The Event
Tonight, she’s awash in sequins, standing sentry at the rooftop entrance in glittering Alessandra Rich. Smoky eye, braided updo, burnt sienna gloss—she shimmers in quiet harmony with the city behind her, and beyond that, the golden scatter of lights in the Hollywood Hills.
Boots stops a passing server, plucks a garnish off one of the glasses, adjusts it. “Sloppy,” she murmurs, then waves him on, just as the elevator doors glide open.
Daphne emerges, a blast of color in floral Dolce & Gabbana, gold hoops swaying with each toss of her platinum hair. The too-sweet jasmine of her Rabanne perfume lingers as Leah trails behind in Balmain leather and a Rick Owens bustier.
Boots gives a slight nod as they pass, nothing more, just her approval as Leah follows Daphne through the entrance and into the crowd.
She checks both names off her internal guest list. Good. Even if they were wasted, at least they didn’t look it.
She scans the bar in the distance: two staffers behind instead of three. She taps her earpiece. “We’re short at the north bar,” she says, then turns back just as another group steps out of the elevator—a tech founder, a director’s wife, two influencers she doesn’t particularly care for but needs to tolerate. All accounted for.
Then Wendy. And Shane.
WTF? She wasn’t expecting them. Not together, at least. Last she’d heard from Shane, Wendy had trashed his place—ripped the wallpaper off the wall, stormed out screaming. But he hadn’t said a word about taking her back. And Wendy? They hadn’t spoken since that day Boots checked her in the courtyard. Inviting her tonight had felt like the right kind of neighborly peace offering. She didn’t think she’d actually show her face, not after that Ankler hit piece.
But here she was. With Shane. In high-waisted trousers, a crisp Celine blouse, makeup minimal, jewelry restrained, clinging to him as if nothing had happened.
Boots shoots Shane a look. Seriously?
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, all charm, kissing her cheeks.
She offers both in return, coolly, while her gaze cuts past him, eyeing two of the PR girls dealing with it—whatever it is—just making sure they don’t screw it up. She watches it resolve with a smile and a pivot. Fine. Handled. Everything under control.
Boots turns back to Wendy. “I’m glad you came,” she says, civil but not smiling.
“Looks like a nice event,” Wendy says, polite on the surface, though her attention is already elsewhere.
“Go. Have fun,” Boots says, almost dismissive. “Make sure Daphne and Leah don’t trash the place.”
“Leah?” Wendy snaps. “Why the hell is she here?”
“Must be Daphne’s plus one,” Boots answers, not interested in the least. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t need one. She taps her earpiece again, noting a lull near the DJ booth. “Boost crowd density by the bar,” she says, already walking.
Everything gleams. Crystal votives catch the light on every surface. Brushed brass accents glint from the corners. Along the perimeter, tall taper candles flicker in Weylyn candelabras, casting a soft glow across the blush-toned floral design, exactly the kind of fire hazard Boots was happy to approve, as long as it looked expensive.
Her gaze flicks as she threads through the crowd—Lili, subdued in one of her signature silk wraps. Beside her, Casey wearing a relaxed Calvin Klein suit, collar open, sleeves rolled. Boots doesn’t buy the “perfect couple” act. Even from across the rooftop, she sees it: the stiffness in Lili’s smile, the drift of Casey’s gaze.
Then it registers: Is he looking at Daphne?
Boots flashes Daphne a smile, sent with an air kiss, then pivots, already heading back toward the elevator to intercept a too-early VIP drop-off before it turns into a scene. There’s Leah again, chatting up some guy in black-frame, yellow-lens glasses. Boots vaguely recognizes him, some studio exec whom every woman hated. She passes close enough to catch the words out of Leah’s lips: “Leah Cross, I’m with NDA.”
Not far off, Wendy catches the interaction. Her grip tightens around her Edie Parker clutch. “She shouldn’t be here,” she mutters. “I fired her today.”
“Don’t make a scene,” Shane says, just as he turns—
“Hey, man,” Casey says, rolling up with Lili on his arm. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”
“Nice to see you, Wendy,” Lili adds, offering a faint smile.
