Page 80 of No More Billionaires

Then turning to his parents, “Isn’t it just wonderful about the children? Aren’t they a beautiful couple?”

It took everything in me not to visibly shudder. Momma couldn’t have been more obvious if she were wearing a sign that said “Daughter for Sale—Name Your Price.”

If I could’ve sunk into the gorgeous marble tile I would have.

“Where’s Daddy?” I asked through stiff lips, desperate to salvage the situation.

At least if my father were around, he’d act like a normal human being and maybe reassure the Overstreets that I didn’t come from completely repulsive stock.

Momma gave a dismissive wave. “Oh—he snuck off to the bar. I was hoping he’d bring me another Manhattan, but knowing him, he’ll just stay there talking sports with the bartender. For the life of me, I’ll never understand why he prefers to hang aroundcommon folkinstead of people of our own class,” she said, attempting to include herself in the Overstreets’ otherworldly social strata.

Momma gave Corina a conspiratorial wink and wrinkled her nose in a way I knew she thought was cute.

My face broiled until its redness was undoubtedly clashing horribly with the color of my dress.

One thing I’d noticed being around truly wealthy people was they never spoke of their wealth. They had nothing to prove. Only pitiful wannabees like Momma tried to impress others with their claims of grandeur.

And people were rarely fooled.

I felt like I was in a rapidly sinking rowboat. Far from shore. I grabbed for a bailing bucket.

“I’d love for you to meet my father,” I said to the Overstreets. “Why don’t I go find him? Momma, come with me. We’ll look for him together.” I tugged at her arm.

She laughed. “Oh, he’ll wander in here sooner or later. I want to meet thatMr. Thompson.”

She lowered her voice and leaned in.

“You know, I could have married a media mogul like him. I was courted by many very wealthy and important men. But I married for love,” she said in her isn’t-that-quaint tone and followed it up with a girlish giggle.

Momma squeezed Larson’s arm and grinned up at him, clearly believing she’d charmed him and his parents and firmly entrenched herself as one of their peers.

The truth couldn’t have been more opposite.

Larson’s face had gone stiff, and its color was rapidly deepening.

His mother coughed uncomfortably. She was clearly embarrassed for my mom, for me, for all of us.

Mr. Overstreet just stared at Momma’s happy-drunk face as if she were some sort of rodent who’d dug under his fence and drowned in his luxury pool.

For a moment, I was paralyzed by the utter horror of it all. But then I lurched into action, turning to Larson’s parents.

“I think Iwillgo find my father. So nice to have met you both. If I don’t see you again tonight,” (orever) “have a safe trip home.”

They nodded and murmured goodbye, already stepping away from Momma.

Larson dropped my hand as Mrs. Overstreet took his arm and drew him toward the opposite side of the room. His face was pale, his expression blank.

“Yes, we must go and speak to the Turners. There they are now—” Corina was saying.

I spun around and headed toward the exit, trying not to cry and searching desperately for the right words to say when I eventually had a moment alone with Larson.

What must he be thinking right now?

Momma had made me sound exactly like the kind of girl who’d used and hurt him in the past, and it wasn’t too far from the truth.

The echo of my heels bounced off the walls of the empty lobby as I crossed it toward the bar. Even if Daddy wasn’t in there, I might stay for a while, hiding.

And searching for the perfect cocktail to drown my humiliation.

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