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things
take forever.”
    “Who are you using?” Lulu demands. “I’m
looking for someone to do my house upstate.”
    “This Scottish guy,” I say, pulling the
first thing that comes to mind. “He’s big in Europe. A very…
precise, bold style.”
    The girls look impressed. “You’re always
ahead of the curve,” Olivia says enviously.
    I smile. Little do they know. I try to
picture Cam as an interior designer, picking out fabric swatches.
It’s all wrong. His brawny physique and charisma are out of place
enough in the business world, but I can’t imagine him dealing with
women like Lulu all day. He’d probably put her over his knee and
spank her.
    Mmmm .
    “Are we ready to get started?” Lulu
interrupts my vision. “I have a mani-pedi at two.”
    We assemble in the sun room, a pretty space
decorated in soft, feminine silks. Nicole and Jessa are already
there, with a couple of other women I know from the social scene:
thin and glossy-haired, wearing immaculate designer outfits. Olivia
pours the tea and passes tiny plates of finger sandwiches and cake.
Sure enough, the other women compliment the pretty spread, but
barely touch their food.
    “So, the event is next week,” I begin,
pulling out my day planner. “The casino theme seems to be a hit,
and I already talked to a few journalists about covering the night.
Vogue is coming.”
    There’s a chorus of ‘oohs.’
    “Olivia, you’ll handle promotions and ticket
sales. Nicole, you’re in charge of decorating the venue and Lulu,
you’re handling the catering, right?”
    Lulu gives a smug grin. “My boyfriend’s
restaurant is going to supply food and servers.”
    “Maybe I better add catering to my list,”
Nicole chirps brightly. “God knows, Lulu can’t hold onto a man!
He’ll probably have dumped her by then. ”
    The others laugh, and Lulu fakes a
smile.
    “Darling, I’m this close to a ring. I saw a
Tiffany’s brochure on his desk the other day. I already put a hold
on the Plaza.”
    There’s an explosion of chatter about
wedding dates and design themes. I catch Olivia’s eye across the
room. We share an amused look. Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m
part of this clique. Growing up, I never would have wanted to hang
out with these people, much less call them my friends. We come from
different worlds—but they’ll never know.
    I clear my throat. “We’re so close to being
done. Nicole, decorations?”
    She rolls her eyes. “Relax, Iz, I’m using my
designer, and the event space is all set. I don’t know why you’re
taking this so seriously,” she adds. “It’s supposed to be fun!”
    For them, maybe. Everyone else in the room
is treating the fundraiser like an excuse to gossip, but it has a
deeper meaning for me. We’re raising money for a charity that
supports foster children—just like the girl I used to be.
    Not everyone has an Ashcroft to whisk them
off to a life of luxury. For millions of kids, the reality is harsh
and bleak. I want to help them, however I can.
    But I also know I need to maintain my cover.
If any of these women knew my real motivation, they would lord it
over me somehow.
    “I know babe,” I give an easy smile. “But I
heard Jacinta talking the other day, and she swore her
Gatsby-themed party was the best of the year. How about we prove
her wrong?”
    Everyone hates Jacinta, who swears she’s
related to British royalty, so the mention of her is enough to get
them back on track. Soon the meeting is over, and we’re all saying
our goodbyes.
    “Thanks again for hosting,” I tell Olivia on
my way out. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
    “No problem.” Olivia glances around.
Nobody’s within earshot. “Are you sure everything’s OK?”
    “Yes. Why do you ask?” I snap.
    She blinks. “No reason.”
    I feel guilty. Olivia is the nicest girl of
the group. She’s always tried to be a true friend, inviting me out
for lunch, and confiding in me about her life. But her problems are
whether her