Girls Who Travel (12 page)

23

T
HE
PARTY
WAS
at this glamorous place called the Wolseley in Green Park. Gwendy and I craned our heads to check out the soaring ceiling veiled in fairy lights and tinsel, making it look wintry and festive. Men with unflinching faces, like those of the Buckingham Palace guards, wielded gleaming silver trays of bubbling champagne.

When the string quartet picked up their bows, Gwen swirled her hips. “Come on, Kika, shake your moneymaker like the rent is due!”

But Elsbeth had warned me “to keep the Kika to a minimum tonight.”

“I don't think we can dance here,” I told Gwendy as I admired the clusters of ladies in serenely graceful floor-length gowns and the men in freshly pressed suits.

“But why not?” she whined, already bored.

“Because our dance moves are so much cooler than everyone else's, we're going to make them jealous for having all the fun. These people are far too sensitive,” I said with some truth to it.

Gwen nodded soberly. “I understand, Kika. I
am
a fabulous dancer, after all.”

“Let's get you a Shirley Temple.”

Mina stayed close to Elsbeth's side, and Mr. Darling worked the crowd of strangers while cradling a Cuban in his mouth like a cartoon villain.

On the way to the bar, out of the corner of my eye I spied someone I knew. I did a double take. But, no, it couldn't be
him
.

Actually,
it could be him
. Mr. Darling was working for the Richmond Group in London, so it very well could be him. It was Richie Rich! More commonly known as Ronald Richmond, as in the Ronald Richmond who passed on my résumé to VoyageCorp, the company I had been fired from.

I ducked behind a granite pillar, and Gwen followed me without having to be told to, clever, intrigue-loving girl that she was.

“Who are we hiding from?” she stage-whispered while flipping her eyes from side to side like a spy.

“The enemy.” For right next to Richie Rich stood none other than Miss Bae Yoon, aka the Bitch Who Cost Me My Last Job.

24

I
CURSED
MYSELF
for not telling Elsbeth that I had been fired from VoyageCorp. Then I remembered I had made it worse and smacked my head with my palm; I'd had the sex toys delivered to Bae's office after I was fired. After that little stunt, Bae would never miss the opportunity to retaliate by blabbing the details of my firing to the Darlings. If she said anything about me losing my job because I showed up at the office with sex toys, I was
done
. Elsbeth would fire me on the spot at the mere waft of scandal. You can't talk yourself out of something like that.

Gwen started getting restless, and gluing myself flat against the pillar was making the people around me uncomfortable.

“Can I have my Shirley Temple now?” she moaned.

“Yes. Yes, you can.” I clasped her hand in mine, and we stalked across the room in a half crouch.

Why didn't I let Elsbeth straighten my hair and cake me
with makeup? The dull black dress, although a good start, was not enough of a disguise.

“Look!” Gwen indicated across the room directly where Richie Rich and the vile Bae Yoon were looming. (I decided that she needed an epithet and “the vile Bae Yoon” just had the perfect menacing ring to it.)

“What is it, Gwen?” I questioned.

“It's Aston.”

I craned my head through the crowd.
It
is
Aston.

Rich people really did live in a small world after all. Questions floated into my head like comic strip thought bubbles:
Why is he at this party? And why in God's name is he talking to none other than the vile Bae Yoon, whose hand—no, it couldn't be—is resting on his shoulder. Why is Bae touching him?

The vile Bae Yoon lobbed her head back in laughter, as if Aston had just said the funniest thing in the whole world, which, to be honest, was highly unlikely. The boy did not have a sense of humor.

“What the hell is she doing?” I swung behind the next granite pillar, and Gwen followed suit.

“Whooooo?”

“The vile Bae Yoon,” I said distractedly.
Could Bae's dress be any shorter? I could almost see her—

“Is she your archnemesis?” Gwen asked, saucer eyed.

I blurted out a laugh. “Yes, actually. She tried to sabotage me.”

“Which one is she?”

The one who's dressed with her bits hanging out
, I wanted to say.

“The girl Aston's talking to.”

“Is she his girlfriend?”

“Ew, don't be disgusting.” I felt my fingers compress into fists. “I mean, no, she's not. But they do look like they know each other, don't they?”

I was a bit shocked by my outburst, but I chalked it up to nerves. I was obviously stressed.
But why
is
Bae all over him like that?

I thought it out: She usually only came on to moguls, but perhaps Oxford brats were her type, too. Surely Aston was some trust fund baby. He looked at home among the glitterati. Of course he'd be talking to ego-stroking and eyelash-fluttering Bae Yoon.

“Come on, let's go to the bar. You can be my spy.” I plopped Gwen atop a too-tall barstool and took a seat next to her, finger-brushing my hair onto my face so I looked less recognizable—and more like a bush child.

“Good evening, madam. May I—”

I cut him off. “Two Shirley Temples!” I positioned myself away from Aston and Bae.
What could they possibly be talking about?

“Make mine a double,” insisted Gwen, and the bartender nodded gamely.

The bar was backlit and glowed like a cathedral window. I swiveled Gwen's barstool toward Aston and Bae. “Ok, my little secret agent. Tell me what they're doing. I can't stare at them. They may recognize me.”

