile back?

No.

She didn't.

Instead, she made a little huffing noise and said, "But they're the senator's favorite."

Oh, please.If the rumors were true, the senator'srealfavorite was something called a cheerleader sandwich.

Still, I forced another smile. "Gosh Tiffany, I'm really sorry, but—"

She stiffened. "Whatdid you call me?"

"Uh, Tiffany?"

She was frowning now. "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

I stared up at her. Surely, she remembered me. In college, we'd had at least ten classes together, maybe more. After all, we'd majored in the same thing. Hoping to jog her memory, I said, "Well, I remembered your name from –"

"From the papers, I know." She gave a toss of her ice-blonde hair. "But that hardly makes us friends."

Now,Iwas the one frowning. "What?"

"I'm only saying, just because you've seen my name in the society pages, that doesn't put us on a first-name basis."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. Society pages? Was that even a thing anymore?

I tried to think. The last time I'd handled an actual newspaper was when I'd been unpacking some rummage sale coffee cups. And eventhatnewspaper had been old and yellow, with more coupons than actual news.

I was still kneeling at Tiffany's feet. Suddenly, I didn't like it. I stood and brushed the crumbs off my apron. She was taller than I was, and I still had to look up to meet her gaze. But then again, shewaswearing heels higher than the Empire State Building.

I crossed my arms. "WhatshouldI call you?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe 'Miss'?"

I almost laughed. "Seriously?"

"Or, if you want to make it more personal, you could always go with Miss Bedford." She lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers, making her massive diamond engagement ring sparkle in the light of the chandeliers. "Until I’m married, that is." She gave me a thin smile. "Andthen,you can call me Mrs. Senator."