game-changer. The only problem was that she felt nauseous just thinking about staying and mingling. Oh, she could always rely on Margie, who would shit a glittery brick of excitement at the prospect of staying for the party. Yet, it would take about two-seconds flat for Margie to be all wrapped up in a man or two.
Then Chantal would be left alone in a sea of sharks with nothing to bring to the conversation.
“I don’t have a dress,” she said sheepishly.
Gwen shook her head and pointed to the garment bags. “You have dresses in there.”
“Right, but I brought them up as a backup for you. We’re hardly the same size.”
Before Chantal could stop her, Gwen marched over to the bag and zipped it open. She took out the violet gown. “This looks like it could fit you.” She handed her the dress. “Put it on.”
“I couldn’t possibly. It won’t fit.”
“Suit yourself,” Gwen said with a shrug. “Go back to your sad little plan for tonight. Just know that You’re doing it to yourself. My expectations for tonight might seem foolish to you, but at least I have some. I’ve got hope, a pretty dress, and a bottle of champagne. You have a TV binge, takeout, and an empty apartment. The difference between you and me? It’s called hope.”
It was a hell of a lot more than that.
Gwen had family money, a great figure, and shiny red hair.
“Come on, designer chick. You just gave me hope, so have a little for yourself. It won’t hurt.” Gwen handed her one of the champagne flutes.
Without thinking, and probably just to shut Gwen up, Chantal downed the bubbly booze.
“Welcome to the party,” Gwen said before downing her own drink. “Now, let’s get you into a dress.”
Chapter Six
Chantal
There had to be something seriously wrong with her.
Why did Chantal let people walk all over her? There was Margie, who always got Chantal to do what she wanted. Apparently, that wasn’t enough because Chantal was draped in a violet gown with a black lace mask hiding a small portion of her face.
What had possessed her to actually get into the gown? Why had she strapped the mask to her face? Why did she drink the second glass of champagne?
All because Gwen Marsdale had convinced her that it would be a great idea, that Chantal deserved to party it up after not only creating a fabulous dress but also rushing to calm Gwen down. It had been impossible to argue with Gwen, much like it was difficult to argue with Margie. What was it about these model types? Did they just go around being heard and listened to by everyone?
Now Chantal was roaming the halls of the Winslow Hotel, looking for the exit, even though she had an invitation to the masquerade in her hand. After turning down one hallway, she spotted Margie. Her best friend was leaning against one of the pillars in the entrance, with not one but two men fawning over her. Each was as tall and as handsome as the other. Margie was basking in their attention, and Chantal had no doubt that Margie would have an invite to the masquerade in but a few short minutes.
But there was no way they were staying.
It was one thing to put on a dress and mask, but it was an entirely different thing to actually stay for the party. Chantal knew she didn’t belong there. Margie sure did, but they had come together, and they would leave together just like the best friend code indicated.
“Margie,” Chantal said softly, trying to cut through the sexual tension clinging to her friend and her pair of suitors.
Margie looked up, blinked a few times, frowned, and then finally, recognition dawned in her eyes. “Holy shit. Chantal?” Her gasp was comical. “You look — you look so hot! What the hell happened? You go into the Winslow Hotel and come out looking like a million bucks.”
“Gwen insisted I stay for the party.” Her hiccup totally gave her away.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” she hiccupped again. She might as well have held up a sign that publicly declared she was slightly tipsy. “I had a couple of glasses of champagne with Gwen. It’s not a big deal.”
“Well, sure. Because you know how to hold your booze.” Margie’s smile was wide. She held up a finger to the two men and dragged Chantal to the next pillar for a bit of privacy. “This is actually perfect.” Her eyes cut toward the hunks, who were devouring