Page 71 of A Very Naughty Christmas

“No, I’ll stay and watch, and enjoy the band. I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

“I’ll make it quick,” he assured her as his lips brushed her cheek, then he followed the man toward the front entrance to the ballroom.

He hadn’t been gone for a minute when two women approached her. Both tall and slender, one fair-haired, the other with light brown curls piled high atop her head. They sparkled with diamonds at their ears, throat, and on several fingers, showing off their obvious wealth.

“You came with Dr. Prescott tonight, didn’t you?” questioned the blonde bluntly, not bothering with an introduction, although she offered her hand. Dixie took it automatically, and struggled to contain a grimace at her ice-cold touch and limp grip. She must have failed, because the woman laughed without humor and raised her glass. “That was my champagne holding hand, my bad.”

The brunette at her side giggled, although Dixie didn’t get why that was funny. What she did know was that these two were making her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Are you a family friend, a cousin maybe?” the blonde asked.

“No, Kyle and I have been seeing each other.”

“Oh, Trisha, please,” the brunette cut in. “We Prescotts are related to the Vanderbilts; never would we have someone named Dixie in the line.” Saying this as if she were an heir to the British throne, not an American, she turned to Dixie and smiled like she hadn’t directly insulted her name. “Someone mentioned you were an artist. Or was it a sculptor?”

“I paint; the gallery owner where I display my work is a potter.”

“Ah, that must have been it.” She appeared bored, obviously not giving a crap about her art.

Trisha spoke up next. “Dear Kyle, he is so kind to the less fortunate, and he has a soft spot for up and comers. I imagine he’ll have done his philanthropic duty by you after tonight. Has he introduced you to the patrons? Once he gets you connected, he’ll move on to his next lost cause.”

Dixie paled, stunned that she would say such a thing to her face. “It’s not like that with us,” she bit back, unsure why she felt the need to explain.

“Oh, Marcy, look at that. Bless her heart. She must have thought he was interested in more.”

“Poor dear,” the brunette murmured while shaking her head. “He tends to do this, doesn’t he, Trisha?”

“It was a little preschool teacher last year; I think her name was Cecile. Kyle helped her get back into school to earn her license with a full grant. The poor thing was so grateful, she eagerly spread her legs for him in thanks.”

“I think you both should stop talking now,” Dixie advised, turning and scanning the crowd by the front doors for him.

“I think you’re wrong, Trisha. Last year it was Katy. Cecile was a nurse’s aide at the hospital, the year before that.” Marcy addressed Dixie next, leaning close as if confiding in a friend. What a bunch of crap. “She needed an in for RN school, you see,” she went on, ignoring Dixie’s scowl. “And the year before that another wanted to be a physical therapist. He made sure she had glowing recommendations. I believe she’s in her second year now on a full Kyle Prescott ride, and I don’t only mean tuition-wise,” the brown-haired bitch giggled.

“Yes, my Kyle believes in advancing the impoverished through education.” The emphasis she put onmywas like a knife twisting in Dixie’s belly. “Working miracles, fixing one underprivileged slut at a time. He’s done that with women in the past. Except me, I didn’t need fixing.”

“You work at the diner and paint on the side,” Marcy stated. “Which is your calling, Dixie dear? Art school, or do you want to be a chef? Perhaps you have big dreams to own your own diner one day?”

Lost in her own misery, she tried to let their catty remarks and insults bounce off her. Sticks and stones, her mama used to tell her when her brothers teased her. She couldn’t do it.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Trisha,” the blonde said, her voice laser sharp. “I’m also Kyle’s fiancée. We haven’t set a date because I wasn’t ready to settle down and have babies quite yet, which is what the dear man wants. I think I’ve changed my mind. I’d make a lovely spring bride, don’t you think, Marcy?”

“Stunning, sweetie. Tall, gorgeous, and rich, you’re the perfect bride for our Kyle.”

Dixie finally had enough. She whirled without another word, barely avoiding a collision with a waiter balancing a full tray of drinks.

“Oh, dear, we’ve hurt her feelings,” Marcy said from behind her, clearly amused and not sorry one bit. “Was it something we said, Trisha?”

“I imagine the truth hurts. But c’mon, hon, don’t go away mad. Just go away, and leave Kyle for me. He’s mine! Has been for years, no matter what trashy trailer park he strays into.”

Her first inclination was to push through the crowd and escape, but something deep within her, something completely out of character, bubbled up and spilled over. It was a need for retaliation, no matter how small. Without a second thought, she lurched to the side as if her heel was snagged and fell into the waiter holding the tray of brimming glasses.

At the same time, someone caught her arm and kept her from falling flat on her face, and a collective gasp rose from the people around her. It was followed by silence, then a few seconds later, titters of laughter. Once again on her feet, she turned and looked at the witches who had blindsided her with their vicious attack.

They stood in muted shock with wine dripping off the end of their noses, expensive hairdos drooping and soaking wet, and their pretty party frocks completely ruined as rivulets of red wine ran down the front of them.

“You did that on purpose,” Marcy shrieked suddenly.

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