Page 86 of Deliverance

It’s unnerving, but I have no choice. I have to work twice as hard because I need money more than ever. No, I don’t regret giving checks to Roque or Reagan. It’s the least I could do for them.

At some point, when Tina’s attention is elsewhere, Santiago whisks me away to the patio for a quick break.

“This thing is going to drag on,” I share my concern with my friend. The main event hasn’t even started yet and I’m already running on fumes.

“It’s a neat setup.” Santiago shrugs, sizing up a man in a steampunk-style dress coat next to the bar. “You’ll sell out, babe.”

“I don’t want to be here another minute.”

“Do you want to leave early?” His brow arches. “Because you know it can be arranged. Kidnapping is my side bitch.”

“I wish. I really do but I’m pretty sure Tina will kill me and hide the body.”

“Since I have a 6 a.m. call, I’m not staying until the end, so let me know if you change your mind and I’ll take you home.”

“Text me before you leave.”

“You can always pretend you’re sick.”

“I’ve done that to Tina too many times. At this point, she wouldn’t believe me if God himself struck me to death.”

Santiago jerks his chin in the direction of the steampunk guy. “You know that hottie over there?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Never saw him before.”

“I’m calling dibs.” He tosses down the rest of his champagne and sets the glass on the table.

“What about Jean-Luc?”

“What about him?” Santiago croons.

Ever the flirt, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks and strolls over to the bar.

At least one of us is going to have fun tonight.

The second wave of guests—the obscenely rich people who make up a pool of potential buyers—begin arriving around dinnertime. Except for a handful of younger folks, they forfeit the red carpet set up in the back hallway. Since the event is by invitation only and every single guest has been screened save for the background check, the publicity team opted for a low-key alternative. Discrete. Intimate. With a poshly exclusive feel.

Tomorrow, professional photos taken by the photographers who were hand-picked to capture the extravaganza of tonight’s show will hit thousands of online publications.

The front entrance and the alley leading up to the back have been closed off to the public and earlier, from the upstairs lounge, I saw a growing line of spectators that flanked the building and spilled across the sidewalk, pushing against the barricades and ruffling the guards’ feathers.

Ten minutes before the scheduled unveiling, I glimpse a familiar figure walking into the room. Relief washes through my chest.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” I tell the middle-aged man who’s been holding my hand hostage for over a minute now. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s too puzzled by my sudden retreat to object.

Tina would normally get upset at my interrupting a potential buyer in the middle of the sentence, but she stepped away seconds ago and I use the opportunity to escape the clutches of the pervy-looking guy and flee across the room to greet Hazel.

“This place is happening.” Smiling, she leans in for a quick embrace and I welcome it gladly. She’s one of the very few people I enjoy hugging. There’s not a single mean bone in her body, and I believe the main reason we bonded so fast is because we’re both simple women thrust into the chaos that surrounds famous people.

“Are you by yourself?” I ask.

“Justice is doing the red carpet thing.” She rolls her eyes and hooks her arm around mine. “Walk with me?”

I’m grateful to be whisked away. “Absolutely.”

We make a run for the business end of the gallery and cruise down a corridor filled with the catering team and security guards.

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