Page 56 of Wicked Angel
I downed the rest of the drink in front of me and wondered if I should head home, alone, before I somehow made things any worse.
But fuck if I was leaving before Trey Jones did.
* * *
“You need to somehow rebuild trust with the people you’ve burned,” Lex was saying. “Believe me. I’ve been there.”
I blinked at him. Was he talking to me?
Didn’t he go home yet? Last thing I knew, Lamar was walking him out. Wasn’t he?
I looked around the table. Shane was sitting next to me. And in between Lex and me, on my other side, was an empty seat where my sister had been, and… Angeline.
Where was Shayla? Washroom? Bar? Making out with some douche in the corner? I looked around, noticing Trey’s group was gone.
Larissa; Lamar had walked Larissa out, for Shayla. I looked for Lamar now, and I knew I was fucking wasted when I saw my bodyguard standing a short distance away, his back to the wall, and he shook his head at me. Big, beefy dude, shaking his head at me like a disapproving granny.
He tapped his watch, our signal forYou told me to remind you that you wanted to leave an hour ago.
“You said Yash mentioned bringing on a publicist…” Lex was saying.
I tried to tune back in. What were we talking about?
“Someone to handle your PR on this mess. What’s her name?” Lex asked me. “She works with some big name clients. She works with Elle.”
I felt Angeline looking at me.
“Danielle Duke,” I supplied.
“No.” That was Angeline, and it was so abrupt, we all looked at her. “No, no. No, you don’t want Danielle.”
“She works with your sister,” I pointed out.
“No. She’s all wrong for you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I worked for her.”
I blinked at her. Elle Delacroix’s sister. Sitting at my table, like she did at that fundraiser, talking business with me. Right now, she was only sitting here because of my sister. But the girl had connections, no denying that.
And skills? Maybe. She’d worked with Danielle Duke.
“Fine. Then you can do it.”
“What?”
“PR. I need some good PR. Get me out of this mess.” I looped my finger in the air. “Clean it up.”
“Uh… I—”
“You need a job. I need a publicist. Put together a PR campaign.” I was barely making sentences at this point. Too much effort to find the words. But I knew what she could do for me. Why didn’t I think of it before? “You’ll do it.”
Angeline gaped at me. “I’m… I’m not really qualified.”
“More qualified for this than cleaning my house. You did a terrible job.”
She turned pink. She glanced at my friends, who exchanged a look.
