Read The Supermodel's Best Friend (A Romantic Comedy) for Free Online Page B

lush and pouty, her skin a delicate porcelain.
    The transformation always amazed Lucy. The
supermodel of today had never been popular or pretty like some of
the other girls while they were in grade school. Fawn was awkward
and kind of funny-looking, like Lucy, until that day in seventh
grade she’d come to school with some contraband makeup she’d scored
from a cousin. Something about her face, with a forehead as big as
a man’s hand and the wide mouth, made her look like a magazine
model as soon as she put makeup on it. Which is where she ended up
within a few years.
    “I don’t suppose you have an extra brush in
there,” Lucy said. “Mine is packed in the suitcase.”
    “Sure, here.” Fawn flipped open a travel
brush that looked like sterling silver. It was engraved—with the
initials Fawn would have next week if she changed her name—and had
little crystals around the rim.
    Lucy peered more closely. Not crystals. Holy Moses.
    Afraid to touch it, Lucy ignored the treasure
Fawn was waving at her and ran her fingers through her short hair,
tugged out the tangles. “Never mind, this is fine.” Nobody would
see her and it was dark. She had plenty of time to doll up for her
potential marriage partner tomorrow.
    Fawn was smiling at her. “Your hair always
looks great. I’m so jealous.”
    She would have snorted at anyone else, but
she knew Fawn meant it. “Thank you,” Lucy said. “For what it’s
worth, I’m grateful to be beautiful with so little effort.”
    The car slowed to a stop in the middle of a
dark clearing; the driver got out and opened Fawn’s door. Lucy got
out by on the other side by herself and sucked in the fresh,
conifer-scented air, happy for the solid gravel under her feet.
They were in a parking lot with no buildings in sight, just
trees.
    “We have to take an electric golf cart to the
spa from here,” Fawn said, grabbing her arm. “Isn’t that cool? It’s
like going into another world!”
    “Or a country club.”
    “It keeps it pristine. Prehistoric. Totally
eco. Back to earth.”
    Lucy sighed, knowing the cheapest rate at the
earthy prehistoric spa was over nine hundred dollars a night. She
couldn’t imagine what the exclusive use of the complete resort cost
for a billionaire’s wedding party for a whole week.
    A trio of four-seater golf carts appeared out
of the darkness, their electric motors quietly humming, and three
men in white uniforms got out and helped the driver move their
luggage. The young men were solemn and polite and said little other
than “hello” and “over there.” They were more like ushers at a
funeral than waitstaff at a wedding. Lucy caught one of the guy’s
eyes, the oldest one with black plugs in his ear lobes and a
Groucho Marx mustache.
    “How do you drive around in the dark without
hitting anything?” she asked as she climbed into his cart.
“Sonar?”
    He flashed her a grin, his mustache unfurling
like a fan. “Hold on tight.”
    They thanked everyone and went off into the
quiet night, Fawn and Lucy in the back of Groucho’s cart, their
luggage—and the driver—coming on the other two carts.
    Lucy bent around and watched the third cart
pull behind them. “Why is the limo driver coming?”
    Fawn shrugged. “Making sure we get there
okay?”
    “Maybe somebody has to sign for you. I bet he
has one of those electronic clipboards, like a UPS guy.”
    Fawn didn’t laugh. “Yeah, probably.”
    The cart bounced over a rut in the dirt road,
covering up Lucy’s pained groan to think her friend was marrying
somebody who would put a tracking number on her, have her in the
grasp of his minions at all times.
    But she had to admit he had great taste in
vacation spots. In spite of the cold and the fog and her limited
nighttime view, the Soul of Muir Resort was clearly paradise.
Already Lucy was thinking it might be worth a month’s salary to
come back again. She’d scoffed at the golf carts, but having them
slide through the trees so quietly drew