Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“What?” she asks, her eyes widening exponentially.
I nod. “Back when I was a kid. We…we went to a prep school together for a little less than a year. He’s obviously grown now.” So freaking grown it’s crazy intimidating. Tall, strong—unbelievably handsome. I swear Calloway Slater is cut from a God-tier cloth. “But yeah. I…I guess I didn’t expect that they’d be men who’d, like, walked among us before. My mom always talked about the elites like they were locked away somewhere in a gilded, exclusive town or something.”
“Did he talk to you? What did he say?” Hillary asks, her intensity growing with each word. But as Abigail approaches with a red teddy in hand, I make a conscious choice to shut my trap.
“Sorry. Later,” I whisper to Hillary. “But please don’t tell anyone.”
Something I can’t quite explain tells me not to say anything about this to a large group of women. Especially Abigail. She’s been nothing but friendly since I arrived, but there’s not a person in here she hasn’t talked to at least twice. Who knows what she’s sharing around when she does.
“Hey, guys!” Abigail greets cheerfully, clutching the tiny sheer dress she’s just picked out from a rack like it’s the best thing she’s ever laid eyes on. “Aren’t you going to go pick something? The selection is getting thin.”
Hillary nods, scurrying toward the rack at the news, and I shrug before following in her footsteps at a much slower pace.
I find a rack that’s largely deserted because it only has a few plain black pieces left and start sliding through them slowly. My hand shakes on each hanger as I move them from one side of the rack to the other.
Yikes.
Double yikes.
Ew.
I don’t really see anything other than thin lace and black, but I choose one for the simple fact that it offers a full-coverage panty.
Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think choosing something just because it wouldn’t show my actual vagina would be the safe option of the bunch, but here we are.
On shaky knees, I rejoin Hillary and Abigail and a group of other women whose names I can’t remember, and I tuck the corset and panty set over my arm like a waiter at a fancy restaurant would do with a napkin. It’s really the only option since it’s a similar amount of fabric, and the more I hold it out and see it, the more I freak out in my mind.
“God, I can’t wait for tomorrow night,” one of the girls says, practically dancing in place.
“What’s tomorrow night?” I ask, kicking myself for avoiding the damn schedule they offered when they first took me to my room.
“It’s the co-ed mixer,” Abigail explains. “It’s the first time we’ll be in the room with all the men at once. Didn’t you read your schedule?”
Co-ed mixer? I almost want to laugh. Or cry. I don’t know. It’s all feeling very The Bachelor but with a lot fewer roses and a lot more blood.
“I forgot to take one,” I lie. Hillary smiles like she knows.
“Oh, I have an extra. I’ll grab it out of my room for you when we go back tonight,” Abigail offers.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Abigail smiles, and a little giggle escapes her throat. “Honestly, I can’t imagine I’d be able to properly pick out any of my outfits without the actual schedule!”
A bell rings over the loudspeaker, startling me entirely and sending the rest of the room into a round of applause. When it quiets slightly, a disembodied, rich, haughty male voice comes over the intercom.
“Ladies, thank you for a delightful opening evening of this year’s Selection. We hope you’ve had a wonderful time convening with women of your equal tonight and cannot wait to meet you ourselves tomorrow. Please dress in similar formal attire and be ready by six fifteen. Security will escort you back to your rooms now. Please, our darlings, rest well. For the rest of the weekend holds more excitement than you can imagine.”
The whole group breaks out into a cry of cheers again, tittering and jabbering as we head toward the massive doors in one giant group.
I keep close to Abigail and Hillary as they move us through with a wave of their arms before closing and locking the doors to the ballroom behind us. Red velvet ropes stretch across the grand staircase to the left, as they usher us to the right and down to the other stairs at the end of the hall.
I crane my neck, trying to get a look up and into the roped-off area, knowing that’s where Cal went before, but when the rest of the group gets bunched up behind me, security gives me a stern gesture to move my ass.
“What are you looking at?” Hillary whispers, glancing over her shoulder just briefly as I link elbows with her.