Page 11 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

VANESSA

T he dress was tighter than I remembered.

I glared at my reflection in Kim’s mirror closet doors and was personally offended by what I saw. There was too much thigh showing. Too much thick calf. Too much arm. Too much boob. It was all just too much.

Tugging self-consciously at the hem of my dress, I raised my voice and called through the bathroom door to Kim, who was having a quick shower before getting ready to hit the club. “Kim! This dress is atrocious. Why the hell did you let me buy this thing?”

“It looks fabulous on you. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Hang on. I’ll be right out.”

I sighed.

This was my fate. I was destined to be the girl packed into a tight-fitting dress for the rest of my life.

The girl standing at the back of the crowd.

The girl with the pretty smile but no waist. The girl with the weight to lose.

The girl with the whispers behind her back of at least she has a sense of humor .

I gnawed at the inside of my cheek and wished I had a backup outfit. There were plenty of things in my closet I could’ve worn tonight instead of this sausage casing. Hell, the dress I wore to Nannie’s eightieth would have been better than this atrocity.

The bathroom door swung open. Steam that smelled like vanilla and coconut wafted out and Kim emerged with rosy skin all wrapped up in a towel.

She turned to me and planted a hand on her hip.

I tried to resist admiring the long lines of her bare legs and arms. It was damn near impossible.

Standing next to her made me wish I could disappear altogether.

But there was no disappearing in this dress.

There wasn’t enough fucking fabric.

“I hate it.” I tugged again at the hem with displeasure. “It doesn’t fit. It certainly doesn’t flatter. I’m not going.”

“Don’t be such a sorry sport. You look great! I mean look at those tits!”

“How can you not look at them? They’re practically falling out.”

I wasn’t lying. The dress was what might have been a sleek little number on a thinner girl. On me, it was a rolling wave of velvet fabric that clung to me in all the wrong places. I was a cinnamon roll of curves nobody would want to take a bite of.

Kim put her hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades.

“Posture makes a big difference when it comes to liking an outfit.” Her tone was matter of fact and simple, like she was suggesting a straight back and squared hips would erase my tummy.

She straightened me out and nodded confidently at my reflection.

“See? That already looks better. Like you were born to wear this.”

“The only thing this dress makes me look like I was born to do is eat.”

“Vanny. Please. Don’t make jokes like that. You know I don’t know what to say and I hate how mean you can be to yourself. You look great. Would I lie to you?”

Yes. “No.” I shrugged. The hemline lifted. I pulled it back down.

“Exactly. You’re wearing it. And we’re going to go to the club and have a couple of drinks to take the edge off. You’ll be laughing and dancing before you know it. I need this. And so do you. You’ve been so—so—”

“So what?”

“Pent up lately.”

“Pent up?” I arched an eyebrow and went to her bed. She had a beautiful four-poster bed with white sheets. I sat down on the edge and resented the way the frame creaked, like it too was calling me out for squeezing into a dress that did not fit.

Kim rolled open her closet before snatching out a little red number.

I groaned internally when she dropped her towel in front of me.

I’d seen her naked a thousand times over.

It never made me feel very good. She had those sexy back dimples and a line cut down the middle of her stomach that I’d always envied, and envy was not a healthy feeling in a friendship.

“Yes. Pent up.” Kim pulled the strapless red dress over her shoulders and pulled it down. No bra. No panties. Just a short tube dress. “I think this whole Nessa Night thing is starting to get to you. You need to live your real life for a bit. You know?”

“Sure.”

I didn’t really understand what she was getting at. Just because I had an alter ego for my radio show didn’t mean I wasn’t living my real life.

Kim pulled off her shower cap and let her long locks tumble free.

She shook them out, fluffed them up, and hurried over to her vanity near the bedroom window, where she doused her head with hairspray.

Then she plucked a red lipstick from its holder and swiped it on.

She stood back and held the tube up to me as if it was a sacrificial offering.

“Come here. A red lip makes everything better.”

I obliged.

Kim painted my lips red and finished them off with a swipe of gloss.

Then, clearly pleased with herself, she picked up our clutch bags from the foot of the bed and shoved mine into my hands.

Then she grabbed her thigh-high black boots and pulled them on while I stepped into my two-inch pumps.

I knew Kim hated them but she didn’t say a word about my grandma looking heels.

I didn’t like getting sore feet, especially at a night club, and I could already tell this was going to be a long night.

Kim straightened once her boots were on. There was plenty of space between the leather of the boot and her thigh. “You ready, bitch?” She grinned.