Gwen waggled her head, taking the task very seriously.

“Aston just put his hand in his pocket,” she said excitedly. “And now—what's her name again?”

“The vile Bae Yoon.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's just her name. It's a mean name, actually. Just call her Bae.” I felt slightly remorseful about being a bad influence on Gwendy. “What's Bae doing now?”

“Um, she's just talking. A lot. And laughing.”

“How about Aston?” My head was down, and I dug through my clutch (Elsbeth's) as if it were an unexplored archaeological site.

When Gwen didn't answer me, I looked up just in time to see her lift a martini glass in both hands and bring the pink liquid (a cosmo?) to her lips.

“No!” I moved to snatch it away. “Don't drink that!” My hand clipped the martini stem, and the pink drink splashed right into my face.

“Oh, balls!” yelped Gwen, which I have to admit was a little better than, “Oh, shit!” which was what I barked.

I ducked under the bar and pulled Gwen off the stool. The whole party seemed to be looking at us. My dress was drenched in—I licked my lips—yup, definitely a cosmo.
People still drink those?

I crouched with my finger on my lips. Gwen and I swapped severe, horror-filled glances.

“Sorry, Kika,” she said.

I swatted the apology away and pretended to be tying my shoe . . . except I was wearing high heels. So I pretended to be tying my high heels.
Good one, Kika. Very believable.

Luckily, Gwen was unscathed, and I was wearing black, so the stains weren't immediately visible on me—but I was soaking wet.

“That wasn't my Shirley Temple, was it?” Gwen asked sheepishly.

“No, baby. It wasn't,” I confirmed. “It's okay, though. We're going to make a run for it—to the bathroom.”

Gwen's eyes sparkled.

“Not really a run, just a very fast walk. But look normal, okay?” I was talking to both her and myself.

We emerged from under the lip of the bar and began power walking across the room. I saw Mina and mouthed for her to take Gwen. Without missing a beat, she was by my side ushering Gwen away. An undercurrent of being hunted loomed. I walked toward the bathroom corridor as fast as I could. Then, like a shot ringing out from across the room, I heard it: that unmistakable, tetchy voice calling me out like the damn tattletale she always was. “Kika? Kika Shores?”

The vile Bae Yoon had found me.

25

M
OMENTS
AFTER
I
reached the safety of the bathroom, the door pitched open with a gust. Posted in the doorway was Bae Yoon with her hands on her hips looking like Kim Jong-un in Louboutins.

I willed myself not to speak first. Instead, I blotted the drink from my dress. I felt glaringly unglamorous and not at all impossibly aloof, which was the look I was going for.

“So it is you,” said Bae.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her in monotone, studying the Australia-shaped stain on my bodice.

“I could ask
you
the same question. I'm here on
business
,” she said with an intonation of pride, the subtext being: “because I'm sooo important.”

“It is, after all, a party hosted by the Richmond Group. Remember them?”

“I guess it was too much to ask to never see you again,” I remarked dryly. I pushed by Bae and moved out of the bathroom. But then, thinking better of it, I stopped short just outside the ladies' room door. Leaving the secluded bathroom corridor was a bad idea; I didn't want to expose Bae to more ears.

I made a move to go back into the ladies' room, but Bae was one step ahead of me and blocked my way.

“Oh, I see,” crooned Bae. “You're working, aren't you? You're the girl who hands out the towels in the bathroom.”

I frowned at her. “Bae, you cost me my job.” I finally looked in her eyes, black and bitter as espresso.

Bae intersected her twiggy arms. “You cost
yourself
that job. And you know it.”

I stayed quiet and hateful. I silently begged her just to
go away
. But because of my lack of protest, Bae knew she had me.

She continued, a shark who had scented blood: “I'm on to you, Kika Shores. I saw the way you treated that job; the way you treated everyone else's time like it was less important than yours; the way you ran around major corporate headquarters in your cheap granola outfits, flaking out on meetings, taking
nothing
seriously. I just made sure you got what you deserved. And you did
not
deserve that job.”

She held up her hand to block my way. “Basic bitches like you don't
get
to be in my world.”

I was both seething and charred by her words, but deep down I knew
she was right
. I
had
been an awful employee. She was right about it all: I'd called out sick just so I could go to Florida with my mom for a yoga conference; I'd leave early even though I knew others would have to pick up the slack for
me; I'd spend weekends away only to show up Monday morning straight off a red-eye and completely useless with exhaustion. I had nothing to say.

“I went to Wharton, you know. I
sweat
high-level excellence,” she spat. “To think you even
applied
for my job!”

The horrible visual of Bae sweating excellence interrupted my personal shame spiral and made me crumple up my mouth.
Does she not hear what comes out of her mouth?
I bit my lip white. She may have been right about who I was in my past job, but I was changing—wasn't I?
I deposited my first check instead of spending it!
This private act, though meager and long overdue, made me stand a little straighter.

Even though she was right about me in the past, she still had no right to treat me so poorly. Not here and not now—when I was trying. Suddenly, I snapped.

