Page 5

5

BILLIE

M y hairstylist, April, and celebrity makeup artist, Oliver, arrived ten minutes early. It’s known that I’m a stickler for time, especially with people that I pay. Even though they work for me and travel during press tours, I consider them my friends. They’re my fairy godmothers, and they have me fully glammed in less than two hours.

Though my hair is usually styled in a straight bob, April does loose beach waves.

“Girl, you’re sexy as hell,” Oliver says as he finishes up with a setting spray.

He gently adjusts the tiara on my head. It’s one my father gave me on my twenty-first birthday, constructed from the diamonds of one of my grandmother’s necklaces.

“Stunning,” April says, her hot-pink glasses and matching hair making quite the statement. “The smoky eyes will have men falling in love with you tonight.”

“Oh, please do not say that. Love is the last thing I need. I’m ready to skip straight to marriage these days,” I tell her with a laugh as I guide them toward the door.

They laugh, but I’m not joking. A marriage would give me access to my inheritance, and then Bellamore would be unstoppable.

“Good luck tonight, sweetie. Hope you win,” she says.

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” I close the door with a smile, then take one last look at myself in the mirror.

I’m wearing an iconic, vintage black Chanel Haute Couture from the early ’90s that fits me perfectly. Anyone who follows and appreciates fashion will drool over this fit. I won it at an auction a few months ago and couldn’t find an occasion for it until now. Knowing my mother wore it on the runway in her early twenties made the purchase more special. The fact that I can fit in it is a miracle. The dress is a statement of timeless elegance and craftsmanship that people like Josh Lustre are destroying.

Tonight, my outfit screams don’t fuck with me . It’s a message to whoever needs to hear it, especially Josh and Banks.

My phone dings, letting me know my driver has arrived. I go downstairs and slide inside the limo, cracking open the champagne I requested. It takes me nearly forty-five minutes to arrive at the venue, and I quickly get two glasses in. I’m more relaxed than I was, but I’m still on edge.

Eventually, the car falls in line with the rest of those arriving. Classical music plays as I’m let out of the limo and led onto the red carpet while media outlets take countless photos. The constant flashing causes my heart to race, and I feel myself slowly unraveling.

“Wow,” I hear from behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to see Banks staring directly at me.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“I hoped it was yours,” I state, climbing the stairs that lead inside. My right hand slightly shakes—something that happens when my anxiety increases—and I curl it into a fist.

He catches up, meets my eyes, and glances at my hand. “Everything okay?”

He shouldn’t have noticed that .

“Please don’t act like you give a shit about me,” I say with furrowed brows and keep walking.

As I enter the building, and someone calls his name. Thankfully, he stops and chats, leaving me alone.

In public settings, I bury my emotions and dissociate, as my publicist taught me. It was the only way to protect myself from the people’s unhealthy obsession with me, and I still use those tactics. I give the general public the Billie Calloway character they created—the ice queen, the Wednesday Addams of fashion, and the diamond princess, all wrapped into one bitchy character who’s perfect in every way. Though my hand might shake and my anxiety spikes, the shield of confidence I wear is impenetrable. It’s one of my greatest superpowers. My parents and brothers are responsible for that.

After a deep breath, I lock my jaw and raise my chin.

It’s showtime.

I enter the foyer and pull my phone from the tiny satchel hanging over my shoulder. I take a photo, not smiling, and send it to Harper.

The room is full of the who’s who of business, and no one speaks to me. I prefer it.

Most attendees are rarely self-made. The keys to success were handed to them or purchased, but only a tiny percentage of companies were built from the ground up. This is one reason why I’m highly respected. The same goes for Banks, who inherited his sister’s company and turned it from six figures the first year to eight figures the next.

Josh took over his family brand and knows nothing about colors, textures, or patterns. Josh is a puppet who has to steal to make a profit.

Harper

Wow, you look really HOT.

Billie

My plan is to drink champagne until my alter ego comes out to play. Drunk Billie can handle Banks better.

Harper

Leave Drunk Billie at home. DB is too much!

Billie

Talking to that man is a job for her. Sober me cannot handle him without raging. Plus, my anxiety has already peaked.

Harper

I’m so sorry. You don’t have to do this. We’ll think of something else.

Billie

I have to try.

Before I can type another message, I’m handed a glass of champagne. I snap a picture of myself with it and send it to Harper.

Billie

I finished a bottle in the limo.

