Thorne Princess(5)

“I’ll have my PA contact yours.” I hopped off the stool.

“I don’t have a PA,” he said, confused.

Neither do I. That’s the whole exercise, Einstein.

I signaled Frederik for the check. Screw Keller. I was tapping out. He could mingle with Perry, who did, in fact, sport great new highlights that complemented her cheekbones. I tossed them one last look. Perry’s friends were now asking Keller all kinds of questions about his juicery. He was basking in it. Was I the only one who was upfront about his fake job?

I paid, tipped Frederik forty percent, and made my way out, weaving through people who tried to stop me for a chat. Wes followed me eagerly. He’d officially graduated from a pain in the neck to a stalker.

“Wait, where are you going?” He tried to put his hand on my shoulder. I hissed, shaking him off almost violently.

Don’t touch me. Do not touch me. Never touch me.

“Home.” I quickened my steps. My heels slapped the dark floor.

I loathed myself for forgetting to grab a jacket on my way out of the house. I could use something to cover my boobs with, ensure my breasts weren’t peeking out of the corset. Though now that I thought about it, said boobs weren’t feeling so constrained anymore. Just oddly cold. I looked down and realized why—my right breast had torn through the fabric. It was literally hanging out. Flapping in the wind like a half-mast flag just as I was about to exit the hotel and call myself an Uber.

Gasping, I frantically tried to tuck it back into my dress.

“Man, oh man.” Wes chuckled, leaning against a nearby wall. “Looks like the ladies came out to get some fresh air.”

“Shut up.”

I made a beeline to the hotel reception to see if I could borrow someone’s jacket. There were so many people. Everywhere. And the mask made it impossible to see anything. I ripped it off my face and dumped it on the floor. Panting, I looked around me.

Jacket. I needed a jacket. But this was L.A. People hardly walked around in layers.

A voice beside me soothed, “Don’t be so angry, Hallion. Let me drive you home.”

“No, thanks.” I folded my arms over my chest and strode faster. I was almost at the reception.

“If you ask the concierge for a jacket, they’ll know what happened and sell the story.”

I stopped cold in the middle of the lobby. Wes knew he had my attention.

“Do you really want to be humiliated again? Especially after the pizza stain story Page Six published about you.” His voice slithered behind me, sinking into my skin like claws.

He was right. If I admitted my dress had burst, it could be leaked. Hera would have a fit, and my parents… God knew what they were going to do. Cut off my allowance. Force me to move to Texas.

I had no actual life skills, other than peeling tangerines in one long piece. Which was impressive, but not exactly the kind of stuff you put on your résumé.

I whipped around, sizing Wes up, still protecting my modesty by resting my arms over my chest.

“I don’t trust you.” I squinted.

He raised his palms up. “You should. You’re President Thorne’s daughter. A national hero. I’d never hurt you. Do you think I’m that dumb?”

The answer, unfortunately for Wes, was yes. But since he gave himself more credit, maybe I should do the same. Just for tonight.

Every bone in my body told me it was a bad idea, but I wasn’t exactly swimming in options.

“Promise me no funny business.”

“Promise me a photo-op, and you’ve got yourself a deal. I need to get back on the headlines before season five premieres.”

I closed my eyes, breathed hard. I was furious.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive to be seen with a curvy girl when your job is to make people thin?” I opened my eyes, smiling innocently.

“So, about that.” Wes let out an exaggerated sigh. “I might’ve gotten a rep as a fat phobic after one of my episodes went viral. Can you believe this woke bullshit?”

Great. So I was officially his “some-of-my-best-friends-are” token. I wanted to scream.

“One coffee on Rodeo Drive.” I raised my finger in warning. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“Fine, but you can’t look like you’re revolted by me,” he bargained. “People need to think you’re having a good time.”

“If I had those kind of acting chops, I’d be winning Oscars, not advertising acne creams on Instagram.” I let out a sarcastic laugh.

“C’mon now, Hallie.”

I sighed. “I’ll be ordering a pastry.”

“I’ll tell the valet to get my car.” He winked and pointed at me. I, in return, flipped him the bird.

Wes ambled out of the lobby, swaggering like he owned the place. Minutes later, he returned to where I was standing tucked in a discreet alcove not too far from the entrance. It was a fairly secluded spot. My heart was racing, threatening to tear through my skin.

No one could know about my wardrobe malfunction.

“Goddamn, how much longer is it gonna take?” Wes craned his neck to see if his car had arrived. “My Tinder date is waiting down the street.”

My phone started buzzing in my fist. Keller, undoubtedly. I couldn’t answer, because I was firmly covering my breasts with my arms, and also because I was still riding the petty train of anger from him talking to Perry Cowen all the way to Beefville.