succeeded. I wanted to get out of there—
there
being the pool, Palm Beach, and Florida in general—as fast as humanly possible, with as much dignity intact as possible. I hoisted my naked self up the rungs of the ladder. The cool night air on my wet skin turned on my anatomical headlights, so to speak.
“Oooh-la-la!” Sage squealed. “Frizzy’s face isn’t all that blushes!”
“And the hair on her head isn’t all that frizzes!” Rose added.
I glanced downward and saw a red rash of embarrassment spreading upward. Bitches.
I wanted nothing more than to grab my clothes and run—all the way back to New York, if necessary. But I wasn’t about to give these assholes the satisfaction. Charma had told me once about an acting exercise in which you try to embody a person you know in order to act out a character. Charma had embodied her ex to play the part of a completely flaming but very closeted gay guy (don’t ask). I knew who I needed to be.
You don’t look like you
.
You look like Lily
. I slapped on a casual smile and stepped up to the guy who was taking his beer belly for a walk.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m the twins’ tutor, Megan.” I offered my hand. “You’re . . . ?”
“Pembroke Hutchison.” His gaze traveled back to my breasts, but he managed a sweaty-palmed handshake.
“Here.” The baby-blue-shirt, front-row-seat guy held out a towel. He was looking away from me, probably stifling his own giggles.
“Thank you,” I said, wrapping it above my chest sarong-style. “I’m Megan.”
“Will,” he told me, looking up. “Phillips.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Asshole
, I added silently. Incredibly hot asshole—his almost navy eyes were framed with thick strawberry-blond lashes—but asshole nonetheless.
I introduced myself to the rest of the crowd. The tiny blonde was Precious Baldridge. The athletic girl with the straight raven hair tied back in a ponytail was Dionne-not-Dianne Cresswell. The brunette with obvious implants was Suzanne de Grouchy. In addition to Pembroke and Will, there was a short guy with a soul patch—Ari Goldstein.
“Well, nice to meet all of you,” I declared. “I hope you enjoyed the entertainment portion of our evening.”
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” Pembroke finished his beer and fired the empty can at a pink metal bin but missed. The can rolled into the pool. He didn’t bother to retrieve it.
I arched a brow. “If that’s what you saw, I’d lay off the Stella.”
Will let out a loud
ha
from behind a chaise. “Good one,” he murmured.
Um, thanks.
“Yeah,
hilarious
,” Sage spat, her eyes narrowing.
“Look, Sage,” I said. “I get it. It was a practical joke. I’m still good if you are.”
Sage did her patented head-shake thing. “You’re not even close to good, Frizzy.”
“Oh, this shit is rich,” Pembroke crowed, putting up his fists in an exaggerated boxer’s stance. “Catfight!”
“Shut up,” Rose told him.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he mock-groaned. He held out his arms, edging backward toward the pool. “Come to Papa.”
Everyone laughed again. Abruptly, Rose gave him a two-handed push. He fell awkwardly into the pool with a massive splash.
“Thar she blows!” Ari bellowed as Pembroke came up sputtering.
I’d had more than enough and gathered up my clothes. “Enjoy your party, guys. Sage, Rose, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I pivoted to depart, but Sage’s voice stopped me. “Hold it, Frizzy.”
The smooth walkway pebbles felt cold on my feet. “Face it, Sage. You wanted to humiliate me. You failed. Good night.”
The twins’ friends oohed like a sitcom sound track.
“You
still
don’t get it,” Sage sneered. “We’ve got a really big agent, Zenith Himmelfarb. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”
“And I would care because?”
“Because we’re going to be stars,” Rose explained.
Sage smiled smugly. “Everyone in the business has seen
Vanity Fair
, and Zenith
there
being the pool, Palm Beach, and Florida in general—as fast as humanly possible, with as much dignity intact as possible. I hoisted my naked self up the rungs of the ladder. The cool night air on my wet skin turned on my anatomical headlights, so to speak.
“Oooh-la-la!” Sage squealed. “Frizzy’s face isn’t all that blushes!”
“And the hair on her head isn’t all that frizzes!” Rose added.
I glanced downward and saw a red rash of embarrassment spreading upward. Bitches.
I wanted nothing more than to grab my clothes and run—all the way back to New York, if necessary. But I wasn’t about to give these assholes the satisfaction. Charma had told me once about an acting exercise in which you try to embody a person you know in order to act out a character. Charma had embodied her ex to play the part of a completely flaming but very closeted gay guy (don’t ask). I knew who I needed to be.
You don’t look like you
.
You look like Lily
. I slapped on a casual smile and stepped up to the guy who was taking his beer belly for a walk.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m the twins’ tutor, Megan.” I offered my hand. “You’re . . . ?”
“Pembroke Hutchison.” His gaze traveled back to my breasts, but he managed a sweaty-palmed handshake.
“Here.” The baby-blue-shirt, front-row-seat guy held out a towel. He was looking away from me, probably stifling his own giggles.
“Thank you,” I said, wrapping it above my chest sarong-style. “I’m Megan.”
“Will,” he told me, looking up. “Phillips.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Asshole
, I added silently. Incredibly hot asshole—his almost navy eyes were framed with thick strawberry-blond lashes—but asshole nonetheless.
I introduced myself to the rest of the crowd. The tiny blonde was Precious Baldridge. The athletic girl with the straight raven hair tied back in a ponytail was Dionne-not-Dianne Cresswell. The brunette with obvious implants was Suzanne de Grouchy. In addition to Pembroke and Will, there was a short guy with a soul patch—Ari Goldstein.
“Well, nice to meet all of you,” I declared. “I hope you enjoyed the entertainment portion of our evening.”
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.” Pembroke finished his beer and fired the empty can at a pink metal bin but missed. The can rolled into the pool. He didn’t bother to retrieve it.
I arched a brow. “If that’s what you saw, I’d lay off the Stella.”
Will let out a loud
ha
from behind a chaise. “Good one,” he murmured.
Um, thanks.
“Yeah,
hilarious
,” Sage spat, her eyes narrowing.
“Look, Sage,” I said. “I get it. It was a practical joke. I’m still good if you are.”
Sage did her patented head-shake thing. “You’re not even close to good, Frizzy.”
“Oh, this shit is rich,” Pembroke crowed, putting up his fists in an exaggerated boxer’s stance. “Catfight!”
“Shut up,” Rose told him.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he mock-groaned. He held out his arms, edging backward toward the pool. “Come to Papa.”
Everyone laughed again. Abruptly, Rose gave him a two-handed push. He fell awkwardly into the pool with a massive splash.
“Thar she blows!” Ari bellowed as Pembroke came up sputtering.
I’d had more than enough and gathered up my clothes. “Enjoy your party, guys. Sage, Rose, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I pivoted to depart, but Sage’s voice stopped me. “Hold it, Frizzy.”
The smooth walkway pebbles felt cold on my feet. “Face it, Sage. You wanted to humiliate me. You failed. Good night.”
The twins’ friends oohed like a sitcom sound track.
“You
still
don’t get it,” Sage sneered. “We’ve got a really big agent, Zenith Himmelfarb. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”
“And I would care because?”
“Because we’re going to be stars,” Rose explained.
Sage smiled smugly. “Everyone in the business has seen
Vanity Fair
, and Zenith
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