Harper

This won’t end well.

Billie

Have some faith, bestie. Me and my old pal, the bubbly, will solve this.

As my eyes slide across the room, I spot my brothers standing at a high-top table, laughing about something. Weston waves me toward them. I lift my bubbly and smile. I need two more glasses of this before I join the conversation.

“How long will the portal to hell be open?” Banks asks from beside me in a low, gruff voice .

I turn, and my eyes meet his honey-browns. I expect them to be cold and calculating, but somehow, they aren’t.

“Why are you talking to me?”

He smirks. “You came here for me.”

I scoff. “Please don’t flatter yourself. I’m receiving an award.”

Banks laughs, grabbing a few quiches from a server walking around with a platter of them. He pops one into his mouth. “You were only nominated. That award is mine. Between you, me, and Josh, I earned it. You’re both lazy as fuck, waiting for someone else to save your asses.”

“Excuse me?” I grow irritated as my eyes slide from his mouth down to his shoes. Designer. All of it. He has style, and I hate him for it. “Don’t you have a prostitute to entertain tonight?”

“I heard you weren’t available. All booked up or something,” he says sarcastically.

“Leave me alone, Banks.” I gulp down the rest of my champagne and grab another glass, chugging it.

“No,” he says. “You don’t rule the world, Ice Queen. I do whatever the fuck I want.”

“Stop calling me that,” I hiss.

“You’d have to cut out my tongue.”

“That would be lovely actually,” I tell him just as my eyes land on Josh.

He’s chatting with Phillip, whose family owns one of the largest cattle ranches in the country. He’s known as the playboy cowboy.

Josh’s gaze locks on me, and a smirk touches his lips. I turn my back, only to realize I’m facing Banks.

“Ahh, ex-lovers. Some called you the perfect couple—Jo-illie,” Banks mocks, nodding at Josh standing thirty feet behind me. “His model girlfriend of the night is cute. Do you find it odd that every woman he’s dated after you looks nothing like you?”

My jaw clenches, but he doesn’t stop.

“Don’t get it twisted. You’re drop-dead fucking gorgeous in comparison. Having a twenty-five-year-old wannabe model on his arm after getting dumped by the Ice Queen is not a flex for him. You were the best he’ll ever fucking get. The echelon.”

Somehow, Drunk Billie holds it together.

“However, I can’t believe you fucked him or kissed that dirty mouth. I always knew you were disgusting, but wow. Low, even for you, Ice Queen.” Banks shakes the thought away, then downs a glass of champagne before grabbing another one.

I want to be mad at his words, but I can’t. The truth might hurt, but it doesn’t make it less true.

“I agree,” I tell him, raising my glass and tossing it back.

“Oh, it looks like Joshie is getting really fucking jealous that I’m chatting with you. Mmm. That’s a surprise actually,” Banks says.

“Josh knows exactly how I’ve always felt about you, trust me,” I explain.

“Nah, he’s threatened. Wow. I think he may still have it bad for you.” His brows crease before he glances back at me. “You must have one of those magical kitties.” Banks takes a step forward, removing more space between us. “You think I’m making it up. Go ahead. Take a peek, princess. It’s fine to gloat about it. He’s the one who fucked up. Not you.”

I slowly glance over my shoulder, fake searching for my brothers. Weston meets my eyes, and I wave at him again, and then I see Josh. He’s livid, with his jaw clenched tight and nostrils flared. He’s glaring at Banks like he wants to fight him, ignoring the woman on his arm. I turn my back to him again.

“You weren’t lying,” I say, looking up into Banks’s light-brown eyes. “I don’t understand that reaction.”

“You do,” he says.

I glare at him. “Josh knows you’re the last man on this planet I’d ever be with, along with every single person in this room.”

“Ouch,” he says, focusing back on Josh. “But you’re lying. Your tell always gives you away.”

“I do not have a tell.”

“Ah, you do. You always have. I noticed it within five minutes of meeting you. Wait.” He laughs sarcastically. “No one has told you? It’s so obvious.”

“You’re lying,” I say. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“I don’t give a shit about that, Little Calloway. You do have a tell.” He glares at me. “Not knowing your weakness is dangerous, Billie. It disrupts the power of negotiation. How have you survived in your industry this long? By being a good person? Unbelievable.” He rolls his eyes like he’s mocking me.