I slapped on a smile and gave her what I hoped was a confident nod. “Yeah. Ready.” I followed her out of the bedroom, pausing for the briefest moment to check my lipstick. She was right about the red lip rule.

I couldn’t pronounce the name of the club Kim took me to.

It had a massive line stretching down the sidewalk, sectioned off by a purple rope and gold posts.

The people in said line were dressed similarly to Kim, short dresses on model-esque bodies.

They looked like they belonged there, like they were part of the club’s appeal.

So when Kim pulled me straight to the front of the line and sidled up to the bouncer who was roughly the size of a garage, I was horrified.

“Hey, sugar,” Kim chimed. The bouncer looked her up and down.

She leaned into it and put a hand on his elbow.

“I hate to be a bother, but my girl and I have had a really rough week. We need to blow off some steam and have a drink. Please. Do you think there’s anything you could do to help us out and let us in?

The line is so long.” She pouted her full bottom lip.

His eyes fell to the lip. Classic. Then he cleared his throat and peered down the line. “Not a word to anyone inside, yeah?”

Kim nodded. “Promise.”

He stepped aside. “Have a good night.”

Kim gave his arm a squeeze before slipping past him and pulling me along behind her. The bouncer never even glanced at me, and when I looked over my shoulder, his eyes were glued to Kim’s ass. Go figure.

We pushed through the doors and plunged into the darkness of the nightclub. My vision didn’t adjust until we arrived at the coat and ID check. Kim and I flashed our cards, and we were waved through, where a final bouncer looked us over and gestured for us to enter.

The club was three-tiered levels. I stopped in the entranceway and gazed up at the grandeur, amazed by the glass ceiling high above that reflected the heads and shoulders of those dancing on the first floor down below.

The dance floor was mirrored tiles as well, creating a dazzling effect of lights and colors under people’s feet.

“Holy shit,” I breathed.

Kim’s laugh floated around me as she guided me through the throngs of people toward the bar, which was also a glorious display of backlit mirrors that faded between shades of pink and blue. Each bottle of liquor sat upon a light that made the bottles themselves appear to glow.

When we reached the bar, Kim leaned on it and held up a hand, calling for the bartender.

He spotted her instantly. That was the perk of coming to a place like this with a girl like Kim.

She was always noticed. Waiting for a drink—or anything for that matter—was not her reality.

She ordered us each a drink special, which was some variation of a Manhattan, and when the bartender slid the drinks to us and she offered him a twenty, he told her to keep it.

He winked. “On the house.”

Kim flashed him an appreciative smile before turning to me and giving me my drink. “For you.”

“Thank you.” I pursed my lips to the edge of the glass and sipped.

Praise the lords. It was a stiff drink. I slurped a little more eagerly.

I needed the booze to sink in. I was acutely aware of all the thin, beautiful women around me and how tight my spanx were.

A couple more drinks would take care of that.

Kim put her back to the bar and draped herself against it like a predatory cat as she scanned the room.

Her gaze swept upward, where she scanned the balconies of the top two floors.

On the third level was what appeared to be VIP access only.

Men and women sat at stools against the railings, looking down at the peasants below while sipping cocktails that probably cost upwards of seventy-five dollars.

I scoffed into my Manhattan.

“What?” Kim asked.

“Oh. Nothing. Just thinking about the asshats on the top floor.”

Kim crossed one ankle over the other. From predatory cat to graceful gazelle. “Just because they have money doesn’t automatically make them an asshat.”

“ Au contraire .”

“You’re such a pessimist.”

“Realist. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

I took another steady sip of my drink. I was about to offer a snarky retort when two men brushed past me and closed in on Kim. One of them wore a dark gray suit. His shoes looked freshly shined and the watch on his wrist was most definitely a Rolex. I sighed.

Here we go.

Kim batted her lashes at the guy in the gray suit. “Hi there, handsome.”

“Hey, baby. What brings a pretty girl like you to a place like this?”

Kim tipped her chin toward the dance floor and then smiled at me. “My bestie and I had a rough week. And I’m usually out of town. So we thought we would come out for some dancing. I know Caprizee has the best dance floor in Nashville.”

Buddy in the gray suit looked over his shoulder at me. Then he turned back to Kim. “Where’s your friend at?”

Kim giggled innocently, took him by the shoulder, and turned him all the way around to face me. “Right here, silly. This is my girl Vanessa.”

He didn’t even bother looking me up and down. Instead, he leaned into Kim. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”

It only stung a little when she said yes and he turned back around, blocking me out with his broad shoulders.

Good-looking rich asshole? One.

Chubby Vanny? Zero.