“Oh, enough criticism, Bae. You may have your MBA, but everyone knows that all you want is an MRS. Looks like I'm not the only one who's unprofessional.” I savagely baited her.

She sputtered for a moment like a car trying to start. “I mean, where did you even go to school?” she spat. “What did you even major in? Recreational Studies? You may as well have majored in ‘fun.'”

She regained her stride, all viperlike and furious: “Listen to me. I don't know how you got into this party”—she leaned into me, her finger daggering my face—“but mark my words, Kika Shores, I
will
find out why you're here and I
will
destroy—”

“There you are!” A booming bass voice reverberated through the bathroom corridor, cutting Bae off mid-threat. We both swerved our heads toward the full-throated call.

Oh shit, it's Aston.
My face blushed hotly when I thought about how much he had overheard before announcing himself.
Please don't let him have heard Bae telling me off
, I begged to whichever deity would listen.

“I've been scouring the whole room for you.” Aston hushed us with his authoritative voice and paraded down the corridor toward Bae.

“And may I say, aren't you a vision?” he said when he got close enough.

Bae visibly melted and let out an inhuman giggle that sounded more like she was gargling on the blood of virgins. I made the slightest of gag faces, which Aston may have seen.

“Oh, Aston,” Bae said in an infantile voice, “I was just—”

But to both our surprise, Aston walked right past Bae and slid against me. He put his hand familiarly on the small of my back, and I couldn't help but react.

I immediately changed my posture and bolted upright, rod stiff at his touch. My mind felt like it was free-falling.
Aston's hand is on the small of my back.
I had the urge to make a squeaking sound.

“There you are, my . . . poodle,” he cooed, looking sweetly into my eyes.

I opened my mouth in protest, but with a shiny smile, he bopped me on the ball of my nose in a gesture that I couldn't believe was done in earnest.

Poodle? Did he just call me poodle?

I didn't know who was more surprised—Bae or me. His hand rested confidently on the bend of my waist, right on that feminine part where it tapered in like a vase. He was acting
like we had known each other forever, like we were, I don't know,
intimately acquainted
or something.

I took a quick survey of Bae's reaction: She was purple with anger and perplexity. Seeing her like that made me smile—first at her and then up at Aston. He was quite tall, I realized, now that he was this close to me.

I mentally unruffled myself and tried to play along. “So, um, you've, um, found me . . .” I said to Aston.

Bae looked scandalized. Aston looked encouraging. “You've found me, my . . . English muffin.” I almost ruptured in laughter, but Aston radiated like he was a damn Kennedy. I wanted to hug him. I actually wanted to hug him.

For a second, I let myself just enjoy being
beamed
at by him, and, I don't know, I actually fell for it myself for a moment and felt—special.

“Aston!” Bae yapped, snapping me out of the trippy trance. She coughed to compose herself. She knew she was coming off too strong and visibly tried to reel herself in. “
Asssss
ton,” she stressed with babyish aggravation in her voice. “What? How?” She playfully rolled her lips into a pout. “So, how do you, um, know Kika Shores?”

I pushed my breath through my nostrils and hoped he wouldn't mention anything about me working for the Darlings. Bae would make it her mission to get me fired. But then I felt the slightest of nips on my waist.
Play along
, it told me.

Bae waited anxiously, not speaking, but blinking her eyes very fast as Aston torturously took his time answering.

He brushed his hand along the small of my back warmly and looked at me a moment too long, smiling that daze-inducing
smile. I grinned back, trying to keep the confusion contained to my pupils only.
What are you doing?
I silently asked him.

Trust me
, his gaze insisted back.

Strangely, I did.

“Kika is my date tonight, of course. Lovely, isn't she? We're quite old friends,” he said with gentlemanly ease. “Isn't that right, poodle?”

This kid was a pro. I shined at Bae and said nothing.

“Oh,” she said smiling back—albeit excruciatingly awkwardly. “I thought she was working here—”

Aston cut her off with a pompous laugh. She automatically stopped talking, sensing she was on the outside of some sort of inside joke.

“Right. Not like anyone dating you would be working here. I was just—” Bae cringed at herself as if she just realized how dumb that sounded.

“You're the only one working tonight, Miss Yoon,” said Aston. “In fact, even Ronald Richmond was about to do a shot. Even he's taking the night off.”

I chuckled at the image of Richie Rich doing shots, and Aston laughed along with me. Weren't we just the perfect magazine couple? All white teeth and dumbass nicknames.

Bae shriveled from us sheepishly. “All right, I better get to it, then. Great to see you again, Kika.”

I seized her arm, her skin waxy and reptilian. I stopped myself from recoiling and put on an innocent guise. “But wait, Bae, wasn't there something else—”

“Nooo,” she said lightning fast, drawing out the last letter. “I didn't know you were here with—” She stopped herself from saying anything else stupid.

“That was all,” she chirped, her voice clipped. “I do need to attend to Mr. Richmond. If you'll both excuse me.”

She wobbled down the carpeted corridor as fast as she could. Teetering on her skyscraper heels, she didn't look back. And it was a good thing she didn't, because she would have been stunned to see what we did next.