“This conversation is a perfect example of why I can’t fucking stand you. I grow exhausted by the mental gymnastics. And the reason Josh is probably pissed is that he wants to pay you billions and you’re busy eye-fucking his competition like you’re putting me in a to-go box to have for later.”

He bursts into laughter. “I don’t eat another man’s leftovers, princess. I’m going to pass on Josh Lustre’s sloppy as fuck seconds.”

“Notice you didn’t refute the eye-fucking. You’re scared of me,” I say, blinking up at him. “You and Josh both are.”

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. “Sweetie, you’re acting too cocky, considering you’ve already hit the iceberg. Right now, you’re taking on gallons of water, and you don’t realize how much. You’re going down with the ship like a stubborn captain. In the end, I just hope you keep your dignity. If I take that, I might feel guilty.”

“You’re not taking me down,” I say. My heart doesn’t even race when I say it because I truly believe it. I’m silently thanking the champagne for the confidence boost.

“When carrying that big fat L on your back, I’d like you to remember that you ultimately forced me to do this. If it feels personal to you, it’s because it fucking is. Every night, I hope you lie awake and thoughts of me coming for Bellamore haunt you.” He gives me his boyish smile, and it’s wicked, considering the topic. “The thought of that brings me joy.”

“You’re an asshole.” I glare at him. “You probably already signed the contract. ”

“Not yet. I was giving you a chance to humble yourself,” Banks says, leaning in, twisting a piece of my hair in his fingers, causing my breath to hitch. His voice lowers an entire octave. “I won’t work with him if you drop to your knees for me. You have the power to stop this.”

My blood pumps faster as the smell of him encapsulates me. I take a step away from him and meet his eyes, lost in him. We’re surrounded by crowds of people, but every single one of them fades away when our eyes lock.

I’m almost at a loss for words, but I quickly snap out of it and find them. “The next time you get that close to me again, I will bring you to your knees. Do you understand? I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Wait, are you trashed?” he asks, searching my face. “You actually brought Drunk Billie to the party. She’s a menace .”

“You know what? Kiss my ass,” I say, grabbing another glass of champagne. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had now. Whatever number it is, it’s not enough to deal with this man.

“Is that what you fantasize about? Having my lips all over you?” he asks under his breath. “A projection?”

“I’d never consent to that,” I say, pushing the visual out of my head. “Neither would Drunk Billie. Now, kindly return to pretending I don’t exist, like before, when you were busy dating my best friends.”

He scoffs. “You were jealous.”

“Jealous? No,” I say. “Why were you jealous when I was with Josh? That a projection?”

His face cracks into a smile. “Your ex is a creep. Are you color blind? Red flags everywhere.”

“I seriously can’t stand you.”

“Great, because once I start working with Josh, you’ll see a lot more of me,” he warns.

I glance around, not meeting his eyes. “Did someone hear something? Hmm. Pesky breeze. ”

He smiles. “You should get that tell looked at.”

I take a step forward, nostrils flared. “I really can’t stand you.”

We glare at one another.

“Keep it that way, Ice Queen. Makes my job easier,” he states, cockily drinking his champagne.

To anyone watching us from the outside, his sarcastic laughter, smiles, and winks make it seem like we’re having a flirty conversation. It’s anything but that.

“I’d say it was a pleasure, but …” My gaze slides from his eyes to his mouth. “It was torture, per usual.”

As I walk away, I glance at Banks over my shoulder. His eyes are locked on me, but I can’t read the expression on his face as he lifts his glass toward me. I feel like I just won a mini battle. As I glance over, I notice Josh is watching me too. Our eyes meet briefly before I lift my head high and hold back a smile. I cannot deal with the testosterone and mixed signals.

I huff as I meet up with my brothers.

Easton gives me a side hug. “You and Banks looked friendly. Making up?”

“I threatened to kick him in the balls if he ever entered my personal space again.”

Weston chuckles just as Carlee and Lexi approach, both with mini quiches in their hands.

“Valentino was made for you,” I tell Carlee as she spins for me.

She’s wearing an A-line skirt with a studded, fitted bodice that reflects light. Even though my brothers weren’t nominated for any awards tonight, it was vital for them to be present and offer support.

“How are you surviving after the triplet news?” I ask Lexi with a grin.

Two weeks ago, she and Easton held a surprise baby reveal party—a day none of us will forget anytime soon. We learned they were expecting three babies instead of just one, and the shock on their faces was priceless .

