Page 78 of SNOB

“Even in McQueen.” She crosses her arms, the rest of her posse joining her in more revealing numbers. “It doesn’t matter how many designer dresses you steal. You won’t fit in. Ever.”

Faking a yawn, I look around the room again. Still no sign of Mac. “Hannah, you bore me. Kinda like how you bore Mac.” Her head jolts back. I smile.

“Ember Everett?” A woman with a pink pixie appears beside me, her matching pink nails coming to my shoulder.

Hannah blurs in my vision as my body stills.

Blinking, it’s hard to get the words out. “Gerri Mainland?” It might look like we know each other but Gerri is a well-known QuickGram influencer turned mogul. All from her digital art.

“I’m so honoured to meet you.” Her multi-coloured dress makes her look like a fairy, especially when she smiles with purple-painted lips.

“Me?” Turning my back to Hannah blocks her out of this moment. “I’m so stoked to be here with you.”

“Your work is blowing up,” Gerri explains. “And for good reason! It’s spectacular. Can we chat?”

Spectacular? Is this really happening?

“Uh, yeah…” I’m still in shock as Gerri takes me around the garden. While my eyes search for Mac along the way, I’m on cloud nine without him. Gerri praises my work and tells me of other known artists falling in love with me.

Me!

“You’re going places,” Gerri says, clinking her champagne flute to mine. “And I can’t wait to see where that is. Paradise Hill is a great start for you. There are so many?—”

“Tell me how much you hate Malcolm McKinsley.”

Beau’s voice startles me, Gerri’s words fading as Beau’s voice comes from a distance.

“Fuck Malcolm McKinsley, that insecure asshole.”

My eyes widen, my grip tightening around my glass as my voice follows.

“I want his head. On a platter. On a stick. Buried six feet deep.”Where the fuck is that coming from?

“Is that you?” Gerri looks around.

Scanning the space, I spot a speaker near a big stone fountain not too far away.

“He’s a predator I wish would go extinct. And I’ll be the one to do it.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say, my heels hustling to the speaker.

“I want his head. On a platter. On a stick. Buried six feet deep.”

My words replay, my stomach tight, my hands turning to fists. Did he do this?

My hands wrap around the chord when I get to the speaker, tugging it out. But that doesn’t stop my voice.

“I wish he would die. Even if I have to be the one to do it.”

My eyes land on another chord and I follow it. Getting closer to the source, my stomach tightens.

It brings me to a big screen, a projection of my face large enough for everyone to see. I’m holding a flask, my face so red you can hardly see my freckles. It’s the video from that night in Beau’s car and if people doubted me being there before, they sure as hell won’t now.

Rushing to the screen, I pull it down, guests gasping around me as it clatters to the floor. But that doesn’t stop my voice either.

“I’ll be the one to do it.”

A speaker stands closer to me and I reach for the chord plugged into a column. Tugging it out, silence takes over.

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