After my sister graduated from the socialite training class
After graduating from that finishing school,
my sister vowed to marry rich.
To engineer a “meet–cute,” she took my new
car, planning to rear–end some Wall Street
hotshot, like, on purpose.
I slammed on the brakes just in time. “Those
guys aren’t idiots, Jenny,” I told her. “We
couldn’t afford to replace his ride if we
bankrupted ourselves!”
Later, this mega–wedding happened, the kind
that’s, like, all over Instagram.
Jenny went ballistic with jealousy. She was
screaming, “If you hadn’t stopped me, I would
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Driven by pure spite, she ran me down with
her car. I was dead.
Then, I woke up in the passenger seat.
Jenny, all confidence, smirked and glued her
eyes to a fancy car up ahead.
“Once he sees me, Blake will fall head over
heels.
“Then, honey, I won’t be caught dead in this
junk heap.”
This time, I didn’t try to stop her.
She floored it.
The car slammed into the back of a
ridiculously expensive sports car, one worth,
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- 1.
The impact sent the sports car skidding. It
finally ground to a halt.
The noise drew a crowd. Rubberneckers
everywhere.
The sports car was trashed. The spoiler was
hanging off. The body was all dented.
Jenny? Didn’t care.
She snapped back to reality in record time.
She checked her makeup in the rearview
mirror.
Artfully mussed hair, dabbed tears in the
corners of her eyes, lipstick just–so.
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If I hadn’t seen the whole thing, I might have
thought she was a scared little bunny.
She glanced at me, surprised that I was just
sitting there, unfazed.
Earlier, she had wedged a couple of throw
pillows in front of herself for padding, then
she sped up.
If I hadn’t been expecting it and braced
myself, I’d be face–first in the dashboard.
That’s how she always was, constantly setting
me up to look bad, so she could look good.
“Blake hardly ever shows his face. Just play
along, don’t screw this up.”
Jenny dipped a finger in her foundation and
smeared it on my lips without asking.
“Once I’m Mrs. Blake, I’ll get you a job as a
maid at his place. The pay will be way better
than what you make now.”
Then, she tugged down the neckline of her
too–tight sweater and hopped out of the car.
Last time around, Jenny blamed me for
ruining her chances at marrying rich. She
blamed me for her miserable life.
This time, I wanted to see if her “skills” would
change anything.
Jenny’s entrance caused a stir. A couple of
guys on the sidewalk were already snapping
pics with their phones.
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She’s always been proud of her body. That
skin–tight skirt she’s wearing definitely gets
attention.
Blake didn’t get out of his car. Just some stiff
in a suit, walking around the sports car,
checking out the damage.
He leaned in at the window, said something
to Blake.
Jenny pushed past the driver, who was trying
to talk to her, and tapped on the tinted.
window.
She started crying while she talked, fluttering
those eyelashes, all tragic and broken.
Blake finally pushed open the door and
looked over in my direction.
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Then, he focused on Jenny.
The mysterious Wall Street Prince Charming.
All the starlets want him, but no one can get
near him.
Jenny lowered her head, twisting her perfectly
manicured hands together.
Then, like she made a huge decision, she
pulled out her phone to call the cops.
I saw Blake wave his hand, telling her to put
the phone down.
He walked towards my car.