“Well, for some reason, I want chocolate cake for every meal. Every single meal. Five layers with fudge icing. I’ve also been having recurring nightmares, where I’m the next Octomom and reality TV cameras follow me around at home. Each time I wake up, I’m relieved it’s a trio instead of eight and that I only get photographed in public.” She chuckles, lowering her voice. “And I want to have tons of sex. Like, even right now. How are things with you?”

I burst into laughter. “Sounds like it’s going well. As long as you’re getting the cake and the sex.”

“Shh,” Easton says, glaring at me.

I wave him away as Weston steals his attention.

Carlee and Lexi listen to the CliffsNotes version of what’s happening with Bellamore, Banks, and Lustre. Their expressions go from happy to confused to angry. The most basic details are given, but they’re married to my brothers, so they understand the code.

When I’m finished, they look at me, concerned.

“Do you have a picture of this sign?” Lexi asks.

“Sadly, no. But I’m sure you can search it online. Someone has posted it. Anyone in the surrounding buildings can see it.”

“What will you do?” Carlee asks.

“Survive,” I tell her. “Just as all the other women who came before me in fashion did. It may be full of pretty dresses, but this is a man’s world. I’m just determined to rule it.”

Carlee nods. “Wow. I might have to quote you on that when I write the article about how Bellamore took down Lustre and outsmarted Banks’s firm. You’re going to be a hero.”

“Don’t flatter me,” I say. “But if I outsmart them, you have my permission. The devil’s in the details though.”

“I’ve got you,” Carlee whispers and grows giddy.

She runs a gossip website called LuxLeaks and is the writer behind it. She is LadyLux. I only discovered it a few weeks ago, when I took her laptop to push her and my brother together. To my surprise, I learned they’d done the same to Lexi and Easton. If fashion isn’t the industry for me, maybe I’ll go into matchmaking with the two of them.

As I drink my champagne, I realize it no longer has a taste. Drunk Billie has officially arrived. The lights slowly lower and rise—an indicator that the ceremony will begin soon. It’s being televised, which makes me more nervous. However, I have a prepared speech, just in case I win, and enough champagne in my body to keep me toasted until the morning.

“Let’s get together soon,” Lexi offers.

“Can I join you?” Carlee asks.

“The three of us. And Harper,” I add with a grin. “I’ll plan something.”

We hug before going our separate ways. I find my seat in the auditorium, unsure of who will be on either side of me.

Moments later, I smell him. Asher fucking Banks. I turn my head, and our eyes meet as he sits beside me.

“You’re kidding me,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“Wonder who I pissed off to be sat here,” he mutters under his breath just as the lights dim and fade to black.

Everyone focuses on the stage as the opening speech is given. We sit through different skits and performances between awards.

Banks laughs at every dumb joke and is having the time of his life. I’d rather be at home in my bed, watching D-rated slasher films as I reply to the hundreds of emails I haven’t read yet.

“And now it’s time to present the Cityscape Award,” the announcer says. “This is one of the greatest honors any CEO can be given. It’s dedicated to someone innovative who continues to move the world forward by focusing on people instead of profits. The nominees are Asher Banks, with Banks’s Advertising and Marketing Firm. Asher Banks brought the company from the bottom to the top and is known for discovering the next hottest companies and giving them a chance to succeed.”

The camera zooms in on his face .

“Josh Lustre, with Lustre Fashion. Established in 1905 and still the industry leader in fashion.”

I look at the screen and hate that he still looks that good. I sigh.

“Billie Calloway, with Bellamore. A corporation that worked its way from the bottom to billions and changed a manufacturing process that helps lessen the environmental impact that fast fashion creates on the world.”

I nod at the camera, not smiling.

The woman unfolds the envelope and smiles. “And the Cityscape Award goes to … Asher Banks.”

“Told you so,” he leans in and whispers in my ear as the camera zooms in on him and me.

“Fuck off,” I cover my mouth and whisper as applause fills the room.

I give him a slow clap, and he shoots me a wink.

The music plays, and Asher makes his way to the front. He has worked hard this past year. No one in this room can deny that. Many stop to shake his hand as he moves toward the stage. Eventually, he makes it to the front as the fanfare for him continues.

I’m disappointed I didn’t win, but I’m happy Josh isn’t the one accepting the award. Between Asher and Josh—as much as it pains me to say this—I’ll choose Asher any day of the week.