“Hi, Lili,” Wendy replies coolly, before her gaze cuts back to Leah, who’s now posted up with Daphne. Wendy downs the rest of her drink. “Need another,” she says, holding Shane’s gaze a beat too long, just enough for the cracks to show. Then she brushes past the group and heads for the bar.
Across the room, Leah watches Wendy go. Her gaze shifts back to Shane, now free from Wendy, chatting with Casey and Lili, all easy charm and clueless energy. But it’s the way his eyes track Wendy as she walks away, like he’s a dog left tied to a post, that makes him oddly endearing. Leah’s still trying to figure them out. How is Shane even Wendy’s type? Hadn’t they broken up, anyway?
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Well, if not, it won’t be long. Not if I get my way. “C’mon,” Leah whispers, the bangles between her and Daphne jangling as she steers Daphne through the crowd—toward Shane, Lili, and Casey.
Lili sees them approach, zeroing in on Daphne. Ugh, not tonight. She’s coming straight for me. Looking for any excuse to disengage, she checks her phone, just as it buzzes in her palm.
It’s Park. He’s calling. She holds the breath without meaning to, then lets it out like nothing’s changed. She silences the call, unsure if she’s feeling anticipation or dread.
“Excuse me,” Lili says, already moving, slipping past Leah and Daphne without a glance.
“Where’d Lili run off to?” Daphne asks, turning to Casey.
“Leave me alone,” he says, already walking.
“What’s his deal?” Leah asks, not pressing, just curious.
“Fucked if I know.” Daphne watches Casey go, throws back her drink, then turns to Shane with a sugary smile. “Hi, Shane. Bye, Shane.”
“Bye-bye, Daphne,” he says, shaking his head, clearly over it as she saunters off toward the champagne.
Shane turns to Leah, offering a cautious smile. Even as it forms, he knows better—smiles are landmines with Wendy watching. “It’s… been a rough week, huh?”
“Rough doesn’t cover it,” Leah replies, her voice softening, too practiced to be pure. “But adversity builds character. Or so they say.”
He starts to speak, then recalibrates. “Maybe you and Wendy could still—”
“That bridge is ashes, Shane.” Leah steps closer. He catches the scent of her Good Girl Blush just as her fingers graze his sleeve. “But I can think of other fires worth starting.”
“What?” Shane pulls back, like she’s crossed some invisible line. “Leah, no. Don’t—”
The words die on Shane’s lips. He and Leah have never been like that. Not really. Barely more than neighborly acquaintances. And this? The sudden flirtation? Even he can see through it.
“Afraid Wendy might see?” Leah whispers, smile slick and knowing.
Across the rooftop, Wendy does see. She sees Leah’s hand drift lower. Sees her fingers close around Shane’s ass.
Did she just grope him? Did Shane just laugh?
For a second, even Shane doesn’t know where the sound comes from. It’s just a reflex, a startled yelp of disbelief. Fuck. He knows the second it’s out. I just made it worse.
“What’s wrong?” Leah says, feigning innocence. “Still scared of your girlfriend? I thought you two broke up, anyway.”
Then she looks up. Meets Wendy’s gaze across the rooftop.
Wendy swallows the rising fury. Do not respond. Do not engage. Do not give her the satisfaction. But it’s too late. The fuse is lit.
That vindictive, conniving bitch. Wendy doesn’t feel the glass slip from her fingers. Doesn’t care if it hits the floor and shatters. Let it.
Her heels carve through the crowd. Faces blur past, but she sees only two figures ahead, locked in her crosshairs. Leah. And Shane. And now she sees it—he is laughing.
Leah catches her first, just as Wendy breaks through the last layer of bodies. She holds her ground, lips curving with quiet delight as Wendy charges, as if daring—
Do it, Wendy. Come and get me.
Then, Shane turns. He sees what’s about to happen. But he doesn’t move. Can’t. Some part of him still thinks she won’t.
