Page 176 of Cashmere Cruelty

“Making you look high-fashion,” I answer without glancing up. “If you’re gonna strut out there, you need to look the part.”

“I’m sorry—if I’m going towhat?”

“Hey!” a blue-blazered hostess strides towards us. “You can’t be here!”

“Put this on,” I whisper. “Now.” Then I turn and spit, “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

Both Petra and the hostess in front of me seem taken aback.

“Um… this room is models-only,” the hostess tries, a bit less flippant now. “You’re not…”

I adjust my sunglasses and channel my inner Solovyova. “Of course I’m not a goddamn model. Do I look like I’m gonna go strutting anywhere?” I spit, pushing out my belly. “I’m anagent, kiddo.”

I’m sorry, Nugget. Mama’s gonna make you an accessory to grand larceny after all.

“T-Then you sh-shouldn’t be?—”

“She’sthe model.”

I drag Petra out from behind the privacy screen. She stumbles for a moment before catching herself, glaring daggers at the poor hostess in front of us. Her pristine white dress, once smooth like silk, hangs in tatters from her figure.

The hostess blinks a few times, like she’s trying to remember Petra from the lineup. Which, of course, she can’t.

But we can use that.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is?” I pretend to be outraged. “You work infashion, for God’s sake. And you don’t know of…!”

Crap. I should’ve come up with an alias earlier. My mind draws a complete blank, every Russian name I’ve ever known slipping out like water.

All except?—

“You don’t know Anna Kareni…shka?!” I correct myself at the last second.

By my side, Petra makes a sound in her throat that could be choking.

On the bright side, the hostess looks properly terrified now. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t briefed?—”

“Briefed!” I scoff. “Like anyone needs to be briefed about Belarus’s runway superstar! Are you hearing this,koshka?!”

I have no idea what that word means, but for the first time in my life, I pray it’s not an insult. The last thing I need is for Petra to turn on me in anger and slaughter everyone in sight, myself included.

Luckily, she doesn’t knife me. “Unbelievable,” shetsksinstead in the thickest accent she can muster. Then she sticks up her nose and looks away, the picture of a scorned, spoiled diva.

Guess it must come naturally to her.

“Thirty seconds!” a guy yells from behind the scenes.

I give the hostess my best glare. “Well? Are you going to explain to your bosses why their surprise guest star couldn’t make her appearance or shall I?”

The hostess’s face pales. “M-My apologies! Please, forgive my ignorance. I’ll do anything, just…!”

“Anything?” I echo. “Then go fetch me a glass of sparkling water.Stat.”

The poor thing runs off. I make a mental note to stop by a church to cleanse my soul after this, assuming I survive. I feel icky from head to toe.

“Nice job,” Petra whistles next to me. I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. “You should consider joining the Bratva as a spy. I might put in a good word for you when I’mvor.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather eat glass.”

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