Sorority Girls With Guns (28 page)

“
I'm serious, Shade,” Richard says, glaring at me. But I see one corner of his mouth twitching. “My interest in protecting your secret is going to get a lot smaller if my secret comes out.”

“
Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest, squishing my DD's and watch his attention drift like an ADD kid who forgot his meds. “This will probably go against your instincts as a liar, but you shouldn't try to discourage anyone from digging into your past. Don't say it's not interesting or that you don't want to talk about it. Talk about it at length, in a vague but honest way. Your parents worked hard to give you the opportunities you have today, and you're grateful to be able to help with this event. Then start talking about the event.”

“
What if that doesn't work?”

“
I have a last-ditch plan that I'll outline later. In fact, I'm going to write you a script and you're going to practice and memorize it and I am confident that it will work.” I drum my fingers on the granite again. How the fuck do they get a rock so smooth and shiny, anyway? “But right now we're going to talk about our best shot, which is preventing you from needing that speech.

“
Be casual and pretend I'm not hiding anything.”

“
Yes. And talk a lot. Reporters know that people who basically suffer from verbal diarrhea are almost never hiding anything, because they can't. Unless it's an act, and it's a hard one to pull off. So the more you blather about nothing, the less interesting they're going to find you.

“
Then there's the next step to our plan: Make some of your friends more interesting.”

“
You mean throw my friends under the bus?”

“
No, not at all.” I wave my hand dismissively. “Those of us who are
pretending
-” I put heavy emphasis on that word. “-to be poor are less at risk here, because none of us actually claimed to be poor, we simply acted like we were and allowed people to make assumptions. That says more about society than it does about us. After all, our pitch is that helping the environment helps people save money, which it does. That obviously affects poor people more than rich people, but no one minds having more money. Anyway, the point is that we all have to live this way to prove that being environmentally friendly is easy
and
cheap.”

“
That covers Tiffany, Morgan, Matt and Charlie. What about you?” Richard's brows pull together in what looks like genuine concern, but who knows when you're talking to a guy who has millions and lives like a broke college student? “What if Harry wants to know how we all lived before this started?”

I shrug. “I lived how I lived and will continue to live when I get back to college. Again, we're talking about people making assumptions, not me waving around a tax return. Besides, I plan to give Harry and the rest of the press a lot of interesting leads to follow, none of which will cause them to go poking around in
my
financial background.”

“
What if someone brings up your parents?”

“
What about it? You think I've never planned for that? Never thought about what I'd do if they showed up for an unanticipated visit in their Oldsmobile wearing clothes from Penney's?” I smile at the look of surprise on Richard's face. “A skilled liar and master manipulator like myself always works out every possible problem she can imagine happening, no matter how unlikely. I have planned for that event, and I think I can pull it off.” I relax and let the smile fall into a comfortable scowl. “But it won't work if you tell everyone the explicit truth. So don't even think about it, or I will make sure you spend the rest of your college years dealing with every gold-digging, rich-wannabe on campus. Understand?”

“
Yeah.” Richard's blue eyes look like a sky about to turn cloudy, and I'm not sure why. You'd think he'd be happy that I just solved all his problems. “I understand, Shade. I understand you perfectly.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Showing up to a fancy gala in a rented Buick is embarrassing to say the least, so I have opted to walk. Five blocks, in cheap heels from Payless. Richard has volunteered to go as my date, and to walk with me, even though he could have rented a limo. This is for functional reasons, not because we're romantically involved. I've told him repeatedly that it won't work between us, and since our last conversation I'm hoping he finally understands why.

At the moment, Richard and I are sitting in the lobby of his hotel and discussing strategy. He is mumbling in my direction the speech I made him memorize in case the worst happens, and I'm reminding him of our various strategies for preventing that situation while looking over my shoulder every few seconds. That's how I see Morgan running toward us.

“
Put that on ice,” I hiss at Richard as I whirl around to face Morgan. “Did you decide to walk with us after all?” I ask, knowing that she hasn't. She's going in the limo that Matt and Charlie managed to snag at a discount by holding a charity car wash in the limo rental firm's parking lot. (Taking a cue from me, they pitched it as “free publicity”.)

“
No,” she says, sitting down in one of the delicately striped, overstuffed chairs without being asked. “I need to talk to you.”

“
Okay.” I gesture for her to hurry up with it.

She squirms in her chair and looks at Richard, who's wearing the most expensive rental tuxedo in the whole fucking city. I have to admit he looks like he just stepped out of a James Bond movie. I suggested a souped-up pistol as an accessory, but he just rolled his eyes.

“
You want me to leave?” he asks Morgan, watching her squirm.

“
It's...sort of personal,” she says, pulling her head and right shoulder together in that half-shrug, half-please-give-me-an-easy-way-out gesture some people use when they aren't smart enough to manipulate at my level.

Richard stands up. “I'll be right outside the door when you're ready,” he says.

“
You know, you guys are welcome to ride in the limo with us,” Morgan says as he walks off, nearly tripping in his $500 shoes that are so shiny they look like Tiffany's face when she runs out of blotting paper. He's apparently still getting used to shoes that are more than a hundredth of an inch thick in the sole. “We got it without breaking any of the rules.”

“
I know,” I say. “But Richard and I want to walk to make a statement for the press, since it's his party and I'll be doing most of the talking with the press.”

Morgan nods, but I can see the wheels turning behind her hundred-dollar lash extensions that she bought of Feebay for $20. “So...is that the only reason you're going together?”