Somewhere, ice clinks in a glass. The music falters, as if on cue. Wendy hears her own breath. The steady inhale of her lungs filling in slow-motion—then the long, measured release. She doesn’t think. Doesn’t wait. The clutch in her hand feels weightless as, slowly, she raises it—then she swings. The lucite clutch cracks against Leah’s cheek, sending her spinning back. A scream tears out of her as she reels, hand flying to her face. The world tilts.
Wendy’s chest heaves. Shane stands frozen in horror. The crowd sucks in a long, collective breath. Leah’s fingers brush her cheek. Blood—on her skin, her fingertips. Her gaze lifts, meeting Wendy’s again. And then—
Leah laughs. Low and rough at first. Then louder. Until it rolls across the rooftop.
“Seriously?” she sneers through the pain. “Over Shane? How very… pedestrian. Almost as pedestrian as that purse.” She nods to the lucite clutch in Wendy’s hand, no longer a purse, but a weapon. “The last time those were relevant, Trump was president—the first time.”
Wendy’s lips curl, rage flickering in her eyes before it starts to burn. “Let’s compare voting records, sweetie. We’ll see who still has their dignity intact.” She looks Leah over again, the fire behind her eyes cooling to quiet contempt. “This isn’t about Shane. It’s about you thinking you could take me down.”
“Scared, Wendy?” Leah laughs like she’s already won. “Is that why you tried to fire me?”
“Tried? I fired your ass for good.” She inclines her head, a quiet challenge in the gesture. “You might wanna start coming to terms with that.”
“You’re just scared,” Leah says, with the lazy certainty of someone who’s always right. “Because I’m younger. Smarter. Better. And deep down? You know I am.”
For a second, Wendy is genuinely enchanted by Leah’s lack of self-awareness. “How adorable. Is that what Daddy told you, Leah? Or Uncle Rick? Hard to keep your nepotism network straight.”
She exhales, slow and theatrical, like Leah’s not worth the oxygen. “Either way, they lied to you. Just like you lie to yourself every day. The only reason we’re even breathing the same air is because your daddy pulled every last pathetic string to get you a seat at this table. You didn’t earn it. God knows you couldn’t.”
“You nasty little—” Leah spits, but the words crumble. Because now it’s Wendy’s turn to laugh.
“Careful,” she says, the laugh fading to a wicked calm. “You’re already a punchline.” Then, with a cruel flick of her gaze, Wendy lets her eyes drop—
“And by the way, Leah?” A grin twists across her face. “Your nipple’s out.”
Leah gasps, yanking up her bustier, too late, just as someone in the crowd bursts out laughing.
“We’re leaving,” Wendy says, breezy now, already done. Without waiting, she links her arm through Shane’s.
He hesitates. Just a beat. His eyes flick from Leah, completely humiliated, then back to Wendy.
“Today, Shane,” she snaps, then pulls him away.
By the time they reach the parking garage, Shane’s done biting his tongue. “What the hell was that, Wendy? Leah didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
Wendy stops cold, whirling on him. “Don’t lecture me, Shane. Not after everything.”
“Everything? You mean your paranoia? Your obsession with control?” He scoffs, bitterness bleeding through. “You think slapping Leah in front of a bunch of wannabe A-listers is some kind of power move? Like you need more bad press—”
“Damn you!” Wendy breathes in. Then again. Flips her waves back, voice cooling to ice. “Leah played her games. I played mine. Don’t act like you don’t know how it works. Or are you that naïve?”
Shane releases a short, dry laugh. He’s past the point of explaining. “Not naïve. Not anymore. I think I finally see you for who you are.”
“Leah wanted me to take the bait,” Wendy says, forcing the words through gritted teeth, rage barely restrained. “But maybe she forgot. And maybe you did too. I’m a shark, Shane. Not a fish. Guess you finally figured that out.”
“Right. A shark.” He shakes his head, laughing once, humorless. “Explains why you scare everyone off.”
He starts to leave, then throws a glance back. “You always take the bait. Goodnight, Wendy.”
She watches him go. Lets him go… until she doesn’t. “Coward!” she calls out, the sound ricocheting off the concrete.