Page 86 of VOGUEish

“You tell him,” Nelly whispered next to Isabella. She dropped an arm around her shoulders. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” she said loudly.

“Did you see the way he was looking at her in that picture?” Bernadette purred as if Nelly hadn’t spoken. “How absolutely humiliating.”

“Shut up,” Isabella said to her classmates. “I’m handling this.”

Chandler held out the microphone toward Isabella. “Please, come up here and handle me. I deserve everything you dish out.”

This created laughter.

Isabella stomped up on stage. “I don’t know what you’re all laughing about. You’re all nothing but a bunch of snot-nose snobs who never had to worry about making the grades to get into the college of your choice. For whatever reason, you decided to roast me tonight. But your roasting is a joke. If you’re going to roast someone, do it right.” She glanced at the original MC. “For instance… Hey, jackass, your opinions were almost as bad as your eyebrows.” She glanced at Bernadette. “And you. The only accessory that could save that ensemble is an invisibility cloak.” She pointed at Chandler. “As for you, look around. It’s clear I’ve met a lot of pricks in my time. But you are a fucking cactus.”

“I deserve that. I do,” Chandler said. “I’m sorry.”

The fact he was sorry made her see red. She didn’t want an apology. The time for that had come and gone. “I thought you knew my opinion of apologies. Do I need to reeducate you on that?”

“No.” He took a step toward her.

She took a step back.

He stopped walking. “I should have immediately told you the truth about what was going on. I should have known you could be trusted.”

What truth? She still didn’t know the truth. “Dick off.” She glanced at those in the audience. “All of you.” With those final words, Isabella dropped the mic, turned, and stormed out of the room. She didn’t stop until she was inside the car that now took her everywhere she wanted to go.

“Where to?” asked the driver.

Good question. Where should she go? Tonight was supposed to have been her comeback moment. She was supposed to have breezed in, amazed everyone with her stories, have Prince Charming on her arm. None of that had happened.

They hadn’t been amazed by her. They’d made fun of her…again.

What had she ever done to them?

And what in the hell had Chandler been thinking, turning up there of all places in that state? He’d made a mockery out of her night. Now they would add ‘screwed up love life with a loser’ to her list of failures. And who in the hell had taken the picture of her face down in the sand?

“Ma’am?” asked the driver.

“Head toward Gowanus. I’ll decide before we get there.” She wanted to go someplace no one would know her. And a place no one would find her. There was only one place she could think of that would meet both criteria.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked.

“Not really.” Why had she shown up to a party she knew could end badly? Never again would she do that.

As soon as her driver dropped her off, Isabella turned and walked to her destination. She ran a hand over her hair, making sure no strands were out of place and stepped inside the poorly lit biker’s bar.

“Sweetheart, you lost?” The question came from a bald guy wearing a skull cap and a leather vest. His English accent added several degrees of cuteness to him, eliminating some of his scariness.

She held up her hands, palms toward him. “I’m not here to make trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Never crossed my mind you were.”

She scowled, hoping to appear a little scarier. “I came in here for some peace and quiet to lick my wounds.” Flats. She shouldn’t have admitted that.

“Leave her alone, Lefty.” This came from another scary guy. He also wore a leather vest but with a cowboy hat. “I’ve seen her around the neighborhood. She’s nobody.”

“Bite me.” Isabella was tired of being seen as a nobody. Of being treated like a nobody. She was a freaking Damsel in Charge.

“I’d like very much to do that.” Lefty’s gaze dipped south, and Isabella clenched her fists. When his gaze finally found hers, he said, “I think I’ll call you Ta-Tas.”

The comment was too close to Chandler’s nickname of Barbie, and he was the very last person she wanted reminded of right now. “I think I’ll call you Rah-Rah, because you appear to be the establishment’s cheerleader.”

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