“
Me and Richard?” A few wheels click into place in my head, too. “Yes, we're going as friends with a mutual interest in this thing. You're not...jealous, are you? You weren't lying about just being friends with him, were you?”

Morgan's three layers of makeup relax with relief. “Oh, no. We really are just friends and study partners. And if you wanted to get over your issues with Richard and go out with him, I'd be really happy for you.”

“
Well, I can assure you that isn't going to happen...not that he wouldn't like it.” I watch her face for signs that she's lying, but she really looks more hopeful than anything else. Why would she hope I'm dating Richard?

“
I've noticed the way he looks at you,” Morgan says with a conspiratorial smile. “Are you sure you don't feel the same way?”

I roll a shoulder. “He's cute, and he has an interesting personality...but we'd never work together. We just want very different things out of life. He hates money, and I love it.”

Now Morgan looks disappointed. “Well, I'm sure you'll find someone else.”

“
I'm sure I will too.” I get the distinct impression Morgan wants to tell me something she doesn't think I'll like. “What's going on here? Why the sudden concern with my love life?”

She sighs. “I just...don't want you to be mad about what might happen at the gala tonight.”

I feel a tiny stab of panic but keep my face calm. Hollywood may not have recognized my talents yet, but I really am one hell of an actress. “What do you mean? What are you planning to do?”

“
I'm going with Hoolio, all right?”She spits it out in about two seconds flat.

“
Hoolio?” It takes my brain another couple seconds to remember the guy. “Oh, the jerk who dumped me to join Tiffany's love line last week? That doofus?”

Morgan leans back in her chair, apparently satisfied that I'm not upset. “He's not a bad guy. He admits he made a mistake at the party, but he says he thought you were playing him and he got ticked off.”

“
I guess that's fair enough,” I say. “I don't think he and I would have worked, either. Once I got to know him, I liked him but I don't think he liked me.”

“
So...you're not mad that I'm dating him?”

“
No, of course not,” I say, standing up. “Is that...all you think might happen tonight?”

Her brows knit in confusion. “Yes...what do you mean?”

“
Nothing. I have to get going.” I lean over and whisper, “Have a good time with Hoolio. Who knows, maybe he'll be the next guy you pretend to sleep with!”

Morgan gets red in the face. “I was actually hoping it wouldn't have to be pretend.”

I wink at her. “Go for it. Either way, this is going to be an interesting night.”

“
What do you mean?” Morgan asks, but I'm already walking away.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I run three or four miles a day, at whatever speed the latest
Shape
magazine article says will burn the most fat. Walking is nothing. Walking in the heat is nothing. When Tiffany goes to hot yoga and comes back whining about how much she's sweating, I tell her to just think of sweat as liquid fat exiting the body. I'm a big fan of sweating.

I am not, however, a big fan of sweating while wearing a Badgley Mischka Little Black Dress that's shrink-wrapped to my sexy curves, even if I did buy it at a thrift store for twenty-five bucks and tax. At least I'm not wearing panties. Or hose. (It's summer, and I
wasn't
exaggerating about how tight the dress is.)

“
I'm glad you changed your mind about walking,” I say to Richard, as we pull up at the gala in my crappy rented Buick. Then I mentally remind myself that this will look good to Harry Harmon and the other reporters who want to interview me about saving the homeless and the planet. (The fuel efficiency of this car is extremely good, even though it's not a hybrid.)

“
Are you kidding? I was sweating like a pig just standing outside waiting for you and Morgan to finish whatever you were talking about,” he says, getting out his door and running around to open mine.

“
You know, chivalry really is dead when it comes to people who make less than six figures a year,” I say as I get out.

His eyebrows pull together. “You're not recording yet, are you?”

“
No, relax,” I say, as the valet runs up to take my keys. He looks at the Buick, looks at us, then gets in and drives off without a word.

“
That was rude,” Richard says.

“
He figured he wasn't getting a big tip anyway,” I say with a shrug, and start for the door. “I'm turning my cameras on now.”

As it turns out, Harry Harmon and half a dozen other reporters are waiting inside with their own, life-size cameras. Harry is currently interviewing Delilah, who's actually doing a good job of smoothly reciting the script I gave her. I'm not surprised -if she can pretend to enjoy sex with the type of guys who are desperate enough to be paying for it, pretending to be a PR person for a charity event should be a piece of cake.

Morgan, Hoolio, Tiffany, Charlie and Matt – plus a few friends who look like beach bums – are clustered by the stage, where some local band will perform gratis. (Apparently, Matt and Charlie struck up a friendship with someone from the band, probably one of the beach bums.) Richard points at them.

“
That's our table, the big, huge one closest to the stage.” He shakes his head gravely, like all the world's problems are because of that table.

“
Doesn't bother me. I told you, this is who I am.” I glide across the floor in my Payless high heels, and notice that Hoolio's jaw drops when he sees me in my thrift shop dress. Richard follows, dragging his expensively- shoed feet like they're made of lead.

Harry catches up with us as we're sitting down. “Did you get the footage you needed at the recycling center?” I ask him.

“
He couldn't believe how much we got for all those cans and bottles,” Morgan says. “Can you believe the staff at this hotel was just throwing those things away?”

“
I've spoken with the management,” I tell Harry. “I arranged for the recycling center to bring them those big green bins and make a pickup once a week, at no charge to the hotel.”

“
See how much change we've already caused?” Tiffany takes a generous sip of champagne. “I hope those Green Day people really appreciate our effort.”